Inner Critic: Writers and Carers

Posted on May 1, 2017 by admin

 

picture for Inner Critic: Writers and Carers

Inner Critic: Writers and Carers

Writers especially have an inner critic. Inner critics are never satisfied. They continually plague the writer’s mind with questions, questions, question, what ifs, doubts…

So it is for care givers. Many and many a fellow caregiver has expressed their frustration and despair about their inner critic beggaring them with doubts – doubts about their ability…
– doubts about whether or not they have done right for their charge
– What if? What if? What if?

Well, what if I had written a better poem?

Anyway, here is one way to look at it:

Inner Critic: Writers and Carers

I try to live a peaceful life,
I’m even good to my wife.
I write and write but every time
I type a sentence I hear a voice
Who takes issue with its form.
He argues with my syntax,
He argues with my voice;
I try to still him but I fail—
He’s my inner critic, tough guy.

I’m always asking of him why.
His disdain turns me quite pale.
He plagues me with another choice,
He wants to give my words the axe,
He’s bored with writing a la norm,
He never ever will rejoice.
He rejects my every rhyme.
No longer can I take the strife,
My inner critic, bane of life!
—

I’ll bet you can write a better poem.

Tell me your better poem about your inner critic. I’ll use it in next columnn(s).

Oh wait. Is that a good idea? What if I don’t get any? What if I get too many?
Why didn’t I write a better poem?

Oo-kee. Okay, Rhyme Scheme is okay. Did I really nail it?

OHH! You critic! Don’t be such a tough guy.

Still, what if…

Oh critic! SHUT UP!!!

—

CREDIT: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Tihanyi_The_Critic.jpg

#alzheimer   #dementia   #writers

Posted in Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Caring, Choices, Dementia, Humor, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Stronger than you think

Posted on April 28, 2017 by admin

 

picture A for you are stronger than you think

YOU ARE STRONGER THAN YOU THINK

 To all my fellow care givers.

The day my dog got killed, right before my eyes,

The driver never even apologized

He just got out his shovel and scooped up the guts.

“Don’t cry, kid,” he said, “You are stronger than you think.”

Came the day the teacher took out his leather strap,

“Hold out your hand,” and gave me seven whacks.

I cried until an older girl called Helen came;

She said, “Listen kid, “you are stronger than you think.”

The schoolyard bully threw a rock, got me on the head,

Next day he pushed me hard and hit me on the mouth.

I asked him why, he said he didn’t like my face.

I cried until I heard, “You are stronger than you think.”

I went to summer camp, supposed to meet new friends,

But when I was learning how to swim the crawl,

Someone held me under until I lost my cool.

Scout Master said to me, “You are stronger than you think.”

picture for you are stronger than you think

You struggle as you care for dad,

You feel defeat, you fight despair,

Although you think you’re far too weak,

Think again, “You’re stronger than you think.”

Your mother’s gone awandering,

Perhaps she’s had another spell

And you’re not feeling very well.

No odds, you’re stronger than you think.”

So now when I am feeling down

I hear my dear friend Helen’s voice,

And it serves to calm me down,

“Don’t worry kid, you’re stronger than you think.”

— —

Well…

So it doesn’t rhyme.
Neither does life.
— —

CREDITS: Top picture – http://clipartall.com/img/clipart-31390.html
(Use these free Bullying 20clipart Clipart Pa for your personal projects or designs clipart.)
Bottom picture: Clipart

Posted in Advocate, Alzheimer's, Care Giving, Choices, Helping, Memory, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Where Have All the Cartoonists Gone?

Posted on April 24, 2017 by admin

 

picture for where have all the cartoonists gone

Where Have All the Cartoonists Gone?

Where have all the cartoonists gone?
We miss them sorely, miss them every day.
Why are they gone?
Who laid them off?
What are they doing now?
How do they make a living, how?

Has the humour gone with them?
Where are all the wits?
Who has stolen Irony?
Life is dull without all them.

Have ALL the newspapers cut them
In trying to save their paper lives?

Who is left to make us laugh?
Who now will make us think?

Who is there now to ease our pain
With the funny side of life?

Who paints a thousand words today
With squiggles on the page?

Who is left to help us cope
With ironies of life in age?

When your mother lies adying,
Who can cut the ache with smiles?

Who? When life’s enemies come teeming
With Alzheimer’s, cancer, all disease?

And when your loved one keeps forgetting,
Where are the comics with their funny clocks then?

Where have all the cartoonists gone?
Why have they left us alone and wan?

