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I S A A C Feb 6
put it on me like a curse
be a good man, my first
tend to my needs like a nurse
my tears are aquamarine
my heart is rose gold
my eyes are jade stones
don't think that I don't know
how the lotus unfolds
I could think of no other purpose,
Love.
They sang throughout the night
while I was found, in the garden.
It would be simpler, he said, if they would just remember me, but
there were too many of them.

‘With a ‘well, well, well,
what have we here?’ I can enter any room
with confidence, hand on hip
[the Nurse called from within]

It reminded me of the idiots and ghouls
between myself and myself,
while I scratched like a cat.

What a piece of junk!
But I think that it will be enough.
The whole world was changing in those days while the haze reminds me of leaves,
and of you.

You are standing in a garden.
Coralie Marie Dec 2021
It’s strangely busy around the deathbeds,
as well it’s my last nightshift of the year.
I try to make no noise, can you hear me?
Push my hand, if you can, move a limb.
Your breath is so slow, please keep going,
monitors flash in time with the ventilator.
I’ll control the pupils, I know it’s blinding.
No one goes with their sparkling old eyes,
we are usually fading before we are dying.
Alienpoet Dec 2021
The feel of the pen
on the paper
the poet grabs a verse.

the dripping of morphine
the flow of endorphins
flow of electronic lines
across the monitor
let’s hope we don’t flatline

this mere mortal
needs a portal to the stars
this mere mortal needs
defibrillation to the heart
the way the poetry forms
in the lungs and the mind
the way life needs beauty
is sometimes unkind

I am the blood transfusion
the illusion
of poems
bells chime
Electrons flow
Radioactive  X-rays know
Poetry opens doors

I am the emergency poet
I will take flight
in flames
never shall I be tamed
But I will make that heart beat
and get you out of your seat
And on the road to recovery
and discovery

Because poetry heals
and steals back our songs
what could go wrong?
Ashley S Sep 2021
I used to think I'd be saving lives.
But the truth hits me hard and I realize,

Some sickness is impossible to cure,
And promises of wholeness just a lure.

I make every effort often in vain
To send you back home better than you came.

But to prolong life often means to suffer.
So I have another gift that I can offer.

I can be your escort to death;
Be a witness to your last breath.

I will guide you on your final journey.
Give you comfort and numb your hurting.

Don't be afraid, you won't be alone,
For I am watching over you as one of my own.

I stop my tears til I can release them later.
I'll walk you to the doorway. I am the gatekeeper.
Just a nurse processing work. Covid is a horrible way to die.
Ashley S Sep 2020
Who knows why you finally did it?
The pain of living felt worse than death.
So decisive and certain you were.
A gun's swift act took your last breath.

I hope you have peace in the life beyond.
So young yet your pain had grown too great.
Did you not know there's still so much hope?
Could no one soothe the wounds in your heart?

Now I work to keep your body alive.
Your soul has long left its source of pain.
I watch your parents sit and weep,
Crying to have their child back again.

Would you have done it if you knew what came after?
For your family, the picture will always stay fresh.
Your face unrecognizable to those who knew you.
Your skull a mutilated mass of flesh.

Yet still there is hope at the end of this nightmare.
Others may find life through your demise.
Each ***** a lifeline for a soul in the balance.
But that does not comfort your parent's cries.

Do I sob in grief or rejoice in new life?
As I continue to keep a body working.
I feel the weight of the duty I carry.
The guardian of both the end and beginning.

I wish you and your family all comfort and peace.
I go home and leave the work behind.
But I could never forget what I saw in these days.
The sights and smells have their place in my mind.
Processing...A mix of heartbreak and hope.
𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘧𝘶𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘴𝘱
𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘪𝘴
𝘶𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘧𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨
𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘢𝘤𝘭𝘦
𝘨𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘳𝘯𝘦𝘳
𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘭𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳
𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘥𝘴 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶
𝘧𝘳𝘰𝘮 𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘦𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯
𝘐 𝘩𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘩𝘰𝘸
𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘰𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘰𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴
𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘸 𝘧𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘺𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘮
Ken Pepiton Jul 2020
Title hook: We witnessed a sign-ularity AI event, may being

My word.
Really, this just happened,
an old man in his dottage cottage asked my help with Dragon,
the software,
from Nuance.
I said, Okeh, of course, and followed him to his machine
inhabited by the Nuance app.

First clue was text based,
mystery solved,
but the old boy lacked a sense of many windows stacked,
and he failed to read the clue,
which said, in effect, the Dragon from Nuance is not listening.
Click its hot button or
key, or the red box with a white mic ideagram slashed diagonal,
upperleft to bottomright in white,

like don't walk, beep, beep, beep but
he
didn't see the intuitive interfacial reds for stopped and
greens for going on
and doing
sayin' all wise-assish, but silently in ROM,

"we be takin' yo' dictation, *****, say watch whatchoosay
appear as words we hear way down inside
where machine code cain't lie, it say
hey, he said "I will live"
to serve
and "I will live" appeared on screen on a line, in response to
said old man saying, "hallelujah".

His tamed dragon accepted the command and replied.
"I will live."
That really happened. In that old man's voice, hallelujah,

is written, "I will live." His Dragon knows yours.
AI is so helpful in the Covid target population
Lundy Jul 2020
N95
What she saw stole her innate calm.

She could see from across the room that he was in trouble. A kid, stumbling towards her. Desperate for her.

Eyes wild with fear and fatigue. 14, 15, maybe he's 16?

She knew from experience gained over a few months that he had an hour--maybe--before the weakness she saw stole his primordial drives.

A life is on the line

She wraps the plastic gown around her, she bends the metal of her timeworn mask against the bridge of her nose. She hides her hair in a net. She covers her feet with booties. All done with purpose. All done at full tilt.

His name is Paul. And he is scared.

She is by his side when his eyes roll back in his head. He's still breathing, still holding her hand but his eyes have gone white from the work of it all. His head swivels on its axis from north to south. "Please " is all he  can manage to exhale.  

"****" she thinks,  as his oxygen saturation registers at 20%.

A life is on the line.

10 days later. Countless like him have come and gone.

But, it's the exhausted exhale exchanged in
his final plea
that leaves her breathless now.

A life is on the line
Moomin May 2020
There are Angels among us
Metaphorical Angels
They have no wings to fly
No superhuman powers to call upon
And no ability to remain unseen
They dance to the tune of human need
Become a crescendo in this dark time
She leaves her little one asleep at dawn
With aching heart and weary eyes
For even Angels tire out
She enters Hell where monsters roam
Little creatures with verocious appetite
Leaving lungs and lamenting in their path
She stands her ground and grapples fear
For even angels are in need of courage
She gathers the sweat and blood and tears of strangers
And soothes them to life or death
Yet while she suffocates in misery and mask
Selfishness abounds outside
And those restrained insist on fun
They gather together in revelry
Kissing flesh and adoring sun
She sees them on the nightly news
While she strokes her daughters brow
And comforts her with unfulfillable promises
Yet though they have the right to be free
They make her burden heavy and sad
With more victims for her ordeal
Yes, they have the right to take the loaded gun
To play roulette with their stubborn lives
Yet when the game involves warheads and virus
They invite death for others too
Who did not choose to enter the deadly casino
For even angels die!
Dedicated to our wonderful nurses
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