Poetry and great writers

What do you see, nurses, what do you see? What are you thinking when you're looking at me?

A crabby old lady, 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 try!"

 Who seems not to notice the things that you do, And forever is losing a stocking 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 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 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 should last.

At forty, my young sons have grown and are gone, But my man's beside me to see I don't mourn.

At fifty once more, babies play around 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 now an old woman....and nature is cruel; 'Tis jest to make old age look like the fool.

The body, it crumbles, grace and vigor depart, There is now a stone where I once had a heart.

 But inside this old body 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 crabby old lady; look closer...see ME!!

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 The above poem was found among the belongings of an elderly lady who died in a geriatric ward of a small hospital near Dundee, Scotland.

 It was felt that she had nothing left of any value. And this little  Scottish lady, with nothing left to give to the world,  is now the authoress of this ' anonymous ' poem winging across the Internet. Goes to show that we all leave "Some footprints in time".....

Historically I like humorous almost whimsical writers like the American humorist of a century ago, ' O'Henry ' or even somewhat earlier Oliver Goldsmith the British writer who wrote the Poem ' The Village School master '

The poetry I write is a bit old fashioned in the sense that it usually rhymes and is recognizable in its content as being stories about people or what might have happened to various people. I like some modern poetry, but sadly I think a few modern poets take their poetry a bit too seriously.

A lady I briefly knew at one time told me that she had written quite a lot of poetry, and I with my facetious sense of humor said to her " Oh well, if you let me have a look at it - I might be able to slap it into shape for you "

As I had said this with a serious look on my face, she did not know quite how to respond, but after regarding me almost as a visitor from outer space for a few seconds,  eventually she said " Not one word, not even a comma, would I allow you to change "

 I thought that was quite funny, but her attitude would be typical of many modern Writers and Poets.

Yet I recall the great Henry Lawson possibly Australia's best known Poet sending some of his early poetry to the literary editor of the then well regarded magazine ' The Bulletin ' and he got a reply in the mail with thick lines drawn through various passages of his poetry.

The Editor had written something like " Some of what you have written is good, the rest needs reworking, send it back later on and we might publish it." Henry was so thrilled at the prospect of being published - that he did not mind some of his work being subject to some editorial oversight.

So it was that a decade or so ago, I said to a Poet whom I knew " If you were prepared to agree to a little editorial activity from myself, I think you could be highly successful in the commercial sense "

He initially agreed but later on changed his mind, so what I thought might become a great little book of modern poetry (non Rhyming) never got into the bookshops.

However I have decided to put some of these poems and an excellent short story on this page of my website so that people will recognize that Shelton Lea was in his own way an extremely good writer and Poet .

 I might have cut back on a few instances of poor grammar or whatever, but every word that follows are Shelton's words. He died a couple of years back, but I think he deserved a wider audience than he got in his lifetime and that is the only reason I am putting these poems here.

 Shelton had a good sense of how Australians with limited education sometimes express themselves and on one occasion he and a friend were evicted from a city Hotel for being a little too intoxicated, and he recorded the words of the Hotel manager later on ; " Youse blokes should not be here, youse have been barred, youse have been barred forever before ! "

 Even in times of perceived injustice, Shelton could see the humor in certain situations.