"bethesda" poems
N. N is for neurologist.
What does the neurologist say?
“Nothing seems to be wrong.
Your net recall seems normal.
You seem to remember most nouns and the news.
Nothing serious,
No need to worry.”
I don’t quite remember driving here.
This is Bethesda, right?
And your name is…?
P. P is for psychologist.
The P. is silent.
So is the psychologist.
I talk and talk.
My energy level is high today,
even though I got no sleep last night.
I want to write a poem and run a partial marathon.
I love people.
People are so beautiful.
“Only connect,” said E.M. Forster.
Am I talking too much?
How does that make me feel?
Just great! Not like yesterday,
when I wanted to jump into the Potomac
from Key Bridge.
P is also for Potomac.
The psychologist speaks.
I need a new pill.
E. E is for endocrinologist.
What does the endocrinologist say?
“Eat. You’re an enigma.
You are losing weight.
We don’t know why.
We’ve checked everything
and can’t find evidence
of enemies in your endocrine system.
Enjoy some eclairs, eggplant, eggs benedict.
Life is short, endulge!
Hopefully not too short.
O. O is for oncologist.
Oh.
Oh oh.
Mar 14, 2019
Mar 14, 2019 at 11:22 AM UTC
racing across the train platform,
one hand on our heads keeping our beanies in place,
the other clenching each other's
we slid in through the doors,
catching our breath in between laughter
we make it above ground just as the sun is setting over astoria
and i swear your eyes turn golden
my favourite you comes out at night
we lose track of time, put away our cell phones,
and vandalize this whole **** place with our love
carve your name into my rickety old heart like you did the trees
near bethesda
kiss me long and hard, like the winters
just as refreshing when i open the door and seeing you,
my own wonderland
melt this ice pick inside of me
set me on fire, for all i care
everything is dying right now,
but for once, for once, it doesn't feel like it
Oct 16, 2016
Oct 16, 2016 at 7:58 PM UTC
So you lost your innocence
in a darkened cemetery in Fallujah,
do you go looking for it
on a grassy, sun-drenched hilltop in Arlington just because the
light is better? No, not you.
You return to that dark place and break every marker, leave no stone unturned, disinter all ghosts tossing them to the wind and shout
"Want more?".
Marching upright/quick-step/head high
back home to Bethesda to find your peace.
r ~ 15Feb14
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 8:49 AM UTC
I sit at the pool of Bethesda waiting for my turn to come,
I've sat by this pool for 38 years witnessing the healing of some,
O Bethesda , where was i when angels came to stir thine water?
I was here nights and days waiting earnestly just like the others,
I waited yes i waited,
For 38years i waited
The angels came and stirred,
Yes they stirred and others entered
But all i've done is wait, wait and wait.
Nov 23, 2016
Nov 23, 2016 at 2:52 PM UTC
Forsaken by friends and family:
Abandoned in his wretched infirmity
To be pining away for sheer eight
And thirty weary years straight,
Was that bloke by the cool pool
Of Bethesda left. Yet like a mule
Did he stick to his lone faith,
That no matter how long he'd wait
For his miracle--he would nonethe-
Less in his belief in God ever tarry.
And so it was one dandy day,
That Jesus, on a short stay
In Jerusalem, for for him to honour
A feast there, did spot with candour
Clear, that impotent cove long forgotten
There, who was by sickness smitten.
Though a mother her child may neglect,
And his son a father may also reject;
Yet not God. Not the good and loving
Lord, even in spite of man's many a sin.
Heaven does never forget at all humanity,
'Cause the earth is watched by the Trinity
All the time without ceasing. For good,
Nay for evil; giving us breath and food
And everything that our souls so desire,
According to the will of Heavenshire.
The fulfilment of our life's dream may,
Like smoke in the air, linger. Some day,
Though, in God's how and time, shall it yet
To reality come, if in focus we do not fret.
For the compassion that filled his heart
With the kindness that could never depart
From him, Christ went over that infirm
Fella, that his healing he may affirm.
