What do you see when you look at an older person?

A worthy piece to share from Ernest Slyman’s Facebook Page…Please share

 

https://www.facebook.com/ernest.slyman.9/about

 

 

“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 old man’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!

Slipping Away…

Moonlight, alone in silence ascending my

Stairs once more, below the stars waves

Crash upon a white sandy shore. On the

Hillside my garden too is silent I look out

Over the sea, alone, a star shooting across

The sky, an invisible hand, a fireball thrown.

I wait in the dark, between space and space,

I lift my hands to my face. Who am I, my

Name is unknown to me, I look into the

Mirror yet my eyes cannot see.

The flesh is pallor and pale, the wrinkles…

Each with a story to tell. Hair, white, long

Tied up in a bun…I would leave this place

Nevertheless, I have nowhere to run.

A mournful melody spins in my brain, a tune

That I cannot recall…roses to smell and

Mouths to kiss, in a locked room I hide

From it all. Never will I feel rain drops on my

Cheeks, it is the shadow of death that I try

To cheat.

The heavens are dark and deep, I will forget

These things before I slip into a silent sleep.

From this room I can hear the ocean roar, rain

Falls and dead gutters come alive once more.

Yes, I will forget all of these things before I slip

Into a silent sleep.

 

©2013 ®annjohnsonmurphree

 

 

http://www.amazon.com/Echoing-Images-Soul-Journey-into/dp/1500366811/ref=sr_1_4?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1405934856&sr=1-4&keywords=ann+johnson-murphree

 

 

 

Pseudo Heavens…

untitled

The bitterness, the misery of life, questions for God.

Was it his goodness that took my child, I can believe

in an avenging god if he would tell me what I have done.

 

I have been imprisoned in a chrysalis, beaten, withered,

dust covers my soul. There is no one to find me, no one

to free me from pain and heartache.

 

Hate is a strong word, yet it dwells within my mind, in the

shadowy corners. It hides, waits like a rain cloud that

threatens to spoil the rays of a sunny day.

 

I use to stand staring at the sky, praying, questioning, it may

as well have been a black void. A pseudo path to the Heavens

outside my windows.

 

 

©2014.annjohnsonmurphree

Amazon

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_c_0_7?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=ann%20johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+joh%2Caps%2C289

 

Praying in God’s Waiting Room…

Again, death is in the air, the room

is silent but the sound coming from

the hearts of those there speaks

loudly…stop we are not ready for this.

Death forces people to take leaps of

faith, see into the skulls of the one

fighting to live, pray that they are ready

to write these words on their souls…

the end!

In death no one knows the hour, hearts

stand still waiting for that last breath,

words fill the air from the silence…

stop we are not ready for this. Is death

this secret club that no one wants to join;

each on an invisible island trying to look

into the picturesque past?

In death the finality, the value of life comes

closer, a silent cry for help, help me, in

death everyone reaches for God…stop we

are not ready for this. Waiting…

the minutes become hours, the hours a day,

in the silence the spirit cries please let me go,

in the silence those who wait cry give us

another hour another day…is anyone ready

for this?

©2014.annjohnsonmurphree

My Books are located at:

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_ss_i_2_8?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree&sprefix=ann+john%2Caps%2C213

The Difficulty of Believing in God…

Believing in God creates an everyday fight

between the mind and spirit; a fight that feels

like a predator riding beneath the clouds

hovering ready to pounce on its prey, life.

Believing that God has set down in life’s book

a predestine path to walk is a struggle between

faith and doubt.

The disbelief in God leaps out of the undergrowth

of insecurity and becomes a poison racing through

the veins of trust, and the pathway through life

becomes lost in a thicket of mistrust and betrayal.

Get off that path… In the realms of God’s majesty

is the wondering world we live in, the heavens are

the air we breathe, and the joys of life.

Stop being a victim, create your own joy, measure

your blessing, and do not let the predators define

who you are, you can believe in God without proof.

The injustices placed in your path are lessons,

resist learning and you will miss the delights placed

in your true path.

 

©2014.annjohnsonmurphree

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Daps&field-keywords=ann+johnson-murphree

 

 

The Holidays…

candle_blue

Its Christmas time once again…

There is still inconceivable grief,

mourning mixed with joy and a pain

that is never brief. 

Anguish underneath the labyrinth of

holiday lights longs for the emptiness

to go away; and renewed happiness to

fill the night. 

I hide endless pain beneath a smiling face;

because my fragile gifts from God are no

longer with me; now in a distant and heavenly

Place.

Bits and Pieces of Love…

The box of Christmas ornaments hidden away for so long spilled onto the floor; memories flooded back, two adult children taken from me.  Frozen in time, I picked up the handmade treasures; paper, ribbon, bits and pieces of love formed into special ornaments that these children made for me when they were children.

Tonight I sit, a wounded soul and I write a letter that I have not written since I myself was a child.  

Dear Santa Clause,

There are just a few wishes this year on my list.  Leave me a sign that my children know how much they are missed.  Leave me a box of magic needles and thread to mend my heart so that I may find a reason to get out of bed .  Maybe a bag of Christmas Spirit filled with love that eases the pain of what I lost to Heaven above.  Do you still remember me Santa after all of these years; do you remember how your gifts could take away my tears?  I know that I have ask for a lot, but can I have a reason to live tied up in a shiny new box; four years…a long time to grieve, please Santa with all my heart I want to believe. 

Love, Anne      

 

Pray for the Children…

There is a scar upon the land,

a mutilation caused by fear,

sorrow dwells in the heart of

mothers and fathers, teachers,

society, the turmoil within the

minds of children rages, a storm

rising from the unknown; robbing

them of their childhood.

 

Slowly a wailing wind pulls innocent

souls away from the aching hearts

left behind, lost forever, a sorrowful

fog settles upon the land; it is grief.

 

When will the carnage stop, the

guiltless have no place to flee, the

troubled die, storms out of control;

those left behind clutch together in

a vigil of mourning.

 

God must be weeping…

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree

 

 

In the Minds-Eye…

Imagine being on the edge

of eternity where hours have

no end, is there day and night,

are the stars close and bright.

 

Does the moon hang below

Heavens invisible veil; do the

stars hang by silvery threads,

and are the clouds soft like

feathery beds.

 

Are there beings living on planets

scattered throughout the Universe,

are their lives better or worse; do

they have a God like ours, do they

have greater powers.

 

Is there actually a Heaven and Hell,

are these places fiction or fact; only

time will tell, in truth one must die…

to find if paradise exist or if it was

all just a lie.

 

Imagine being without sorrow or pain,

if it is all true, we have nothing to lose

and everything to gain; we can allow

our imagination to wander away; but

remember to live life day-by-day.

 

©2013.annjohnsonmurphree