op 25-02-2009 20:19
op 03-10-2010 19:18
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.
op 04-10-2010 11:08
Rimpels,lijnen en vlekjes in het gezicht...
Een gevoelig onderwerp.
Sommigen schrijven er zelfs gedichten over."
Als ik vroeger uit m'n bed kwam
en ik had wat raar gelegen
had ik hier en daar een paar kreukeltjes gekregen.
Na een frisse douche
een beetje poeder of rouge
waren mijn lijf en hoofd weer glad
en nu opeens verandert dat...
Als ik nu mijn bed uit strompel
en mijn lijf onder water dompel
en wat met met make-up ga smeren
en de rest bedek met kleren
blijken de kreukels dieper en groter
nou ja,dan kleed ik me maar minder bloter
ik noem ze nu mijn 'levenslijnen'
nu ze niet zo snel verdwijnen. 😉
G Horstman.
op 24-10-2010 16:02
op 14-11-2010 10:14
op 03-12-2010 18:22
op 11-12-2010 13:34
Ik weet niet wie dit geschreven heeft, maar vond hem wel pakkend!
Sommige mensen kunnen keihard liegen,
kijken je aan en staan je te bedriegen.
Je wilt het in de eerste instantie niet geloven,
tot dat ze je van je vertrouwen beroven.
Er worden nare en vreemde dingen gezegd,
maar die worden anders uitgelegd.
Want een leugenaar met een zielig gezicht,
dat is waar een ieder met open ogen voor zwicht.
Zij worden met hun leugens geconfronteerd,
en spelen verontwaardiging en gepikeerd.
Dan komen de tranen met tuiten,
en zakdoek en luidruchtig snuiten.
Maar stiekem over de zakdoek heen,
kijkend in het rond en lacht gemeen.
Zo deze ronde is glansrijk gewonnen,
en denkt alweer aan nieuwe leugenbronnen.
Maar eens komt het ware gelaat,
en staat dan met al zijn leugens op straat!!!!!
op 11-12-2010 14:14
op 11-12-2010 15:37
op 11-12-2010 16:05
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
op 11-12-2010 18:54