By Jesus was he thus made at once whole:
Touching not only his body but also his soul.
Nov 15, 2012
Nov 15, 2012 at 4:25 PM UTC
*Angels are indeed visible to the naked eye , they can be found in majestic pose within every precious photograph , work of art or wildflower held by young hands ..
Each drop of rain in a Summer shower is a heavenly host that blesses our very hour ..
A consecrated beam of light impaling the morning fog proclaims the mighty sword of Michael leading the weary through insecurity and darkness ..
An elderly couple that occupies a park bench , children busy with games , laughter , eyes that sparkle with wonder and merriment ..
The carefree chatter of evening songbirds , the Holy Ghost that fill and nurture a wounded heart ..
Nature's morning songs .. The reflection of God's blue eyes caste across a mountain vista duplicate the Choir of Angels performing psalms on the outskirts of Zion , atop the very Walls of Jerusalem , the trumpet echoing across the Earth from the Pool of Bethesda* ...
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 7:57 PM UTC
The Owls are Watching
In memory of Helen Martins
'The Owl House'
Nieu Bethesda, South Africa
In sculpture and rock rested your art
Cement faces that speak volumes
Of emotions and tales untold
As mysterious as your life itself
Glittering walls of crushed glass
That shone by candlelight
Outside of art you were branded
Though remembered as unique and ahead of your time
With big glass eyes the owls watch the world
What was once your sanctuary
Now a showcase to the world
Recognized at last
Unspeakable loneliness of a soul misunderstood
Now your handwritten letters are framed and displayed for all to read
But you don't mind the curiosity of mankind
With cement hands raised to the heavens facing the east
You drank your chosen cup
Your Mecca now complete
_____
Written by Sean Achilleos
28 March 2016©
_____
How this poem came about:
I was a visitor to the Owl House Nieu-Bethesda South Africa in 2015. Approximately, one year later I was inspired to write a poem about the late great Helen Martins. I was intrigued by the eccentricity of this woman.
One evening while in my living room and enjoying a glass of wine, my eye caught the cement owl in my windowsill which I had purchased outside the Owl House from a vendor. I saw its big blue glass eyes glaring at me. At the time I was listening to a Jennifer Ferguson record, and decided to write while the music was playing. Once I had completed the poem I felt exhausted. Then a very strange phenomena occurred, the lights went off for a few seconds and came back on, unlike a power surge. It reoccurred a second time that same evening, and never since. It felt like a supernatural intervention. As far fetched as it may sound, it seemed like Mrs. Martins had personally given her approval of the poem. I then decided to email it to the official Owl House website. I didn't think much would come of it. However, they embraced the poem and were generous enough to display it on their official Website for a number of years under a section titled "A Visitor's Perspective".
https://g.co/kgs/BPyx1U
Apr 28, 2020
Apr 28, 2020 at 7:58 AM UTC
The stream of Sunday people
used to separate down High Street,
led by family threads, some to
Bethesda others to St. Pauls.
Some time later they joined a stream again,
swirling, rippling with the gossip of the day.
Their duty done singing hymns, dropping pennies,
offering prayers and sitting through sermons. Amen.
Prominent St. Pauls praised by Pevsner
as Runcorn's most distinctive building,
but Bethesda, older, iron railed,
both cures for souls till their people left.
Now St. Pauls cures patients' bodies,
while Bethesda harbours buses.
Weekday people steam and gossip,
potions purchased, journeys joined.
Nov 7, 2015
Nov 7, 2015 at 2:16 PM UTC
loneliness lays in the back of
his car in a stranded parking lot
with a *** stained blanket in the backseat.
he hasn’t noticed that i can’t look him in the eye.
hes too busy enjoying himself.
depression sits on cushion chair in
mr burnside's office,
watching him fiddle with his tie
with a worried look on his face,
as if he would say the wrong thing
and i would fall apart right before his eyes.
“you been wearing that sweatshirt all day?”
yes.
