Posts Tagged ‘Poem’

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were going through his meagre possessions, They found this poem. Its quality and content so impressed the staff that copies were made and distributed to every nurse in the hospital.
One nurse took her copy to Melbourne .. The oldman’s sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas editions of magazines around the country and appearing in mags for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.
And this old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet.Cranky Old Man…..
What do you see nurses? . . .. . .What do you see?
What are you thinking .. . when you’re looking at me?
A cranky old man, . . . . . .not very wise,
Uncertain of habit .. . . . . . . .. with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles his food .. . … . . and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice . .’I do wish you’d try!’
Who seems not to notice . . .the things that you do.
And forever is losing . . . . . .. . . A sock or shoe?
Who, resisting or not . . . … lets you do as you will,
With bathing and feeding . . . .The long day to fill?
Is that what you’re thinking?. .Is that what you see?
Then open your eyes, nurse .you’re not looking at me.
I’ll tell you who I am . . . . .. As I sit here so still,
As I do at your bidding, .. . . . as I eat at your will.
I’m a small child of Ten . .with a father and mother,
Brothers and sisters .. . . .. . who love one another
A young boy of Sixteen . . . .. with wings on his feet
Dreaming that soon now . . .. . . a lover he’ll meet.
A groom soon at Twenty . . . ..my heart gives a leap.
Remembering, the vows .. .. .that I promised to keep.
At Twenty-Five, now . . . . .I have young of my own.
Who need me to guide . . . And a secure happy home.
A man of Thirty . .. . . . . My young now grown fast,
Bound to each other . . .. With ties that should last.
At Forty, my young sons .. .have grown and are gone,
But my woman is beside me . . to see I don’t mourn.
At Fifty, once more, .. …Babies play ’round my knee,
Again, we know children . . . . My loved one and me.
Dark days are upon me . . . . My wife is now dead.
I look at the future … . . . . I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing .. . . young of their own.
And I think of the years . . . And the love that I’ve known.
I’m now an old man . . . . . . .. and nature is cruel.
It’s jest to make old age . . . . . . . look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles .. .. . grace and vigour, depart.
There is now a stone . . . where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass . A young man still dwells,
And now and again . . . . . my battered heart swells
I remember the joys . . . . .. . I remember the pain.
And I’m loving and living . . . . . . . life over again.
I think of the years, all too few . . .. gone too fast.
And accept the stark fact . . . that nothing can last.
So open your eyes, people .. . . . .. . . open and see.
Not a cranky old man .
Look closer . . . . see .. .. . .. …. . ME!!
Remember this poem when you next meet an older person who you might brush aside without looking at the young soul within … . . .
we will all, one day, be there, too!
The best and most beautiful things of this world can’t be seen or touched.
Shared by “Kalika”

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The roots are sharing again

The drums are captivating the space

The whispers can be heard all through

It is not our ears that will be listening

Your story is waiting within the branches

Will it withstand the gusts of wind?

Or snap with forced movement?

The roots are singing again

The dancers have embedded their movements

Assertively, with grace

It is not our body that will be swaying

You are open for all to see

Do you welcome the observers?

Or hide within the leaves?

The roots are crying again

The animals have joined to celebrate

The cleansing has begun

It is not our hands that will wipe away the remnants

A new season has turned

Will you grow a little more?

Or overwhelm with the harsh change?

The roots are in ceremony again

The smoke is in the clearing

Stillness calls for all

It is not our mind that will trick us here

Your story is retold

How much will you recognize?

Or shelter will you seek?

The roots are birthing again

The Earth is scattering seeds

New blossoms share your nutrients

It is not our food that is providing strength

It is your time to hold the story

Don’t worry if you forget the words

They have been kept safely for you.

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My voice goes unheard, rhaspy and strained against the cold night not unlike the souls of those oppressed; slowly ebbing away to oblivion. Like a quantity of dust left to the whim of the wind tossed this way and that, my voice goes unheard.

As tears fall like the bricks in my wall, you realize I am Human and the Human condition is not pretty, not everyone is happy and to believe so is laughable. An exercise in ignorance, which ironically, makes me smile.


I think the lonely world that I live in was perhaps self imposed at the beginning but has now become the invisible prison that I can never escape. When all we yearn for is a single soul to understand our own, the greatest pain is realizing it will never be. There is no one around me that I can feel that connected to, or share my heart with and in the absence of that emotional warmth, I only have the cold expanse of the Internet to document my human condition. ~~Anonymous

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No one can say for sure, why we enter and exit this Earth as we do.

But I do know, it is not an end, we do continue.

To protect and assist all those we have loved, each soul we have ever moved.

With our smiles, our laughter, all the ways in which we lived our lives.

Even the ways we said goodbye,

Means much more than most realise.

Moments lived, made more wise.

By every one of us here and gone.

We must not linger on, in the sadness of death.

For somewhere beyond our world, you have taken your first breath.

Of the Heavenly unknown, in which we hope you are shown

Love at its best,

Now friends please lay your head and rest, and remember the good times.

Because although we are sad,

We will celebrate essence,

In our hearts we will find you.


We all lose people in our lives that are important to us. This poem is about life on earth once once our friends have left us, and knowing they are still with us in spirit.

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