Cherished Purposes...Poems of Grieving and of Hope  
 
Epilog

                     Birth 

                     I have seen the caul 
                     like honey glazed 
                     contain and bathe 
                     in sweet succor, 
                     kept watch as 
                     mother's wombs 
                     tear in pain to 
                     bear their child 
                     and then 
                     as if my first, 
                     stood aside and 
                     cried with awe at 
                     the birth, 
                     that quiescent harbor 
                     where life sings 
                     psalmic verses 
                     of calms and storms 
                     rains and draughts 
                     sun lights and dark nights, 
                     agendas to live on  forever. 

                     1993 


This states best as I can the overwhelming emotion I feel,  day by day as  I attend births. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
   

                     Courage 

                     "Until the day of his death,  
                     no man can be sure of his courage" 
                                 Jean Anouilh, Becket 

                     He was a being in search of his destiny,  
                     And with abundant virtues and dignities, 
                     He filled his days with endeavors of selfless devotion.  
                     A sage with a love for mankind, 
                     He  cared for the needy with reverence. 
                     Though the sorrow we feel is deep, 
                     We must not share in his suffering, but 
                     Triumph over his death by committing our 
                     Hearts, our bosoms, and our most visceral spirits 
                     To profound purpose. 
                     Yes, stand tall, thy men of courage,  
                     For a leader amongst us has fallen.  
                     With  gallant humanism, and valiant resolve, 
                     He leaves Our mortal plains and hills of despair 
                     To ascend his mountain peaks of glory. 
                     With his inspirations of vitality and hope, 
                     Everything  was beautiful and good. 
                     We lament his short life, yet find comfort that 
                     His  mortal being  was but "a fleeting gleam" 
                     Between two eternity's of tranquil salvation; 
                     Be comforted; for now, His soul is at rest, 
                     Cradled in peace. 

                     1991 
                                     Written for a friend and colleague upon his death. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                     Andira 

                     Beneath their feet the parched leaves crack. 
                     Lifeless, fallen branches fracture.  
                     Wearily fathers hunt and search 
                     To mend the pains of endless thirst. 
                     A mother cradles to her chest, 
                     The newborn child upon her breast, 
                     And while gazing towards the cloudless sky. 
                     Asks why be born if now to die? 
                     Wasted by their arid land, 
                     Children beg with outstretched hand  
                     Their feeble voices impotent, 
                     To cry; A Death-Watch all too silent.  
                     Hunger cries but finds no ears, 
                     None to help their doleful tears.  
                     Impoverished people bearing sorrow.  
                     Starved today; entombed tomorrow. 

                     1993 
                                     Andira  is a genus of tropical tree found in Africa   known as a "rain tree". This poem is written in memory of all children who have died and are dying from the ugliness of starvation. 
 
 
 
 

                     The Din 

                     a clamor. 
                     louder 
                     than the searing noise of 
                     jackhammers, 
                     trucks, motorcycles 
                     and the like, 
                     pains my ears: 
                     gunshots and sirens, 
                     screaming mother's tears. 
                     murdered teens- 
                     just children you know, 
                     dead now over some drug deal 
                     or gangland ego. 
                     a  disordered, senseless waste 
                     of human life and vigor, 
                     granted to every person of every 
                     race, 
                          by god's decree 
                          of just equality. 

                     yet of those who escape 
                     the leaded missiles 
                     from wanton guns, 
                     or needles 
                     infected with contagion; 
                     of those not starved 
                     for food or love 
                     or for learning; 
                     nor for clothes 
                     or shelter or for yearning 
                     to have a solitary chance 
                     to breathe 
                     per chance. 
                     the fresh air of a country 
                     morning, 
                     i ask: 
                        "what is it you fear, 
                         what clamor do you hear?" 
                                  
                     1993 
                                     For those who can see and feel and fear the horror   calling at our doorsteps. 
 
 
 
 
 

                     Asclepidae    
                            
                     From  Hippocrates     
                     On whom we swore 
                     And Aesculapius 
                     Who thus bore 
                     Hygeia, we now 
                     With dutiful dedication 
                     Somehow 
                     Must manage to transcend 
                     A myriad of extrinsic forces 
                     With one purpose: to mend 
                     The bleeding and the cries 
                     Of our diverse patients' lives. 
                     We birth their children, 
                     Curette their wombs, 
                     Remove their tumors, 
                     And for those whom 
                     Maladies cause pain, 
                     We set upon a course of healing 
                     So that once again 
                     Their being is restored. 
                     But there is much more, 
                     So very much more. 
                     For  the primal core 
                     Of what we dedicate 
                     Our time and strength 
                     Is not just to operate, 
                     Or to "stand before" and facilitate  
                     The births of tomorrow's children, 
                     But rather to provide 
                     True counsel; 
                     To advise and to guide 
                     Through the darkest paths 
                     In the deepest forests 
                     Of our patients lives. 
                     For when they face us, 
                     Stare, eye to eye 
                     And mourn their loss 
                     Of health, of parent or of child; 
                     When marriage dissolves into divorce, 
                     And depressive thoughts of suicide 
                     Bring them to us 
                     And us to their bedside, 
                     We must be skilled with more 
                     Than laser or with knife. 
                     We must be filled 
                     With integrity and 
                     compassion, 
                     The moral virtues  
                     of our life, 
                     And bring to the ill 

                     Comfort, sympathy and 
                     hope. 

                     1993 
                                     The Asclepidae  was the Greek Priest-Physician family of which Hippocrates was a member  physician and surgeon. This is written as a  plea for those medical students and residents who have chosen Obstetrics and Gynecology as their profession. 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

                     Aoide 

                     The first song on earth 
                     Was a child's cry, 
                     A canticle of absolute beauty. 
                     Each note a bequest for eternity; Ageless 
                     music of heartsounds 
                     And first-breath sighs 
                     To immortalize 
                     The promise of humankind. 

                     1993 
 Aoide  is the Greek Muse of Song.  These lines are  a dedication to the labor and delivery suite of Yale- New Haven Hospital where I practice. 
 
 
 
 
 

                     Decent...Ascent 

                     My face droops, chiseled 
                     with furrows of sadness. 
                     Eden is no longer. 
                     Trust teeters 
                     tenuously in anonymity. 
                     Ignorance, 
                     Poverty, 
                     Desperation, 
                     Cohabit; irrational and violent. 
                     Sickness lusts. Death waits. 
                     I tremble 

                     Yet, steadfastly will I climb, 
                     season to season, 
                     for a lifetime, 
                     amidst tendril roots and ragged 
                     crevices, 
                     in search of reason, 
                     and when  weary and my flesh aches, and 
                     heart hypoxic hungrily palpitates, 
                     my sight dims 
                     and  body falls painfully sick, 
                     I'll travel obscure atmospheres 
                     glancing back to see 
                     past images appear 
                     of life's fine threads and 
                     loves unspooled, with 
                     unimagined clarity 
                     and pause, alone 
                     upon the threshold 
                     of my empyrean home, 
                     and whisper prayerful 
                     thoughts 
                     to heal my wounded soul. 

                     1993 
 Despite anguish, pessimism and  opprressions , there can be discovered wonderment  and  hopeful  optimism  throughout  the course of our lives.  

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