“lift up your sleeves”
no.
anxiety takes a daily trip to the nurses office.
i’m okay, i just don’t feel well.
“here’s a mint, try to go back to class”.
oh great, a ******* mint. i feel better already
hopelessness is curled up in a ball on
the bathroom floor
with the door locked. i can’t hear
my mom yell at me anymore
about how i have no direction,
how i need to try harder,
be better,
go to the gym.
abandonment walks outside at
2 in the morning with no shoes on,
-9 degree wind chill nipping at her toes.
i am crying too hard.
please don’t leave me
is all that echoes in my brain.
teen angst rolls her eyes at ms allen
“im worried about you”
one minute,
the next minute embarrassing me in front of the whole class.
I don’t know how to ******* graph an exponential function
because i spent my night at bethesda north
answering the nurses questions.
“how many pills did you take?”
“are you okay to go home tonight?”
“how long have you been dealing with depression?”
this high school is supposed to look
like a castle.
that makes me laugh.
not once since i’ve been here have i felt like a queen.
Mar 20, 2015
Mar 20, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
The angel stood on bowed knee
Waist deep in the shallows
His right hand cast miracles into waves of water
Threw ripples imbued with magis
Stirred and splashed until healing came upon it
Until the entire pool of Bethesda shimmered like glitter on the wet heat waves of the sun
That's when they all began to jump in
But could not linger long
The moment healing settled in
It's out of the pool, to the Temple song
But you stood still for so long
Watching the wretched washed
Cleansed of their sins
Whole of body, whole of mind
You never knew what that was like
You didn't know what that could be like
You would have stood there until the bubbling waters stilled
Cheated out of your mindful abundance
Had I not an incantation of my own
So I chanted "Pura Deva Honey Madme Plath "
Words of pure nonsense I knew
You'd take them as a cryptic challenge
Meaningless but they sounded right
The sheer repetition hypnotized you
And back, back, walking back slowly
Walking backwards towards the pull that still seemed affluent & fecund
You walked
In silence
Until your foot touched the water and you had to stop to absorb what felt like several hundred volts of lightning streaming up from your Achilles Heel to your Freud-ball skull and immediately you realized
Something big was happening
Lowering your waist the pain was transmuted
As clarity wiped the fog from the window of your perception
The songs that came unbidden
Overflowed your stained glass imagination
Forcing out demons and dumb ideas
Death and delusions and bad desires
Running like demons to the sow
Having asked permission
Your music-stuffed head went underwater
A practical baptism, a lesson in breathing liquid
When you were pulled out you had no use for what lay on the other side of the pool
The grassy meadow where I still stood
When the cancer was removed
I came to find what I always suspected
I'm a huge part of the tumor
Dug in on the other side of the pool
While your fool legs take you fast as you may run
To make an offering to the chief priest
Singing songs of praise and gratefulness
I find my own song to sing
The Angel says my burden
Must stick tight and bleed like leeches
Bad seed buried deep in the abyss of my being
An ugly man, face drawn from grimaces and frowns
Unloveable and beat to the bone
Without a single song of my own
Sep 22, 2014
Sep 22, 2014 at 2:05 AM UTC
This is one of the worst sequences,
there is some which have happened beyond this,
but that's only because my death is potential,
it hasn't happened... yet.
There is an open road,
we cross it,
I pass a bizarre building,
"what are you doing?"
"where are you going?"
you say.
I can feel your gaze on my back,
I don't turn round,
because your inquisitive look,
would tear my heart even more,
I tell you to go on and give me a min',
In my normal way.
And then you go on with the other one,
I slump down at the wall,
gazing on past Bethesda,
into the green pastures of the after life,
sequencing about the terror that is happening with you.
And like always I'm beaten by my body,
my heart,
my breath,
thats when I end,
you come out when you're done to check I'm ok,
but then I gaze into your lush eyes,
I'm to scared to gaze anywhere else,
just incase I see something that further scares me,
you then just watch me slip away.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 3:22 PM UTC