Tag: poem

The Birth of PuppyDoc.

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Once upon a time there existed a doc
who had a pet cat and listened to Bach.

This doc was described as, ‘fun, loyal, and lovey,’
therefore she eventually was dubbed the name ‘Puppy.’

In general, this Puppy lived quite a blessed life,
but a life of high pressure and occasional strife.

She loved her profession and for this she was glad, 
but certain times events would make her feel sad.

She cared for her patients and strived to make them well, 
So when they declined, she’d be down with no one to tell. 

In a way, this describes how “Musings” was born–
Because poetry was, in a manner, her way to mourn.

But then little by little came some blogging buddies–
so dear and supportive– for this she felt lucky.

So all you should know that she treasures EACH one of you,
for when reading your blogs…why–she can never be blue! 

In short…this is how a doc who thinks she’s a dog
winds up creating…a poetry blog.

🙂

photo

A big thank you to PlotlessOne for this award.
Your blog is full of awesomeness.

🙂

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Now for my nominations (in alphabetical order):

Christopher of The Brown Bag Special

Colin of A Dog’s Life

Debra of C-Dog & Company

Jane of InLoveLustandLaughter

Noodle of The Adventures of Noodle

Pam and Sammy of OneSpoiledCat

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And finally, PuppyDoc’s encouragement to new bloggers: 

Keep on blogging your heart out!
You may not know it, but what you write is making a difference to someone, somewhere.

🙂

With Love, 

PuppyDoc

The Flawed Physician.

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She stands facing a closed door.

Your door.

As her gaze converges onto
enameled surface, she notes its
texture- the evenness a comfort to
a moment of hesitation within.
Smooth and finished–flowing
imprints mapping the course of
fine fibers swept over timber.

Flawless.

She makes a move to knock,
but her hand pauses,
and for a moment she wonders
whether you will find her pleasant.
Whether she will be worthy of your trust.
Whether you will believe in her.

Because she is flawed.

Like veneer upon wooden door, she
is but a polished version of herself.
As she again surveys its exterior,
she is let in upon a different truth–
that from underneath the surface
the grain peeks through, coarse
and jagged, its valleys exposed,
blemish revealed, age betrayed.
It is but fresh lacquer upon a
damaged interior, eroded and
frayed by the stress of time.
Like a white coat to the skin,
it cloaks the imperfection
and vulnerability of that
which lies beneath.

A coat enshrouding
scars of personal defeats–
An awareness
of critical introspection while
striving to exhibit confidence and certainty.
A struggle
to remain objective while
craving to empathize with you.
A hunger
to continue feeling through perpetual
immersion into death and suffering,
while self-preservation casts increasingly
impenetrable layers of emotional shield.
And a fear
of not doing enough, while similarly
recognizing the peril of doing too much.

But as her knuckles meet the door,
she is reminded of an oath–taken
at the dawn of this journey–
an oath of compassion, of
integrity, of humility–
an oath to do no harm.

So as she enters
your room,
she smiles–
for she never forgot its
concluding admonition:

That one would never lose the joy of helping others.

Therefore as an imperfect human being,
she will do her best to ease your suffering,
treat your illness, be your advocate–
Not because it is her obligation,
but because this is her love–

To help her fellow man.

To care for you.

•      •      •

“…may I long experience the joy of healing those who seek my help.”

-Oath of Hippocrates

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caduceus