Limerick Poems About Health | Health Limerick Poems
Poem Details | by Duke Beaufort |
Categories: happiness, life, peace,

Ode to occupy wall street

The middle class here can't be saved
When 0.001% act so depraved
Their wealth without end
These royals* still pretend
Did not come from us—their 
enslaved**


*The Royals: CEOs, Banksters, Revolving Door Regulators, The FED, Congressmen for sale, Lobbyists, Board Members of Big Corporations, Major Shareholders who vote for these Board 
Members, Corrupt Managers, Dishonest Used Car Salesmen, Presidential Candidates with more than two Residences, Elected Presidents (and their lackeys who pretend to regulate but look the other way)

**The Enslaved: Workers, Career Regulators who are trying to protect the public, Honest Hard Working Citizens, Students--some with oppressive loans, Immigrants, Soldiers, Police, Firemen and Firewomen, Parents, Children, Orphans, Disabled, The Sick, Small Business Owners (who don’t hire lobbyists), Volunteers, Health Care Workers, Welfare Recipients, Inventors, Investors, Entrepreneurs, Actors, Artists, Journalists who do in-depth investigation (not like those with FOX News, ABC Radio or many other of the outlets where they mouth the status quo), Non Profit Corporations, Charities, Teachers, Transportation Workers, Waiters and Waitresses, Dishwashers, Servants, Farmers, Managers, Ship Hands, Cooks, Unemployed   

Author' s Note:  Have been at Occupy Wall Street 8 days in the past two months--which is why I haven't been here--plus I have to work Miss you all, but it's for a good cause I am very briefly seen on Conan's feature: Triumph the Insult Comic Dog at Occupy Wall Street if you are looking for some humor with a little umph.


Poem Details | by Robert A. Dufresne |
Categories: introspection

Listing to Port

There was a fellow riding a certain train,
And he posted an unpopular refrain,
In it he said, the innocents are dead,
With politicians and voters to blame.

To choose is what many profess, 
And we wouldn’t have anything less,
But our elected use quill, translate that to kill,
And babes end in a mell of a hess.

And into a health bill of lying rot,
They force objectors to kill who would not,
Adding more of their pork to so called choice,
A choice to fool many voters they sought.

Politicians and media corral voters into believing,
Bills laced with hidden agendas they’re feeding.
They make a predator fat as a sly old rat,
At the expense of a still birthed nation in grieving.

When a nation cares more for turtle or whale,
And the desire for virtue goes stale,
You’ll see a Mother’s precious womb,
By choice, become nation’s tomb,
And lawmakers growing a tail.

Don’t let the almighty dollar deceive you,
Or your sense take leave and flee you,
Take a look around before you’re ground,
Into the dust of this obvious preview.

The moral of the story is true and really quite short,
Justice has been given a hell of a thwart,
You may think it queer but the end of freedom is near,
Our great ship is sinking in it’s port.








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Poem Details | by Shirley Candy |
Categories: humorous, me, sick,

A Patient and A Nurse

I'm hospitalized and there was a nurse named Jane
She said I need plenty of sleep for my health attain
She took samples of my urine and then replaced the infusion
She gave me my medicine and always checked on my condition
And every time I tried to sleep, her present made me awake again!




Poem Details | by Beau Regard |
Categories: art, people, father, art,

A Portrait of Vincent VanGogh

To the proud parents, Anna and Theo
A serious lad, silent and thorough
A clan of preachers
And dealers of art
From the southern Netherlands came Van Gogh

When sent to school, he did not want to go
The separation led to much sorrow
But he learned to draw
Whatever he saw
Sent off to sell art in Paris, Van Gogh

His happiest time, and now in love, oh
Till the landlady’s daughter told him no
Now a broken heart
Surly to sell art
Fired from his job in Paris, Van Gogh

Vincent sought out a coal miners’ burrow
A priest of sorts, but a squalid fellow
The church was appalled
And cursed his resolve
To the asylum for crazy Van Gogh?

His father baffled, on the verge of foe
Art interest, once again, began to grow
Back to school again
This time, in His name
To paint in the service of God, Van Gogh

School’s out, back to his parents he would go
Using neighbors as subjects to ditto
Proposed to his cousin
Which she found disgustin’
Burning his hand to see her, holy Van Gogh!?!

