Citatepedia^®.com

Many medicines, few cures.

Traditional proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Gods live in our nerves.

Aching is pain and nuisance
Severity varies in annoyance,
Tooth ache, Head ache, stomach ache,
And Body ache. Do we forget to take,
Medicines for these aches and freaks,
We will be and pain killers we seek,
We may forget to take medicines,
For many disorders in blood and functions,
Which not affect our nerves at once,
But the effects are severe and life threatening,
Without the prescribed medicines,
We may not lead the healthy life,
Take your medicines regularly,
follow the advice of physicians,
For the disorders and diseases,
That we are blessed to have and suffer.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Lady Of La Garaye - Part IV

SILENT old gateway! whose two columns stand
Like simple monuments on either hand;
No trellised iron-work, with pleasant view
Of trim-set flowery gardens shining through;
No bolts to bar unasked intruders out;
No well-oiled hinge whose sound, like one low note
Of music, tells the listening hearts that yearn,
Expectant of dear footsteps, where to turn;
No ponderous bell whose loud vociferous tone
Into the rose-decked lodge hath echoing gone,
Bringing the porter forth with brief delay,
To spread those iron wings that check the way;
Nothing but ivy-leaves, and crumbling stone;
Silent old gateway,--even thy life is gone!

But ere those columns, lost in ivvied shade,
Black on the midnight sky their forms portrayed;
And ere thy gate, by damp weeds overtopped,
Swayed from its rusty fastenings and then dropped,--
When it stood portal to a living home,
And saw the living faces go and come,
What various minds, and in what various moods,
Crossed the fair paths of these sweet solitudes!

Old gateway, thou hast witnessed times of mirth,
When light the hunter's gallop beat the earth;
When thy quick wakened echo could but know
Laughter and happy voices, and the flow
Of jocund spirits, when the pleasant sight
Of broidered dresses (careless youth's delight,)
Trooped by at sunny morn, and back at falling night.

And thou hast witnessed triumph,--when the Bride
Passed through,--the stately Bridegroom at her side;
The village maidens scattering many a flower,
Bright as the bloom of living beauty's dower,
With cheers and shouts that bid the soft tears rise
Of joy exultant, in her downcast eyes.
And thou hadst gloom, when,--fallen from beauty's state,--
Her mournful litter rustled through the gate,
And the wind waved its branches as she past,--
And the dishevelled curls around her cast,
Rose on that breeze and kissed, before they fell,
The iron scroll-work with a wild farewell!

And thou hast heard sad dirges chanted low,
And sobbings loud from those who saw with woe
The feet borne forward by a funeral train,
Which homeward never might return again,
Nor in the silence of the frozen nights

[...] Read more

poem by Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Remedy of Love

When Cupid read this title, straight he said,
'Wars, I perceive, against me will be made.'
But spare, oh Love! to tax thy poet so,
Who oft bath borne thy ensign 'gainst thy foe;
I am not he by whom thy mother bled,
When she to heaven on Mars his horses fled.
I oft, like other youths, thy flame did prove,
And if thou ask, what I do still? I love.
Nay, I have taught by art to keep Love's course,
And made that reason which before was force.
I seek not to betray thee, pretty boy,
Nor what I once have written to destroy.
If any love, and find his mistress kind,
Let him go on, and sail with his own wind;
But he that by his love is discontented,
To save his life my verses were invented.
Why should a lover kill himself? or why
Should any, with his own grief wounded, die?
Thou art a boy, to play becomes thee still,
Thy reign is soft; play then, and do not kill;
Or if thou'lt needs be vexing, then do this,
Make lovers meet by stealth, and steal a kiss
Make them to fear lest any overwatch them,
And tremble when they think some come to catch them;
And with those tears that lovers shed all night,
Be thou content, but do not kill outright.—
Love heard, and up his silver wings did heave,
And said, 'Write on; I freely give thee leave.'
Come then, all ye despised, that love endure,
I, that have felt the wounds, your love will cure;
But come at first, for if you make delay,
Your sickness will grow mortal by your stay:
The tree, which by delay is grown so big,
In the beginning was a tender twig;
That which at first was but a span in length,
Will, by delay, be rooted past men's strength.
Resist beginnings, medicines bring no curing
Where sickness is grown strong by long enduring.
When first thou seest a lass that likes thine eye,
Bend all thy present powers to descry
Whether her eye or carriage first would shew
If she be fit for love's delights or no:
Some will be easy, such an one elect;
But she that bears too grave and stern aspect,
Take heed of her, and make her not thy jewel,
Either she cannot love, or will be cruel.
If love assail thee there, betime take heed,
Those wounds are dangerous that inward bleed;
He that to-day cannot shake off love's sorrow,
Will certainly be more unapt to-morrow.

