Sonnets Health-Linked


Contamination examination.
Exposure of the diabolical.
Makes public much detailed information
about the scandal anatomical.

Infected blood given as transfusions.
Meant to aid, but AIDS instead transmitted.
And hepatitis. Awful inclusions.
The disaster, now, to be admitted.

But how did it happen? Who decided?
On what basis? When was the mistake known?
To whom, then, was the secret confided?
The extent of the cruel cover-up shown.

Made clear, the ‘guilt’ and ramifications.
Real people suffered real implications.


What if I wake up mentally deranged;
mixture of discordant thoughts in my head?
Much of what passes for normal, seem strange.
Not knowing what it is I should expect.

What if I were confused, but not worried?
Don’t really make much sense of anything.
Can manage my routines, if unhurried;
and can just wait for what the day might bring.

What if I have moments I understand?
Where understanding of my condition
comes through the foggy mist of my mind, bland.
My world would be subject to revision.

Be no interest in current affairs.
Much more besides, of which be unawares.


What rhymes with ‘syrup of fumitory’?
Don’t know what it tastes like, but if it’s bad,
may well be ‘a cup of purgatory’.
Although if it does the trick, I’ll be glad.

I do not know if it is a tincture,
as that includes an alcohol soaking.
That, no doubt, a thought that is premature.
A glass of spirit, to drink, invoking.

Fumitory is a weed. A weak one.
The stem quickly flops, so the plant down low.
Medicine, the Romans made it become.
Its use, their apothecaries would know.

It healed skin diseases in its glory.
Cure for more now, fumitory’s story.


“If I died tomorrow”, she said to me,
“I would have nothing to grumble about”.
“All the medication I’ve had for free,
would have cost a lot, or I’d be without”.

The difference between NHS here,
and US health system where have to pay,
is that there, many patients disappear,
not treated, or have bad drugs pushed their way.

But, ‘nothing to grumble about, when dead’,
connects ‘nothing’ and ‘dead’, amazingly.
She meant ‘nothing whilst alive’, when this said,
as dead is nothing for eternity.

So, phrase to do with all her health treatments,
connected with me, with significance.


“This is the largest front door I have seen”,
said the ambulance worker, “on a house”.
Room for her, and contraptions, entering
and then to leave with the patient, my spouse.

With that, took my wife to the hospital.
Her heart pain to be checked-out and removed,
so that her condition acceptable.
The worry about it suitably soothed.

I’m left thinking, ‘the door as a gateway’.
In this instance for treatment, medical.
For easy passing through without delay.
On to who knows? A place ethereal?

Carried out on a stretcher, as I lay,
eventually, on, through the gateway.


Smell, touch, taste, hearing, sight. The five senses.
I think probably arrived on the scene
in that order. My guess, is what this is.
I’m talking about first time it has been.

First breath, possibly, and with it could smell
Nothing for the nose to do in the womb.
Then close between touch and taste. Hard to tell.
Both arrived in the maternity room.

Touched, then the feeling of warmth as comfort.
The initial feed on the mother’s milk.
Hearing, evolution’s tool to protect
To hear beasts approach, this safety in-built.

Vision, too, after period when blind.
Amazingly, all work well with the mind.


Read my ‘The Order of Senses’ poem
to my neighbour and her response surprised.
She talked of the order of them going,
not starting, as I assumed and described.

Mine was evolutionary guesswork.
What caused humans to develop senses.
Order to babies now, did not assert.
Was musing on my part, my defence is.

When die, I should think all go quite quickly.
Her dying father was still sensitive,
reacting to her soft touch distinctly.
The others’, barely noticing what is.

Some think residual ‘sense’ when newly dead.
But blanking out to match that in the head.


Those Zombies running around in my head,
What are they doing there? Aren’t they half-dead?
And shouldn’t they be somewhere else instead,
those Zombies running around in my head?

Those blood-sucking vampires I have in mind,
don’t they know that I’m not one of their kind?
Would feast on my blood until I go blind,
but I have something different in mind.

The wild beasts, from films, alive in my brain,
should be made aware that I’m not the same.
Or victim of theirs, can treat with disdain.
When leave, alive in my brain I remain.

Creatures appear, but have no permanence.
Zombies, though, unwelcome inhabitants.


An endocrinologist’s serum test
to examine all things to do with glands.
Done, be assured, in your best interest,
so medical specialist understands.

He will look at your thyroid condition.
Whether it’s over or under – active.
Make the right medication decision.
How, what you have been on, has impacted.

It’s all about bodily chemicals.
What is in the bloodstream, and what’s lacking.
Changing, for a solution sensible,
the composition, so interacting

for a return to good circulation.
Endocrine, serum, glands … information.

Sonnets Assuming Love.
Sonnets, a bit humorous. Then, a Coffee Break.