Practice Poetry
Practice Poetry
Thanks for checking out these poems from staff, patients and friends. You're invited to add to this and join in on the trend.
We're not all perfect wordsmiths or all expertly taught, but we hope you like our poems and place to leave our thoughts.
If you have something you wish to add please give us a quick shout, Just send us in your poem with your name and short 'about'
Limericks, sonnets, haikus, anything suits us just fine, We wont as you for for certain lengths, subjects or forced rhyme.
The only thing we really need is to keep it safe for work, we dont want to offend at all or cause anyone hurt!
Gift Time
Burst into song
at the break of a bud
from its stronghold.
Love it long
in the evening
when the crispness has gone
And when petals fold
and fall away
never, never mourn the day.
It is a time for giving.
© Copyright Laurence Shelley (Do not distribute without authors permission)
Prescription Holiday
I quietly long for a day I could forget to take the meds
I could let the world stop turning and just remain inside my head
No meeting expectations, or forced polite small talk
No slightly faster heartbeat, No hollow smiling while I walk
I could take one day to skip the joust between the 'do or not'
not part of some elaborate plan, I simply just, forgot
With no danger or reliance, the restful freedom I'd unlock
I could simply let the silence stay for one turning of the clock
The next day I'd do what I should, the best thing for my health
But just one day I really wish they could remain upon the shelf
©FH Do not distribute without authors permission
The Sound of Sixty Seven Million People Clapping
Last night down here
On Ghost Town Street
A mile or so from Friary House
I heard the sound
Of sixty seven million people clapping
out on the cobbled lane,
moments after I’d finished writing
on my third day of solitude.
Intrigued, I grabbed my notebook and pen
and leaving the sanctuary of the armchair
moved towards the window.
Leaning out over the kitchen sink
I saw neighbours clapping in backyards
to a song I couldn’t hear.
Then I heard a whispering on the grapevine
then my shadow quietly hummed
the nightingale’s song in my ear
and we joined in the applause,
clapping for the doctors and the nurses
clapping all the way to 1948
clapping on the doorsteps
of Tredegar and Ebbw Vale
clapping in Derriford and Freedom Fields
clapping for the man who for me
is the grandfather I never had
the grandfather who gave
my mother a place to sleep
a place to give birth
to three children,
two girls and a boy
one in March
one in November
one on Christmas Day.
© Copyright Kenny Knight (Do not distribute without authors permission)
Expert by Experience
I’m an Expert by Experience which a funny way to say
“We still think that you’re crazy, but in a useful way”
Their questions can be hurtful, and often poorly said
It’s usually just spun ways to say ‘translate your quirky head’
I don’t mean to sound dubious or even cynical
It’s just that err of bluntness when your used to clinical
In truth it’s hard to explain to those who couldn’t understand,
Even when those people just want to help and hold your hand.
“You’re an Expert by Experience, you must tell us what you think,
Help your people speak their truth!” like I’m some kind of shrink?
When I was asked, I poured with rage, both rational and not.
I was stuck in the spiral of the most negative of thought.
“You need me to help translate, what you should have learned in school?
That some think in a different way and your judgements can be cruel.
So my useful crazy put to work to make you workload less
And even when I begged for help and was told I was a mess”
I’m an expert by frustration at a system that is flawed
That made me feel imposter, uncanny valley, and a fraud
I gave in to the anger, hurt and the bitterness of “must”
Eventually I realised though, they we’re asking for my trust…
The question that threw me most was “will you trust us to do better?
The systems wrong but can be fixed,” said the apologising letter.
They asked me wrong, but really meant I could help someone find words,
Other people just like me who needed to be heard.
I know I often come across abrasive, cruel, or insincere,
But that’s just me and how I think, I’m no less of a safe ear.
We may speak a different language, and think a different way
But something just feels different when they’ll hear what we’ve to say
It’s frustrating and I’ve been there too but now I see the other side
There’s many who want to understand and take their work with pride
Those some of us who’ve been there too are taking off our armour
We’ll help you stand and make your point, as a team of quirky charmers
Expert by Experience doesn’t mean I know it all
It’s probably the opposite but I can catch you if you fall
We’re here in your corner, to make those who don’t, understand.
And if nothing else, I’m there to help, support and hold your hand.
©FH Do not distribute without authors permission
The Grandchildren of Nye Bevan
For Aneurin Bevan (1897-1962)
We are the grandchildren of Nye Bevan
some of us are blind
some of us have broken fingers
we were born all over this island
the sons and daughters of Gibran’s longing
We are the grandchildren of Nye Bevan
names on collections of poetry
on novels in bookshop windows
on letters from Freedom Fields
on streets all over the city.
We are graffiti on cornea and skin
heroes the health service kissed better
we are young children
arms outstretched beneath the dockyard sky
playing the war that killed millions
the war that took out my grandmother’s house
and the Atheneum.
We had no memory of the past
only the knowledge of its passing
of families running short of food
when the doctor was called
but the war had gone
leaving its scars on the island
on bomb sites where wildflowers took root
and with it came peace, medicine and freedom from hunger.
We are the grandchildren of two centuries
a list of names longer than a stretch of cats eyes on a country road.
We are supermarket workers
season ticket holders
at the Cumberland Centre
we are teenagers and nurses
librarians and old age pensioners
we are the grandchildren of the grandfather of Ebbw Vale
some of us are in a coma
some of us are sleeping.
© Copyright Kenny Knight (Do not distribute without authors permission)
Self-care crisis
The famed hot bath and cup of tea
An almost religious rhetoric
Like preaching water and drinking wine
The hypocrisy as the preacher forgets the preacher
Also in need of the care,
And of the wine
©FH Do not distribute without authors permission
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