Now off to The Hague, a family furlough
To live with Sien, a boozing bimbo
A man to see ya…
Caught gonorrhea
Three weeks in the hospital for Van Gogh

The pain of loneliness drove him back home
Once again, a failed love with fair Margot
Then Vincent’s father died
He grieved deeply inside
The tragedy further refined Van Gogh

Finally, Vincent’s work was in the know
“The Potato Eaters” made an art show
Just add more color
Said his dear brother 
Rubens brightened the dark gloom of Van Gogh

Vincent’s diet: coffee and tobacco
Mixed with absinthe began to take its toll
Though he kept on painting
Then Paris, more training
The end was getting closer for Van Gogh

The masters: Monet, Degas, Pissarro
Cezanne, and Seurat in his studio
Influenced his style
Learning all the while
That time was running out for MrVan Gogh

Then he moved to Arles, bad health in tow
Completing great works the whole world would know 
“Sunflowers” (in vase)
“The Café Terrace”
Minus one ear, the frail, ailing Van Gogh

With his tattered mind, and mournful woe
Committed to the asylum, Mausole
With his final works
“The Church at Auvers”
“Starry Night” was painted in pain, Van Gogh

“At Eternity’s Gate”, he was sorrow
Wandered into a field, farmer’s fallow
Put a bullet in his chest
In hopes of peaceful rest
“The sadness will last forever”, Van Gogh


Poem Details | by Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen |
Categories: angst, animals, life, nostalgia,

A Distempered Horse

There once was a skinny horse name George.
Poor ole soul lived alone in a gorge.
Three fit sheep came his way.
They were traded that day.
Matted, bony, his belly engorged 

Onward He forged, living on the brink.
I’ll save him, one young maiden did think.
Head hung; life was his game.
George, his infamous name.
She prayed; from his needs, she did not shrink.

George would not drink; lips were cracked and dry.
She asked God, “Please don’t let him die.”
Water was his kismet.
Sweet feed filled hope’s bucket.
She cut out mats; whisked away each fly.

Six months later, George was still alive.
Lips were moist; he ate; began to thrive.
With some flesh on his bones,
And relieved of his groans,
The day of her moving would arrive.

The time came when George had to be sold.
Half Arabian, not very old
Registration papers.
The old trader’s capers,
You promised them, the young girl cajoled.

How could he live; does he have luster?
Papers lost; no death by distemper.
Confessions on that day,
The girl went away.
Compassion to the horse did whisper.

New owners bought him, his health still poor.
His price and potential was the big lure.
They quickly changed his name.
Greener pastures, the game.
Star’s beauty became his life’s encore.

© June 7, 2011
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: A Horse Story 	 
Sponsored by: Carol Brown

(Based on a true story)


Poem Details | by Brent Cloyd |
Categories: food, funny, holiday, home,

Two-Fifty-Four

Two-Fifty-Four
©2012 CBrent Cloyd

I bought a new scale at the Wal-Mart store.
Made it secure and level on the floor.
I took a breath, then stepped on.
The digits I saw made me moan.
Surely, I do not weigh two-fifty-four!

Let’s balance the scale, then I’ll try once more.
Adjusted proper, they’ll give the right score.
This time the scales will behave.
I stepped on, tried to be brave.
But with a grin they said “two-fifty-four”.

I would like to throw these scales out the door.
Wish they were lying, but I can’t ignore
I’ve gobbled many things sweet
And chewed on too much red meat.
My expanding poundage is “two-fifty-four”.

My belly is huge, my chin is galore.
Need to lose it, but process is a chore.
Need diet low in fat and starch.
So my stomach will not arch.
Hope to be smaller than “two-fifty-four”.

Would a brisk walk cause my health to restore?
Would losing blubber help me not to snore?
Let’s get startedSoon I say!
Well - after the holiday!
Cause my clothes don’t fit at “two-fifty-four”.














Poem Details | by Duke Beaufort |
Categories: judgement, political,

A ''small'' improvement

Equal pay for all they’ll abort 
It’s the mantra of our Supreme Court
Now some have health care
Marry off any pair 
But keeping us poor is their sport


Author's note: To be fair, the "Affordable Care Act" does (through subsidy) re-distribute some wealth That is why certain politicians hate it!  BTW, it's great for the insurance companies and is not the way real health care should be set up It is, however, an improvement over what we had before In a similar vein, extending rights to gay people (which is a good thing) also may help them economically So, a small but important victory has occurred.

n the grand scheme of things, the inequality that pervades our society is getting worse The politicians say that we have to allow everyone to have expectations and opportunity for improvement When I hear that statement, I think of trickle down economics How can it be anything else when big money owns politics?