Tell me please, I really need to know;
To lose them too deals a double blow.

I need a chuckle now and then,
And without the humorist, when?

CREDIT: https://pixabay.com/en/time-is-money-businessman-time-of-1251236/

CC0 Public Domain   Free for commercial use    No attribution required

#Alzheimer

Posted in Alzheimer's, Cancer, Care Giving, Caring, Dementia, Irony, Loss, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Judge Me Not

Posted on April 21, 2017 by admin

 

\

Judge Me Not

Judge Me Not Judgment Notes:
This, like me, is a work in progress ( emphasis on progress )

Judge me not
Lest you be judged
Self-appointed judges lurk

Judge not the lady
Who forgets her name
No fault of hers at work

Lest you be judged
Beware results
Of words that are unkind

Judge not the man
Awandering
He’s chasing a place in mind

Judge if you must,
The action, not the man,
Lest you be misunderstood

Judge not the child
Who has yet to learn
The norms of adulthood

Hold your judgment
For the facts
Leave judgment to the judge

Judge not the skin
You’ll be judged right back
And neither will dare to budge

Be fair to all
Befriend the poor
And you’ll be fairly judged

Judge not the stranger
Look each person in the eye
Judge them not

Offer your hand
And not your fist
No judgment will be got

In the end
No judgment made
No judgment judged

Respect the Me
Respect the Dignity
Judge me not
— —

Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Caring, Dementia, Discrimination, Justice, Memory, Poetry | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

My Jesus Poems

Posted on April 17, 2017 by admin

 

 

My Jesus Poems
Apparently written in Istanbul, Dec 1963
In a letter forwarded by little sister Marjorie, Feb, 2013

I Stood Where Jesus Stood

I stood where Christ stood,
I sat within His cell;
And at the Garden Rock
I felt His sad tears well.
I knelt before the Pillar,
His only friend when whipped;
I brooded in the Judgement Room
And felt how cheaply He’d been gypped.
I walked His road to Calvary,
And felt the weight that was His cross,
And I learned humility
On a path that had been blocked.
I kissed the star that marks the spot
Where my Saviour died,
And emotions filled me, oh, so full,
No strength remained even to have cried.
I dropped my brow on Jesus’ tomb,
Too confused to pray;
But then, like Him, I rose again,
My role in life to play.

— — —

Sunset Over Jerusalem

O’er Jerusalem the sun sets e’er in blood,
As though the Christ were dying still,
A rosy fire illuminates the hill,
A constant flow of Calvary flood.

For as long as Arab faces Jew
Each with safety catch uncocked,
And brother’s way to brother
By infamous wall is blocked,
Sunset brimstone hangs with fire
To spread aflame once more
A Sodom and Gomnorrah
By an angry God twice pricked and sore.

O’er Jerusalem the sun sets e’er in blood,
As though the Christ were dying still,
A rosy fire illuminates the hill,
A constant flow of Calvary flood.

— —
I wrote My Jesus poems while waiting for our money to arrive, mailed them off in the endless letters I wrote on our travels “circumnavigating the Med,” and forgot about them. It was most unexpected when my sister mailed them to me. Poor Middle East.
Happy Easter everybody.

Posted in Caring, Friendship, Grief, Hope, Jesus, Memories, Mystery, Peace, Poetry, Remembrance | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

To the Copts: A String Poem

Posted on April 14, 2017 by admin

TO THE COPTS: A STRING POEM

This being Easter and only a few short days since terrorists bombed two Coptic churches in Egypt, I want to share an experience I had there many years ago. It speaks of brotherhood and universal love, much needed elements today.

I wrote this string poem in open style, rather than in my usual rhyming formats. I didn’t feel that these unsettled times and that hideous act of terror deserved rhyme.

It is written that St. Mark founded the Coptic church about 42 AD. It is also written that it just may have been the very first christian church…

“The Egyptian Church, which is more than 1,900 years old, and most likely the oldest Christian church in the world, traditionally believed to be founded by St Mark at around AD 42, …”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coptic_Orthodox_Church_of_Alexandria

picture for To the Copts

 

 

 

 

 

 

This modern  church reminds me of the ones we saw on the news.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coptic_Orthodox_Church_of_Alexandria

To the Copts: A String Poem

We drove for what seemed hours
Once we entered Alex,
Following this, then that, set of directions
Asked of folks in the streets.
It was early Sunday morning
And people were out everywhere.
I was trying to get to a church
For mass. Time was ticking and we were
Still operating on home time.

