Surreal Artist, Thx, I think, Lyle S! I Cannot fully comprehend.

 bridgepark

 

초현실 현상 감상   Like Like Like Like Like Like Like Like Like Like Like Like May also interest you: I Love the Elegant Paintings of This Italian Artist These Paintings May Require a Second Look to Comprehend... The Surreal World of Robert Janhs. Like Like Like Like Like Like

Crabby Old Man ... A most deserving and real repeat for us seniors ... Thx Gary and Jill I !

CRABBY OLD MAN

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Nebraska, 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.

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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 a 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  . . . . ..  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 vigour, 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!!

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! 

PLEASE SHARE THIS POEM 
The best and most beautiful things of this world can't be seen or touched.. They must be felt by the heart.

God Bless All who read this Poem 
and send it to those on
"YOUR" mailing list

Father (This one is priceless) ...Thx Lyle S!

FATHER (This One Is Priceless!)

 

 

A little boy got on the bus, sat next to a man reading a book, and noticed he had his collar backwards. The little boy asked why he wore his collar backwards

The man, who was a priest, said, 'I am a Father..'

The little boy replied, 'My Daddy doesn't wear his collar like that.'

The priest looked up from his book and answered, ''I am the Father of many.'

The boy said, ''My Dad has 4 boys, 4 girls and two grandchildren and he doesn't wear his collar that way!'

The priest, getting impatient, said. 'I am the Father of hundreds', and went back to reading his book. 

 

The little boy sat quietly thinking for a while, then leaned over and said,

"Maybe you should wear a condom, and put your pants on backwards instead of your collar.

Words & expressions archaic ... Thx Clay V!

          Gone with the wind...

 

About a month ago, I illuminated old expressions that have become obsolete because of the inexorable march of technology. These phrases included don’t touch that dial, carbon copy, you sound like a broken record and hung out to dry. A bevy of readers have asked me to shine light on more faded words and expressions, and I am happy to oblige: 

  

Back in the olden days we had a lot of moxie. We’d put on our best bib and tucker and straighten up and fly right. Hubba-hubba! We’d cut a rug in some juke joint and then go necking and petting and smooching and spooning and billing and cooing and pitching woo in hot rods and jalopies in some passion pit or lovers’ lane. Heavens to Betsy! Gee whillikers! Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat! Holy moley! We were in like Flynn and living the life of Riley, and even a regular guy couldn’t accuse us of being a knucklehead, a nincompoop or a pill. Not for all the tea in China ! 

  

Back in the olden days, life used to be swell, but when’s the last time anything was swell?   Swell has gone the way of beehives, pageboys and the D.A.; of spats, knickers, fedoras, poodle skirts, saddle shoes and pedal pushers. Oh, my aching back. Kilroy was here, but he isn’t anymore. 

  

Like Washington Irving’s Rip Van Winkle and Kurt Vonnegut’s Billy Pilgrim, we have become unstuck in time. We wake up from what surely has been just a short nap, and before we can say, “I’ll be a monkey’s uncle!” or “This is a fine kettle of fish!” we discover that the words we grew up with, the words that seemed omnipresent as oxygen, have vanished with scarcely a notice from our tongues and our pens and our keyboards. 

  

Where have all those phrases gone? Long time passing. The milkman did it. Think about the starving Armenians. Bigger than a bread box. Banned in Boston .  The very idea! It’s your nickel. Don’t forget to pull the chain. Knee high to a grasshopper. Turn-of-the-century. Iron curtain. Domino theory. Fail safe.  Civil defense. Fiddlesticks! You look like the wreck of the Hesperus.   Cooties. Going like sixty. I’ll see you in the funny papers. Don’t take any wooden nickels. Heavens to Murgatroyd! And awa-a-ay we go!   Oh, my stars and garters! It turns out there are more of these lost words and expressions than Carter had liver pills.

  

This can be disturbing stuff, this winking out of the words of our youth, these words that lodge in our heart’s deep core. But just as one never steps into the same river twice, one cannot step into the same language twice. Even as one enters, words are swept downstream into the past, forever making a different river. 

  

We, of a certain age have been blessed to live in changeful times. For a child each new word is like a shiny toy, a toy that has no age. We at the other end of the chronological arc have the advantage of remembering there are words that once did not exist and there were words that once strutted their hour upon the earthly stage and now are heard no more, except in our collective memory. It’s one of the greatest advantages of aging.  We can have archaic and eat it, too.