The graying, gaping sky is split
Each side a stretch of sunset lit
Across the glazing blue-green sea,
Upon the snow and back to me.
The cityscape between its jaws
Is slowly steaming as it thaws,
And raising eyes to what may be
A beauty born from tragedy.
Like shards of ice on rocky floors
Replacing smooth and sandy shores,
Or haggard limbs of crumbling brown
Replacing summer’s leafy down.
Or hearts grown cold from recent harm
Replacing those still young and warm,
Fragmented pieces of a soul
Replacing one still strong and whole.
Why are these raw and barren things,
So welcome in their wanderings,
How can such sharp and damp despair
Still lure us down and keep us there,
To slowly suffer life’s full force
Despite the writhing of remorse,
While we lie still in winter’s wake
And wait for gathered clouds to break,
To burst with warm and lustrous light
And dust the darkness from the night.
Filed under: lyric poems, medical school | Tags: lyric poetry, medical school, poetry
We may not remember that feeling of fear
That stirred in our stomachs on our first day here.
Or the raw recognition of our own defeat
When we first held a heart that could no longer beat.
We may not remember the rods and the cones,
The ethmoid or sphenoid or palatine bones,
Each circumflex, neural crest, ramus or rectus,
Or each tiny branch off the cervical plexus.
We may not remember each page that we read
About trochlear nerves causing tilt of the head,
Or the pathways that every red blood cell must take,
Or which kind of fall leads to which kind of break.
We may not remember each sulcus or groove,
Each longus or brevis and how they all move,
Each pterygoid, coronoid, cristae or carpal,
Which tendons attach to the first metatarsal.
The dermatomes, myotomes, orbital veins,
Adductors, extensors or quadrants of pain.
Nights spent with books somewhere no one could find us
To learn just what ends at the pez ancerinus.
But no matter how long it has been since the days
Of Moore and Persaud or Netter’s and Grays,
We will not forget how we all got our start
And the honest investment of those who took part.
And we’ll surely remember the sacrifice made
for foundations of knowledge and truth that were laid,
How these generous strangers were brave to instill
A trust in our touch and a faith in our skill.
How their deepest respect for the field we adore
Will bind us, remind us to always do more,
And the way they inspired us all to pursue
Greater meaning and purpose in all that we do.
Filed under: Gremaline Makes Mischief, gremlin lyric poems | Tags: Gremaline Makes Mischief, gremlin lyric poems, medical school, poetry
Young little gremlins
Won’t come to your room,
‘cause they’ve not yet learned
To control where they zoom.
But when little gremlins
Become gremlin teens,
All the teachers from Gremland
Know just what this means.
They’re ready for mischief,
And must learn the rules,
For choosing and using
Their best mischief tools.
But this time is confusing,
For each gremlin teen,
When their paws can move faster,
Than they’ve ever seen.
They get wild and restless,
Boisterous and brave,
And their instinct kicks in,
‘Til it’s hard to behave.
But they’re still scared of humans,
And all human ways,
So they must keep their urges
For mischief at bay,
‘Til they learn about humans,
And what humans do,
To deserve wads of gum
On their slipper or shoe.
So if you’re quite scared
Of the things gremlins do,
Remember these creatures
Are more scared
of…
YOU!
* It occurs to me that the relationship between medical students and patients is somewhat similar to that between mischief-making gremlins and humans. In both cases, the mischief-maker (or med student) is more scared of the helpless human subject than the other way around– fresh medical students in the hospital tread lightly, caught in a constant push and pull between wanting to single-handedly take over the procedure and wanting to remain on the sidelines to avoid any potential part in a catastrophe. Being chastised by the more senior members of their profession is to be avoided at all times. That is the story of Gremaline’s struggle as a talented mischief maker–in sneak-skirts or in scrubs, the same conflicts ensue.
The dreamer’s life’s a callus
Underneath the sole
Each step is felt, but only just
Only that which God deems must.
But real life is a wound so large,
So tender and exposed,
That though I stitch it tight with strings,
With every touch or step it stings.
Filed under: Gremaline Makes Mischief, gremlin lyric poems | Tags: Gremaline Makes Mischief, gremlin lyric poems, poetry
You might find it strange
To find fur on your floor,
Or small cookie crumbs
In a trail out your door,
But don’t be alarmed,
Or fall faint with fright,
It was surely just left
By your gremlin last night,
While he dodged, dashed and darted,
And zoomed all about,
Making mischief of some kind,
Before he zipped out.
But if you’re suspicious,
You’re smart to inquire
If there’s something you’ve done
That you did not admire,
If the answer is yes,
Then surely you’ll find,
That your gremlin has left
More than just crumbs behind.
But don’t try to catch him,
For surely you’ll fail,
You’re better off letting
His mischief prevail.
For gremlins are quick,
Sly, savvy and smart,
And they’re trained to make mischief
Right from the start.
In their big gremlin schools
Taught by masters themselves
They learn dashing through doors
And leaping up shelves,
And, Oh, such sly mischief,
That they’re taught to make,
When you see it you’ll say,
“Why, I’ve made a mistake!”
Filed under: Gremaline Makes Mischief, gremlin lyric poems | Tags: Gremaline Makes Mischief, gremlin lyric poems, poetry
If you’ve stolen some gum,
Or a sock or a shoe,
Or you’ve picked on someone
Maybe one time or two,
Or you’ve written a note
That was sassy and mean,
Or kicked out a Coke
From the soda machine,
Or taken three pieces,
When the jar says “Take One,”
Or done something naughty
Just because it was fun,
Then there might be some mischief
That comes to your house,
Shrinking your stockings
Or wrinkling your blouse.
A gremlin will dart
Back and forth ‘cross the room
Making his mischief
Just so you’ll assume
That nothing is different,
Each thing in its spot,
‘Til you reach to go grab it,
And realize…
It’s NOT.