At last we were directed to
A nondescript building
In the outskirts – on the other side of Alex.
We had driven that far.
My friends stayed with the Land Rover
And I ventured in.

The Copts welcomed me.
No challenge, no questions.
They settled me in the front row
With the men…
On a chair,
A plain, wooden chair.
I think I remember the men
Being seated
Likewise.

The women peered curiously at this exotic stranger
Through the slats atop the half wall
Behind the men’s section
With the priest.
They appeared to be standing.

The priest resumed the mass,
Graciously,
Despite the interruption.

I understood not a word
But I felt the presence.

They broke bread at Holy Communion –
Literally, a big round loaf of
Home made bread.
They came to me in my turn
And tore off a piece from the loaf
And handed it to me.
I felt fulfilled.

At the end of the service,
They held out their hands,
Side by side, palms facing each other
And motioned for me to do the same.
They slid their hands into mine,
One hand between mine,
One outside,
And closed the gap,
Hand lightly touching hand…
And slid them out.

Something happened to me in that moment,
A thrill, a chill…
I did really feel I had just received
A kiss from Heaven.

Later,
At dispersal time,
We mingled and exchanged
Those magic hand greetings, bowing
To each other
And exchanging
Smiles.

I felt blessed,
And I left to join my travel partners
Feeling refreshed,
Hopeful, confident…

You would never find
A warmer, more welcoming people
Anywhere in this world.

Let good people to their devices
And they will welcome you.

Welcome Friends.

CREDIT: https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Coptic_Church_in_Hurghada,_Egypt..jpg

  • I do not believe that it is unethical to share this wonderful handshake.
    It is a gesture of peace and love.
Posted in Advocacy, Alzheimer's, Caring, Coptic, Hope, Memory, Poetry, Remembering, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

The Ultimate Gamble

Posted on April 10, 2017 by admin

 

THE ULTIMATE GAMBLE

These are rough notes to match the rough battle, at Vimy Ridge,
a key battle in the First World War and a proving ground for a
new Army from a new nation that hadn’t fully  gelled yet.

They signed up excited,
In celebration they departed.
They departed with celebration
Sure it was a gamble
But they were full of hope
And confidence;
Besides, the youth are invincible.
Everyone nows that.

But after the training,
The deployment, the mud and the cold,
Hope descended into pragmatic survival.
Come the order to take Vimy Ridge
And the test of their grit,
Hope was hard to cling on to.

On the morning of April 9, 1917:

The plan was executed…
And so, in effect, were our boys –
In devastating mumbers

They were mowed down in the sleet and snow
And they died at the foot of Vimy Ridge.
They took the chance,
But lost the ultimate gamble,
They paid the ultimate debt.

They were but boys in the days before
They were men when they fell
They were pioneers
From a nothing colony
But they died as heroes all.

Their brothers in arms
With the British and French
Stormed the hill anyway
And they routed the Germans
And they took the hill…

And their families back home
Now live in a grown-up nation.
Hail to the young heroes
Of Vimy ridge!
Vive Canada!

If we bury these memories,
We bury our future,
And we will go forth in dangerous innocence
On a gamble of hope unfounded.

Lay down a foundation
To support your hope,
For a plan is required
Or you succeed only to grope…

And no doubt will fail.

Follow the spirit of the Canadian youth
Who fell at the foot of Vimy Ridge.

Those who fought to build a bridge
To honour and peace and truth.

(Cont’d.)

Upon the Crosses

A Fontanelle by H. W. Bryce

War declared
Called to arms
Volunteered
Three cheers
Trained, fitted, kitted
Sent to war

First casualty: innocence
Muck and mire: sad sentence
Second casualty: happy hope
Third lesson: how to cope
Fourth lesson: fight despair
Fifth: Yet to learn –
How to die

And for thanks?
Lost and forgotten
In the muck and mire,
He bore his cross;
No cross for him.

Upon the crosses, row on row,
The names are carved eternal,
Some with the Cross of Jesus
And some the Star of David,
Others wear the Muslim sign,
And here a grave for Native son.

They fought together side by side,
Side by side together now they lie,
Bound in forever brotherhood.
Where lies the dignity today
If the peace they fought for
Is as tattered as the battle ground?

In battle and in death they got along;
Why in life and love must fighting still go on?

Photos from http://www.veterans.gc.ca/eng/remembrance/history/first-world-war/fact_sheets/vimy

Posted in Friendship, Grief, Heroism, Just get along, Love, Memories, Missing, Peace, Poetry, Remembrance, Service, War and peace | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment