A Cranky Old Man

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Gene Howe
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A Cranky Old Man

Post by Gene Howe »

Since I'm close to becoming a Cranky Old Man, this poem strikes home for me.

CRANKY OLD MAN
When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in country N.S.W, 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 vigor, 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!

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.
Gene

'The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.' G. K. Chesterton
dicksterp
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Post by dicksterp »

Utterly beautiful!!!
Dick

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charlese
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Post by charlese »

Yep! Thanks, Gene for posting that poem. Yep! I've had the honor to know a number of those guys!
Octogenarian's have an earned right to be a curmudgeon.
Chuck in Lancaster, CA
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fjimp
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Post by fjimp »

Ah yes I have know several and one day, likely sooner than I might think I will resemble that fellow. Jim
F. Jim Parks
Lakewood, Colorado:)

When the love of power is replaced by the power of love the world will have a chance for survival.
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navycop
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Post by navycop »

Is the author unknown? Or was it you??
Mark V 520, Ryobi 12" mitersaw, Delta 10" tablesaw, DC 3300.
Mike
Gene Howe
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Post by Gene Howe »

navycop wrote:Is the author unknown? Or was it you??
Apparently, it was authored by a fellow in an Aussie old folks home.
Gene

'The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.' G. K. Chesterton
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JPG
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Post by JPG »

Gene Howe wrote:Apparently, it was authored by a fellow in an Aussie old folks home.
As I recall, "Dead Men Carry No Tales", Therefore it could not have been G.H.!

Also New South Wales is not in AZ!
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╟JPG ╢
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Goldie(Bought New SN 377425)/4" jointer/6" beltsander/12" planer/stripsander/bandsaw/powerstation /Scroll saw/Jig saw /Craftsman 10" ras/Craftsman 6" thicknessplaner/ Dayton10"tablesaw(restoredfromneighborstrashpile)/ Mark VII restoration in 'progress'/ 10
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fjimp
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Post by fjimp »

Each time I read that piece I am reminded of visiting my Mother in a nursing home. As we were living and working some 1600 miles from her it was a major trip to visit her. Sometimes I did so every couple of months and sometimes it was every four or five months. During my last visit about three weeks prior to her death, I had opportunity to chat with a social worker. As I explained how awful I felt at seeing Mother so seldom the woman responded; "your Mother has visitors far more frequently than any other patient in the home." She continued by saying; "most of their residents were being warehoused there by family awaiting their deaths." That knowledge still brings tears to my eyes. Jim
F. Jim Parks
Lakewood, Colorado:)

When the love of power is replaced by the power of love the world will have a chance for survival.
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JPG
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Post by JPG »

[quote="fjimp"]Each time I read that piece I am reminded of visiting my Mother in a nursing home. As we were living and working some 1600 miles from her it was a major trip to visit her. Sometimes I did so every couple of months and sometimes it was every four or five months. During my last visit about three weeks prior to her death, I had opportunity to chat with a social worker. As I explained how awful I felt at seeing Mother so seldom the woman responded]

Man's inhumanity to man! Sadly all too true!

Remember, It is not about "me" "me" "me"! Rather "us" "us" "us"!......(thems do Not exist! :( ........ Us Is all inclusive!:) )
╔═══╗
╟JPG ╢
╚═══╝

Goldie(Bought New SN 377425)/4" jointer/6" beltsander/12" planer/stripsander/bandsaw/powerstation /Scroll saw/Jig saw /Craftsman 10" ras/Craftsman 6" thicknessplaner/ Dayton10"tablesaw(restoredfromneighborstrashpile)/ Mark VII restoration in 'progress'/ 10
E[/size](SN E3779) restoration in progress, a 510 on the back burner and a growing pile of items to be eventually returned to useful life. - aka Red Grange
iclark
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Post by iclark »

JPG40504 wrote:(thems do Not exist! :( ........ Us Is all inclusive!:) )
respectfully, I must disagree with the last part of your post. many of our veterans and deceased brethren have paid a high price to stand up to thems in the name of freedoms or to prevent genocides.

the spirit of inclusion is a wonderful thing and can work wonders, but we must always be careful of who and what we include ourselves with.
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ER10 awaiting restoration
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