www.perpetualcommotion.com
"Give with a free hand, but give only your
own."
-- J.R.R. Tolkien The Children
of Hurin
Poems
I have nothing to sell you but hope, and
that I give you for free.
I found these poems on a message
board. I have no idea if the story behind the origin of this poem is
true, I doubt it, but both version of the poems I think stand on their
own:
When
an
old
man
died
in
the geriatric ward of a small hospital near Tampa,
Florida, it was believed that
he had nothing left of any value.
Later, when the nurses were
going through his meager 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
Missouri. The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the
Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental
Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but
eloquent, poem.
And this little old man, with
nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem
winging across the Internet.
Crabby Old Man
What do you see nurses? ..What
do you see?
What are you thinking.....when
you're looking at me?
A crabby 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's 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.
Tis jest to make old age
....look like a fool.
The body, it
crumbles..........grace and vigor, depart.
There is now a
stone.......where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass
...... A young guy 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 crabby old man. Look
closer....see........ME!!
Crabby Old Woman
What do you see‚ nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking
When you're looking at me?
A crabby old woman‚
Not very wise‚
Uncertain of habit‚
With faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her 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
stocking 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 girl of sixteen
With wings on her feet
Dreaming that soon now
A lover she'll meet.
A bride 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 woman 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 man's 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 husband is 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 woman
And nature is cruel;
'Tis 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 girl 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 crabby old woman;
Look closer . . . see ME!!
GROWING OLDER??
Just a line to say I'm living,
That I'm not among the dead,
Though I'm getting more
forgetful
and mixed up in my head.
For sometimes I can't remember
When I stand at foot of stairs
If I must go up for something
Or I've just come down from
there.
And, before the frig, so often
My poor mind is filled with
doubt-
Have I just put food away, or
Have I come to take some out?
And, sometimes, when it is dark
out
And my nightcap's on my head
I don't know if I'm retiring
Or just getting out of bed.
So, if it's my turn to write
you,
There's no need in getting sore,
I may think that I have written
And don't want to be a bore.
So, remember, I do love you
And I wish that you were here,
But it's getting close to mail
time...
So I'll just say "Goodbye,
Dear".
Here I stand beside the mail box
With my face so very red.
I think I came to mail a letter
But,I'm reading one
instead......
This poem was written by a 13 year old boy who died of a brain tumor
that he had
battled for four years. He died on December 14, 1997. He gave this to
his mom
before he died. His name was Ben.
My First
Christmas in Heaven
I see the countless Christmas trees around the world below
With tiny lights, like Heaven's
stars, reflecting on the snow
The sight is so spectacular,
please wipe away the tear
For I am spending Christmas
with Jesus Christ this year.
I hear the many Christmas songs
that people hold so dear
But the sounds of music can't
compare with the Christmas choir up here.
I have no words to tell you,
the joy their voices bring,
For it is beyond description,
to hear the angels sing.
I know how much you miss me, I
see the pain inside your heart.
But I am not so far away, We
really aren't apart.
So be happy for me, dear ones,
You know I hold you dear.
And be glad I'm spending
Christmas with Jesus Christ this year.
I sent you each a special gift,
from my heavenly home above.
I sent you each a memory of my
undying love.
After all, love is a gift more
precious than pure gold.
It was always most important
the stories Jesus told.
Please love and keep each
other, my Father said to do.
I can't count the blessing or
love has for each of you.
So have a Merry Christmas and
Wipe away that tear
Remember, I am spending
Christmas with Jesus Christ this year
[Title
Unknown]
You didn’t die just recently,
You died some time ago.
Although your body stayed a
while,
And didn’t really know.
For you had got Alzheimer’s,
You failed to comprehend.
Your body went on living,
But your mind had reached it’s
end.
So we’ve already said,
“Goodbye”,
To the person that we knew.
The person that we truly loved,
The person that was “You”.
And so we meet again today,
To toast your body’s end.
For it was true and faithful,
Until the very end.
And so, when we remember,
We’ll think of all the rest.
We’ll concentrate on earlier,
And remember all the best.
For in the larger scheme of
things,
Your illness wasn’t long.
Compared to all the happiness
You brought your whole life
long.
We think of you as yesterday,
When you were fit and well.
And when we’re asked about you,
It’s those things that we’ll
tell.
And so we meet in memory,
Of a mind so fit and true.
We’re here to pay our last
respect,
To say that “We Love You”.
-Dick Underwood 2010
LOVE IN THE TIME
OF CORTICOBASAL
DEGENERATION
by Vesper Fe Marie Llaneza
Ramos, MD
I am holding your hand.
I am.
I hold your hand.
Your hand
In mine.
I am holding your hand.
I do not understand
What is going on with you
I mean it this time.
The doctors explain
But they cannot do so
Enough.
You are the strong man
In my life
My wall, my life
The love, the light
Of my life.
We built our home.
We made our family.
With both our arms.
Both our arms.
And hopes and hearts.
The doctor tells me
It is exhausting
To care for
Someone like you.
I am tired
Weary
Afraid.
But what do I do?
What can I do?
You deny your illness
And it is not you
Just being my stubborn man.
I wish I could
Have this
"Anosognosia" too.
How can that loving arm,
An arm whose embrace
I know too well
Ever be alien to me
As it is now to you?
You carried me
With that arm,
You drove me
Wild—to the hospital
You clapped
At the sight of our firstborn
And at her first step
And at her graduation,
You clapped.
Now you cannot write
After all those love letters
You cannot write.
Nor copy
Intersecting pentagons.
When you made
Our daughter's dollhouse
With the most perfect measure
And love, and warmth.
I remember.
The doctors say
There is nothing—
Nothing wrong
With that arm.
Remains warm.
But your brain
Does not know
It is there.
How can you not know?
I am terrified
Of seeing
The panic in your eyes
"Where is my arm?"
"Where is my arm?"
The doctor holds your hand
And tells you she is holding it
You ask her
"Is that my arm or yours?"
The student is amazed
A grown man
Cannot tell
His arm is there.
Published in the November 9,
2010 issue
of the journal "Neurology."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
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Updated: November 27,
2010
Inception: January 7, 2010