Poetry

"By year’s end, brittle with guilt, we hovered over our hollow creation..."

“Bringing us home, To ourselves, Our selves, Our bodies, our shelters…”

A psychiatric reflects on the latest news and remembers Tyre Nichols.

"I wish I could have caught his eye, delivered the silent message that I understood what he had to go through every day to keep the peace..."

“We are oceans, not boats.”

"My mother’s idea of heaven was a pulse, nurses in white spilling light across fields with hurricane lamps, bandage rolls, syringes, pain killers, stethoscopes, pressure cuffs, patella hammers."

“Breathing clouds at every turn, We hold what wisdom we must learn.”

Celebrating 25 years of Poetry of the Times with Richard Berlin, MD!

"And if you like it simple, doctor will do."

"There is no greater loneliness..."

Welcome to 2023, the 25th year of Poetry of the Times with Richard Berlin, MD!

A psychiatrist shares his experience of how running has been a constant for him throughout life’s changes.

“…The light of a new year.”

"We were running out of breath, as we ran out to meet ourselves..."

Even when facing the most difficult opponents, it's possible to win a positive outcome.

A psychiatrist reflects on his story...

"It is Christmas eve and our patient lies on the table in twilight sleep..."

A fourth-year medical student reflects on the non-traditional traditions that came from growing up in a 2-physician, 2-religion household.

"We wait, our bare feet dangling in the horse trough..."

"My work is loving the world..."

A psychiatrist shares memories of bonding over dance during the holiday season.

"Behind his couch, Freud senses summer’s return, draws a puff, flicks the ash, smiles as he studies his undying ember."

"Love is apart from all things. Desire and excitement are nothing beside it."

"For no particular reason I lift my dusty volume of Freud’s Standard Edition from a shelf..."

“Pottery is life. The finished product is just a reminder of the steps taken on the way.”

"Look out for me I’m a-coming too..."

"...her steady green eyes and naked display of farmgirl skill the chemistry that bonded us for life."

Poetic musings on posttraumatic growth...

Reflecting on the process of healing...