[...] Read more

poem by Francis Beaumont
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Pain, Sign of Human Mortality

Pain pulsates
as the clock tick tocks
Should pain be dependent
on medicines?
And what if medicines
cannot appease
the pulsating pain?
When can every one
be freed from
the malady of pain?
Why is pain made
the sign of the coming end?
Why is there pain
to announce
our mortal human frame?

poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

When I was going home

When I was going home

the darkness was around,

nobody on the street, indeed.

I saw an old woman,

she was a dandelion like, .

she rummaged in the refuse bins

which were all alike.

She was the one who's got her pension

'in the proportion with her job'.

I wouldn't like here to mention

that she was just robbed.

She bought the medicines

had not enough for food,

she bought the food

had not enough for medicines.

...And close to the refuse bins

there was a stall

and boxes with the fruit were near by.

'It looks you're pushed of money'-

she heard the voice.

'take some from here,

it's much better choice.'

She smiled sadly and

I've heard her answer:

'Can't take anothers'.

[...] Read more

poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Modern Medicines Aid Natures Immune Systems

“alternative medicine
in natural resources
blossoms barks leaves
betray a vibrancy
infused life force

invisible to naked
sterile microscope
blind western eyes
yet Hippocrates spoke of
‘vis medicatrix naturace’

in antique 400 B.C.”

guiding principles
of Hippocratic medicine
organisms contain
healing powers of nature

Hippocrates believed
that an organism
is not passive immune
to injuries or disease

an organism rebalances
itself to counteract
attack injuries diseases
any state of illness

is not a malady but
an effort of our bodies
to overcome disturbed
state of equilibrium

this capacity of organisms
to correct imbalances
distinguishes organisms
from non-living matter

from this follows
the medical approach
“nature is the best physician”
“nature is the healer of disease”

amazingly all top
pharmaceutical
companies agree
all exceptional

medicines healing balms

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Alcoholism In Tamil Nadu, S.India

How to send them to school clean and tidy,
When they have to pass through the muddy roads,
All politicians of my country should walk on this path,
Before they go to the state assembly and Parliament,
Let them teach us how they keep their white shoes, white,
Let them teach us how to carry these bags in rain, not wet,
Let them teach us how to survive with rationed food and water,
Let them go through all these hardship to develop this country,
But most of them have gone through what we go through,
But they forget the past and seek the friendship of rich and high,
Half of my countrymen are dirt poor and dirtier than dirt,
Even in their new clothes they wear once in many blue moon year,
Our children are malnourished and their medicines are stolen,
The milk is adulterated, the medicines are adulterated,
What is not adulterated where the poor men buy from,
Intelligent people are serving themselves in fine dining,
While my poor countrymen drink and save the revenue,
For the state government, Let our men be the alcoholics,
Let our women suffer, Let our children starve and spoil,
Let the government of Tamil Nadu, prosper in distillery.
Shame on everyone who can think for others, not for their own.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Union Cures The Illness

For any illness,
The symptoms and signs are within oneself, but
The cure is obtaining medicines from source outside;

Whereas,
For the illness of a well jeweled mistress
Who is longing for union with lover,
She herself is the medicine,
Union cures the illness.

poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Medicines Bitter Bite Belief

Medicines
raw mind games

bitter tastes
believes

cures
elixir infusions

lures
body rebel recoveries

poem by Terence George Craddock
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Priests Plunge into Hell

When the mentally deranged
run here and there, or from floor to floor,
look at people around with doubt,
envy over brothers and sisters,
resign jobs in series being unsatisfied,
take ruinous steps to kill themselves,
find fault with the education
their parents were afforded to give them,
pester their parents for money
to give as bribe for a well-paid job,
drive the two wheelers in a furious speed,
the fake priests of religions
rush to cure them
with oil called the blood of some God
to be smeared over the head and body,
or with some black paste.
The mentally sick are chained
and splashed with holy water,
saying it drove the evil spirit out of them.
Those who fall under the spell of devils
display symptoms different
with accompanying fever and shouts.
The poor and ignorant people
fail to take their mind afflicted kin
to a psychiatric clinic
and let the insanity growing.