Poem Details | by kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr |
Categories: caregiving, fantasy,

POWER OF KINDESS

it strong you carry on
its a feeling
get you reeling
knowing some care
and willing ti share
make you aware
that  its health fitness
the
POWER OF KINDNESS


Poem Details | by Miss Wattle |
Categories: friend, fun,

ODE TO BARRY

ODE TO BARRY There was an old codger named Barry For our firm daily, he'd drive and he'd carry With a grin and a wink, he'd tell jokes galore We'd moan and we'd groan and fall on the floor Many names he's been called - but none of them hairy! 'Twas "Dee's" Transport who paid for his fuel and oil But our firm all day was for whom he did toil He wrapped and he strapped and would load his own truck He'd even been known to clean up our muck A team player for sure - and the salt of the soil! From Trent to Toronto, many towns he resided Why was this gentleman so undecided? A good woman he needed, to love him and care Along came Leanne, a Winnipeg gal so sunny and fair She's the girl of his dreams and NOW he's decided! They moved to T.O- 17 years would pass and they marry at last A good man to be sure - but not very fast! Then it's time to pack up and move out to Trenton A new house they've bought, 'tis peace they are bent on But he has to resign - and we're all so aghast! We'll miss this guy who neither shirked nor did tarry And what will we do with no puns now to parry? He's a friend we'll remember with memories so fond We wish him good times and good health on old Quinte Pond. Yes, this fellow we'll miss - this old codger named Barry! c ELR 2013


Poem Details | by John Weber |
Categories: political, satire

LCD (Looting Contrivance Disease)

The health bill crawls to a finish
thanks to that turncoat, Kucinich,
selling that socialist streak
that renders everyone weak
like Popeye without his spinach.


Poem Details | by Margeret Bailey |
Categories: childhood, mother, political, care,

Momma ate all the childrens' food

Momma ate all the childrens' food!
as she watched the little ones in the neighborhood,
The event created quite a ruckus
and many said she was rude,
yet, what they didn't know about Momma,
is that she was a diabetic,
and had waited too long to snack,
her world started spinning,
It almost faded to black,
She had one biscuit, but that
didn't seem to suffice,
after several, the color began
to come back in her eyes,
for a monent there, we all thought she was
a goner, we didn't care that people revolted and carried
on bad, as her children we felt realy, really sad,
We offered to pay them back from our piggy banks,
but they stoicly said, "No Thanks!"
What were a few packages of Lorna Doones?
Especially for someone who takes care of us rain, shine, even 
during monsoons,
I guess as toddlers it is never too early to learn about class,
What's a person's health worth when it is trickling like an hour glass?


Poem Details | by Gerald Dillenbeck |
Categories: creation, culture, dark, environment,

Professor Gorey

Professor Gorey
always had a story
filled wit guts and grim
til most folks around these parts
those with their full share of smarts
asked her where she grows her monocultural glory.

Grim Reaper
is not my heart's keeper
and I thank you so for asking
just what I see as our life tasking,
to face our fears as permanent sleepers.

Professor Gorey
how could your story
of climatic strangulations
and cataclysmic slaughter of multiple reiterations
do other than make us snorey?

Story can wake you up
if you drink them with half-full inducting cup
rather than gulping with competition
while choking for potential cooperation
between what's contracting down whys expanding up.

What is this mystery
we cannot see?
of breathing ego down while eco-up,
soothing prickly cats for playing gooey pups,
confusing what might become
with how we choose to be?

You've asked me well
so I must tell,
my deep gory fertile mystery
of permaculture ecosystemic history
is what makes our regenerating health 
co-evolve so cooperatively swell,
overcoming cognitive-affective bicameral-dissonance hell.


Poem Details | by Jack Ellison |
Categories: happiness,

A Chivalrous White Knight



Been one of the lucky ones, good health all my life Must be good genes, clean living, it's sure been a slice Still a few years to go Before I leave the show Wonder if I could come back as a chivalrous white knight


Poem Details | by Gregory Cox |
Categories: social

It's how much

The price we pay now thats real funny, we see the price and think of money.

But should they tell the truthful cost, the resources, health and species lost.

Prehaps we would stop and think real deep, before we said I want and take the 
leap.....probably not.


Poem Details | by James Horn |
Categories: happiness, humorous,

She Means Everything Horn Limerick

She Means Everything Horn Limerick

To me, everything she surely means;
Beauty queen you see in a movie scene;
She is of sound body and so energetic;
Husband is paltry as well as pathetic;
Is friends with many health food fiends.

See how many chuckles this gets out
of my wife.

Jim Horn


Poem Details | by James Horn |
Categories: humorous,

Trump On Health Food Binge

Trump On Health Food Binge

Trump was on a health food binge
Was enough to make you cringe
An easier way there must be
Costing nothing and for free
So fat from body he did singe.

Jim Horn

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx


Poem Details | by cheryl hoffman |
Categories: business, health, money,

Nickled and Dimed

Mandatory health insurance is the law,
better have it or you'll feel the lions paw,
penalty a fine,
nickle and dimed,
premiums each year increasing what for?






12-25-16


Poem Details | by James Horn |
Categories: humorous,

Trump and Big Mouth

Trump and Big Mouth

Out from Trump's mouth words were pouring
Telling people he is one they should be adoring
But at his body abruptly they kept staring
War on poor health he must be declaring
And eat plums with prunes every morning.

Jim Horn

http://www.poetrysoup.com/poets/top_100_poets_most_poems_all_time.aspx