Cranky Old Woman

   When an old woman died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in an Australian country town, it was believed that she had nothing left of any value. Later, when the nurses were going through her 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 Melbourne. The old woman’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 woman, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this ‘anonymous’ poem winging across the Internet. 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 (originally written by Dave Griffith and adapted here to honour my 96 year old aunt) remembering the best and most beautiful things of this world can’t be seen or touched. They must be felt by the heart!

Cranky Old Woman
What do you see nurses?
What do you see?
What are you thinking, when you’re looking at me?
A cranky old woman, not very wise,
Uncertain of habit, with faraway eyes?
Who dribbles her food, and makes no reply.
When you say in a loud voice ‘I do wish you’d just 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, a 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 what you bid, 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 guide, and a secure happy home.
A woman of Thirty, my young now grown fast,
Bound to each other, with ties that will last.
At Forty, my young daughters 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 now dead.
I look to dark future, I shudder with dread.
For my young are all rearing, young of their own.
And I think of the years, the love that I’ve known.
 I’m now an old woman, and nature is cruel.
It’s a jest to make old age, to look like a fool.
The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor long gone.
There is now only a stone, where I once had a heart.
But inside this old carcass, a young woman 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 woman.
Look closer, see ME!!

Grandfather’s Lessons

Grandfather’s Lessons

My grandfather helped me form my connection to Spirit. He taught me how to listen, listen to the lessons Spirit has filled every thing in this world with. He taught me to respect, not just the people, animals, trees, plants, and land, but myself too, because without holding honest respect for myself I would lose the ability to respect everything else. He taught me to share all I have with who or whatever has need.  He taught me to love all of creation freely, without fear or regret, and with tolerance and without judgement.

My grandfather taught me how to accept a gift, with thanks and humbleness, and to honour all gifts by using then as intended, without greed or abuse. In this path I have walked I have learned much from all around me. Yet there is still much to learn. I know that my grand-father would be greatly saddened if he looked down and saw me allowing a book or another person to stand between me and Spirit. I am as much a part of Spirit as every other thing in existence, and I will never lose my own personal connection.

I hold to myself to be what I know I should be. I will always try to find the best I can in any and all I meet. To walk with honour, holding to compassion, charity, and above all truth. I will do my best to avoid giving judgement and to accept the right of all others to walk their own paths. I know I will fall short of what I should be many times in the future as I have done so in the past, but I will do the best I can to live this gift of life as best I can.

And as I move through this journey, I will try to help as much as I can with what few gifts I have, not for money or physical things, but because it is the right thing to do and to try to repay Spirit for the many gifts he has given me. I know it sometimes seems that all is darkness around us in these times, but know this; we all have the power to drive the darkness away simply by living as we always should. I would much rather work toward something good than war against something bad.

Walk in peace and beauty, Easy…

Holding The Moment

Drifting Memories

The Willows blow and dance
With each of subtle breeze
The orchestra’s command
Wind but simple musician
Playing life’s own song

Sky filled with drifting clouds
Rainbows flitting in between
Winds have blown the night away
Birdsong welcomes this new day

Earth mother slow your turn
Let time ease to a stop
I want to hold this precious moment
Keep this feeling’s depth

The warmth of sun
The sounds of life
A kaleidoscope of being
I want to stay here, where I am

I want to hold this moment…..

Steve ‘Easy’ Whitacre January 4th, 2008

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Bullets and Death

It seemingly never ends…

Drifting Memories

Our politicians love bullets and death
Love to aim them at those who love trees,
Jealous of the love they can never share
Very short on kindness and morality
So keep  us at war so they can feel good,
Ego fed on the blood of our young,

Sacrifice remembered after you’re dead they cry,
Though you’d rather stayed home with your kids,
Thin,mask, hidden from public, their lack of conscience,
Put a flower in the rifle’s mouth, no more of your wars
“Flowers are better than bullets,” pure hope speaking,
Give no flowers to a state following an outlaws truth,
The U.S. Reciprocates, with cynical, cruel gifts,
Your gift was the bullet blasting the flower,
Ripples leaving every apple orchard blossom black,
Blackened in mourning, ah, how the lilac smelled!
Left with no feelings but betrayal and pain,

And yet still all those on high exclaim the act,
Condemning stamp…

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