These priests and touts of asylums
roam in the premises of hospitals,
to lure the people out before the doctors,
advise them against costly treatment.
The gullible people abandon their kin
at asylums believing miracle cures.
The disordered are fettered,
and shut into darker corridors
and tortured by those with cruel mind.
The public hospitals lack medicines
to treat these people ill at brains.
The rulers are to be counseled
for equipping the primary health centers
with blocks for mental care centers.
Patients who need tablets at the start
are left uncared to be treated costly later.
When we fail to take the retarded
to a psychiatrist early,
God will laugh at our folly.
People pipe funds to the terrorists
but do not donate to the care of the batty.

poem by Rajendran Muthiah
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Distance From The Sea

To Ernest Brace

"And when the seven thunders had uttered their voices, I was
about to write: and I heard a voice from heaven saying unto
me, Seal up those things which the seven thunders uttered, and
write them not." --REVELATIONS, x, 4.

That raft we rigged up, under the water,
Was just the item: when he walked,
With his robes blowing, dark against the sky,
It was as though the unsubstantial waves held up
His slender and inviolate feet. The gulls flew over,
Dropping, crying alone; thin ragged lengths of cloud
Drifted in bars across the sun. There on the shore
The crowd's response was instantaneous. He
Handled it well, I thought--the gait, the tilt of the head, just right.
Long streaks of light were blinding on the waves.
And then we knew our work well worth the time:
The days of sawing, fitting, all those nails,
The tiresome rehearsals, considerations of execution.
But if you want a miracle, you have to work for it,
Lay your plans carefully and keep one jump
Ahead of the crowd. To report a miracle
Is a pleasure unalloyed; but staging one requires
Tact, imagination, a special knack for the job
Not everyone possesses. A miracle, in fact, means work.
--And now there are those who have come saying
That miracles were not what we were after. But what else
Is there? What other hope does life hold out
But the miraculous, the skilled and patient
Execution, the teamwork, all the pain and worry every miracle involves?

Visionaries tossing in their beds, haunted and racked
By questions of Messiahship and eschatology,
Are like the mist rising at nightfall, and come,
Perhaps to even less. Grave supernaturalists, devoted worshippers
Experience the ecstasy (such as it is), but not
Our ecstasy. It was our making. Yet sometimes
When the torrent of that time
Comes pouring back, I wonder at our courage
And our enterprise. It was as though the world
Had been one darkening, abandoned hall
Where rows of unlit candles stood; and we
Not out of love, so much, or hope, or even worship, but
Out of the fear of death, came with our lights
And watched the candles, one by one, take fire, flames
Against the long night of our fear. We thought
That we could never die. Now I am less convinced.
--The traveller on the plain makes out the mountains
At a distance; then he loses sight. His way

[...] Read more

poem by Weldon Kees
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Surgery and Divorce

A heart surgery cures one’s heart.
A divorce cures the hearts of the both.
One gives health and the other, relief.
View the divorce as you view the surgery.

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Canto the Twelfth

I
Of all the barbarous middle ages, that
Which is most barbarous is the middle age
Of man; it is -- I really scarce know what;
But when we hover between fool and sage,
And don't know justly what we would be at --
A period something like a printed page,
Black letter upon foolscap, while our hair
Grows grizzled, and we are not what we were; --

II
Too old for youth, -- too young, at thirty-five,
To herd with boys, or hoard with good threescore, --
I wonder people should be left alive;
But since they are, that epoch is a bore:
Love lingers still, although 't were late to wive;
And as for other love, the illusion's o'er;
And money, that most pure imagination,
Gleams only through the dawn of its creation.

III
O Gold! Why call we misers miserable?
Theirs is the pleasure that can never pall;
Theirs is the best bower anchor, the chain cable
Which holds fast other pleasures great and small.
Ye who but see the saving man at table,
And scorn his temperate board, as none at all,
And wonder how the wealthy can be sparing,
Know not what visions spring from each cheese-paring.

