The Frustration Creation!

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The player scrapbooks forum is literally a place for writers to warm-up, brainstorm, keep little scraps of notes, or just post things to encourage themselves and each other. Each player can feel free to create their own thread - one per account - and use them accordingly.

Re: The Frustration Creation!

Postby Gromhir on February 15th, 2010, 6:00 am

that's quite cool actually. When I've got all the models together for my new list and start painting I'll post some pics and stuff.
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Re: The Frustration Creation!

Postby Sondra on February 16th, 2010, 6:15 am

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Re: The Frustration Creation!

Postby Kamalia Timandre on February 16th, 2010, 6:21 am

Haha, in some strange, peculiar coincidence, I dreamed about aliens last night. SHIT JUST GOT REAL. You truly are a konti seer, Sondra.
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Re: The Frustration Creation!

Postby Alistair deGrey on February 16th, 2010, 6:38 am

Relevant.

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Re: The Frustration Creation!

Postby Gromhir on February 19th, 2010, 6:02 pm

Wasn't sure where to be this but here seems as good as any.

I'm gonna be absent for a few days. Apologies.
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Re: The Frustration Creation!

Postby Gromhir on February 21st, 2010, 10:19 am

Fear me, for I have returned.
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Re: The Frustration Creation!

Postby Gromhir on February 21st, 2010, 2:20 pm

MAH BUCKETS!


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The world can make you think that everything matters. But all that really matters is that the sun rises and you enjoy what you're given.
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Re: The Frustration Creation!

Postby Crush on February 28th, 2010, 9:44 pm

MAH BUKCETS!

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Re: The Frustration Creation!

Postby Gromhir on March 6th, 2010, 1:11 pm

I just had this sent to me by a family member. It kinda touched me and I thought I'd share it with you.

Enjoy

When an old man died in the geriatric ward of a nursing home in North Platte, Nebraska , it was believed that he had nothing left of any value.

Later, when the nurses were going through his 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 Missouri .

The old man's sole bequest to posterity has since appeared in the Christmas edition of the News Magazine of the St. Louis Association for Mental Health. A slide presentation has also been made based on his simple, but eloquent, poem.

And this little old man, with nothing left to give to the world, is now the author of this 'anonymous' poem winging across the Internet.


Crabby Old Man

What do you see nurses? . . . . .. What do you see?
What are you thinking . . . . . when you're looking at me?
A crabby 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's 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 . . . . . 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.
Tis 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 guy 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 crabby 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!
The world can make you think that everything matters. But all that really matters is that the sun rises and you enjoy what you're given.
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