Al eerder gepost....mag eigenlijk niet ontbreken..

See me

What do you see, nurses, what do you see?
Are you thinking, when you're looking at me
a crabbit old woman, not very wise,
uncertain of habit, with far away 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 a stocking or shoe.
Who, unresisting 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 use 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 build a secure happy home.
A woman of thirty, my young now grow fast,
bound to each other with ties that should last.
At forty my young sons have grown and are gone,
But my man 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 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 an old woman now, and nature is cruel -
'tis her 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 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, nurses, open and see
not a crabbit old woman, look closer - see ME!

This poem was written by an old woman,
living in a nursing home in Ireland.

It was found among her things when she died.

"If I were a poet

I'd write poems for you.

If I were a musician, Music too."

Roger McGough

Ik weet niet wie dit geschreven heeft, maar vond hem wel pakkend!

wat de rijmtechniek betreft zou ik denken aan Sinterklaas 

If You Forget Me

I want you to know

one thing.

You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.

If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.

But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

my love, my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

Pablo Neruda

je kunt toch niet echt menen dat dit een gedicht is, Gerda

het komt op mij over als een verwijt op rijm, en nog heel slecht Sinterklaasrijm ook

maar als het jou raakt en je vindt het mooi, kun je het vanzelfsprekend plaatsen,

maar in een draadje mag gereageerd worden,

trouwens je vroeg erom, je wist niet wie dit gemaakt had, dan kun je een reactie verwachten

shayna-maidela wrote:

Is er weer iets duidelijk geworden voor mij: ik ben "maar" een heel simpele ziel en schaam me daar ook helemaal niets voor!

 

Jeetje Gerda..Hoezo simpele ziel?

Lijkt wel of je het zelf geschreven hebt omdat je zo in de aaval gaat...

Btw.. mijn opmerking mbt de tekst, doelde ik op de leugenaar genaamd:

"Goed heilig man"

shayna-maidela wrote:

Is er weer iets duidelijk geworden voor mij: ik ben "maar" een heel simpele ziel en schaam me daar ook helemaal niets voor!

 

Als jij het mooi vind Gerda dan is dat het enige dat telt maar een ander mag daar natuurlijk wel een mening over hebben, tja en wat is nu een gedicht! die invulling moet iedereen er maar voor zichzelf aan geven, en de titel van het draadje zegt het al"wat je maar mooi vindt" en wat die simpele ziel betreft dat zal wel meevallen en je hoeft je al helemaal nergens voor te schamen!!!

Leven is als sneeuw

Je kunt het niet bewaren

Troost is dat jij er was

Uren, maanden, jaren

Herman van Veen

Into the light

The sun bathes us in its brilliant wonder,

Bringing its white-gold light into dark hearts

Heavy with the burden of selfishness.

Eyes once shut, now wide open,

See the world anew.

Ears once deaf, now hear clearly

The sounds of Nature’s promise.

For a moment, all is clear that once

Was muddled.

Truth is realized and understood.

But soon, the night returns

And darkness closes

And all is once again

Forgotten…

Janine Mills

Was er maar een olifant,

die 't verhaaltje blies,

dan kon'k in mijn ledikant,

en dan was't toch kies.

(vrij naar KB)