IV
Love or lust makes man sick, and wine much sicker;
Ambition rends, and gaming gains a loss;
But making money, slowly first, then quicker,
And adding still a little through each cross
(Which will come over things), beats love or liquor,
The gamester's counter, or the statesman's dross.
O Gold! I still prefer thee unto paper,
Which makes bank credit like a bank of vapour.

V
Who hold the balance of the world? Who reign
O'er congress, whether royalist or liberal?
Who rouse the shirtless patriots of Spain? [*]
(That make old Europe's journals squeak and gibber all.)
Who keep the world, both old and new, in pain
Or pleasure? Who make politics run glibber all?
The shade of Buonaparte's noble daring? --
Jew Rothschild, and his fellow-Christian, Baring.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Tale XXI

The Learned Boy

An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and

hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Sacred Geometry of The Sun Gods

the time has arrived
we acknowledge the knowledge
the Taurus the tetra hydra

sacred geometry of the sun gods
the breath of the universe
the secret the key the formula
zero point or free energy

life's blue print the pattern
the flow self regulated balanced
always whole

the source of ancient wisdom passed
down in art in code

direct our love to develop innovate
create

utilizing the energy extracted from
the space surrounding everything

let us end the federal fraud
the practices of fractional reserve
the monopolization and suppression
of ideas cures education and innovation
offer real cures to the ills plaguing the world

end the oil greed gluttony mentality
making zero point energy available to all
stop breeding docile obedient consumers
invest in innovation and job creation
build up our communities

transparency and truth to supplant
the vague notions and opaque speculations

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Golden Legend: Prologue & 1.

THE SPIRE OF STRASBURG CATHEDRAL.

Night and storm. LUCIFER, with the Powers of the
Air, trying to tear down the Cross.

_Lucifer._ HASTEN! hasten!
O ye spirits!
From its station drag the ponderous
Cross of iron, that to mock us
Is uplifted high in air!

_Voices._ O, we cannot!
For around it
All the Saints and Guardian Angels
Throng in legions to protect it;
They defeat us everywhere!

_The Bells._ Laudo Deum verum
Plebem voco!
Congrego clerum!

_Lucifer._ Lower! lower!
Hover downward!
Seize the loud, vociferous bells, and
Clashing, clanging, to the pavement
Hurl them from their windy tower!

_Voices._ All thy thunders
Here are harmless!
For these bells have been anointed,
And baptized with holy water!
They defy our utmost power.

_The Bells. Defunctos ploro!
Pestem fugo!
Festa decoro!

_Lucifer._ Shake the casements!
Break the painted
Panes that flame with gold and crimson!
Scatter them like leaves of Autumn,
Swept away before the blast!

_Voices._ O, we cannot!
The Archangel
Michael flames from every window,
With the sword of fire that drove us
Headlong, out of heaven, aghast!

_The Bells._ Funera plango!

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Hind And The Panther, A Poem In Three Parts : Part III.

Much malice, mingled with a little wit,
Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ;
Because the muse has peopled Caledon
With panthers, bears, and wolves, and beasts unknown,
As if we were not stocked with monsters of our own.
Let Æsop answer, who has set to view
Such kinds as Greece and Phrygia never knew;
And Mother Hubbard, in her homely dress,
Has sharply blamed a British lioness;
That queen, whose feast the factious rabble keep,
Exposed obscenely naked, and asleep.
Led by those great examples, may not I
The wonted organs of their words supply?
If men transact like brutes, 'tis equal then
For brutes to claim the privilege of men.
Others our Hind of folly will indite,
To entertain a dangerous guest by night.
Let those remember, that she cannot die,
Till rolling time is lost in round eternity;
Nor need she fear the Panther, though untamed,
Because the Lion's peace was now proclaimed;
The wary savage would not give offence,
To forfeit the protection of her prince;
But watched the time her vengeance to complete,
When all her furry sons in frequent senate met;
Meanwhile she quenched her fury at the flood,
And with a lenten salad cooled her blood.
Their commons, though but coarse, were nothing scant,
Nor did their minds an equal banquet want.
For now the Hind, whose noble nature strove
To express her plain simplicity of love,
Did all the honours of her house so well,
No sharp debates disturbed the friendly meal.
She turned the talk, avoiding that extreme,
To common dangers past, a sadly-pleasing theme;
Remembering every storm which tossed the state,
When both were objects of the public hate,
And dropt a tear betwixt for her own children's fate.
Nor failed she then a full review to make
Of what the Panther suffered for her sake;
Her lost esteem, her truth, her loyal care,
Her faith unshaken to an exiled heir,
Her strength to endure, her courage to defy,
Her choice of honourable infamy.
On these, prolixly thankful, she enlarged;
Then with acknowledgments herself she charged;
For friendship, of itself an holy tie,
Is made more sacred by adversity.
Now should they part, malicious tongues would say,
They met like chance companions on the way,

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Feeding On Evil

The creating of rivalries that eventually leave,
People improverished...
Builds up feelings of being superior,
And strengthens mental securities...
Of those with low self esteem,
Who practice with weapons to destroy human beings.

Those with thoughts like this,
Are no different than a cancer allow to grow.
Even though the cures to relieve these agonies,
Have long been made available.
But fear has it advantages,
To benefit the ones unconscious.

It's in the advertising of good hype,
That keeps people supporting...
The creation of fears and misdeeds,
With beliefs those of deceit and greed...
Actually have sensibilities to heal wounds.
They wont since it's not to their best interest.

The creating of rivalries that eventually leave,
People improverished...
Is,
For reasons to be left condoned...
To diminish all quality of life as shown.
And the ending of humanity if not stopped.

Even though,
The cures to relieve agonies that come...
With an intentional implementation of grief that is done,
Have long been made available to eliminate sorrows.
To ensure this existence of life,
Is enjoyed by everyone blessed to be gifted with it.

The markings left by the beast feeding on evil increased,
Will be decreased to cease and soon!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Voice Of The Apostle

while laying in my bed one night, i saw such a beautiful sight
an angel came to me and whispered in my ear ever so gently.
do not be afraid my child, i have been with you for a long while.
deep within you there is a task that must be done.
the lord has chosen you to be the one
to spread the word just like so many have done before
it will be your job forever more.
the lord is tired of seeing death and destruction every where
and not many people who really care.
destroying all the beauties of the earth.
the grass, the trees, the ocean blue
it was given to me and you.
not so it can be destroyed by the hand of man.
now it's time to take a stand.
the cures for all the sicknesses are given to us at birth
it is here on this earth.
cures are found all around, even deep in the ground.
we cannot continue destroying what the lord has given us.
this is the reason that he sent his son.
so that in our mind we could see
what he has done for humanity.

poem by Louis Rams
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Hudibras: Part 3 - Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

The Knight and Squire resolve, at once,
The one the other to renounce.
They both approach the Lady's Bower;
The Squire t'inform, the Knight to woo her.
She treats them with a Masquerade,
By Furies and Hobgoblins made;
From which the Squire conveys the Knight,
And steals him from himself, by Night.

'Tis true, no lover has that pow'r
T' enforce a desperate amour,
As he that has two strings t' his bow,
And burns for love and money too;
For then he's brave and resolute,
Disdains to render in his suit,
Has all his flames and raptures double,
And hangs or drowns with half the trouble,
While those who sillily pursue,
The simple, downright way, and true,
Make as unlucky applications,
And steer against the stream their passions.
Some forge their mistresses of stars,
And when the ladies prove averse,
And more untoward to be won
Than by CALIGULA the Moon,
Cry out upon the stars, for doing
Ill offices to cross their wooing;
When only by themselves they're hindred,
For trusting those they made her kindred;
And still, the harsher and hide-bounder
The damsels prove, become the fonder.
For what mad lover ever dy'd
To gain a soft and gentle bride?
Or for a lady tender-hearted,
In purling streams or hemp departed?
Leap'd headlong int' Elysium,
Through th' windows of a dazzling room?
But for some cross, ill-natur'd dame,
The am'rous fly burnt in his flame.
This to the Knight could be no news,
With all mankind so much in use;
Who therefore took the wiser course,
To make the most of his amours,
Resolv'd to try all sorts of ways,
As follows in due time and place

No sooner was the bloody fight,
Between the Wizard, and the Knight,

[...] Read more

poem by Samuel Butler
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!