We Just Have To Make The Best Of It...
these are the lines of
a 90 year-old widower just put in the nursing home
trying to put the pieces again
those past parts
no longer fit as she agrees with her son
that she does not serve
any purpose
at all in that old house
with a closed door never to be opened again
how she resigned from the usual cooking and baking
and putting the flowers in the vase
half watered
as she talks to another wrinkled woman sitting next to her
she mutters, 'Lady, we just have to make the best of what we are now'
Then the other quipped, 'Do i look ninety? '
Outside the nursing home,
the snow begins to fall.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Social Security Reform
They have found an answer for social security
Put them in a nursing home, no liability
Medicaid and medicare will probably have to pay
Then they'll only live a year or two and become their prey
The nursing home corporations, will get rich
And the social security payments, they can ditch
Who's powerful enough to point a finger at them
Some politicians is where it all will stem
The corporations make large contributions
Giving social security great solutions
Let's change the laws and cap health care liabilty
And hurt the care in nursing homes, supposed to be tranquilty
I guess when people get old, they don't need a voice
After all it's not their own, it's the goverments choice!
poem by Donna Nimmo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nursing Home
The moat in my eyes never bring me no sleep
They just strap me inside with the demons I keep
Gotta leave me alone gotta let it be lone
Tired of living, too tired to die
Makes the sharks keep swimming when he dont know why
Gotta get the lean fin
Only thin that he wears
Nursing me to the movie that he shows
Nursing me to the bureau and the ?
Nursing me cant you leave me alone?
Nursing me in a nursing home
Sleeping and working and an old man
Come just to profit my feet with a broken old hose
Stop riding those rails
Stop setting those sails
He likes (boom boogie ? ? )
Hes got an old trombone
While hes laughing at the fires with a broken beat phone
Got a troubled soul
But hes not that cold
(chorus)
Ive been nursed ten years in a nursing home!
Stinking on water I could use me food
He needed big fat gravy on the wake of pot roast
Got a fire inside
Its gonna burn him alive
Talking and struggle till the roof is blown
Got a bed and three squares in a nursing home
Gonna say bye-bye
Hes gonna walk on by
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Nursing Home Blue
Nursing Home Blues
I sent mother to a nursing home, she didn´t want
to go but I ignored her wishes, we often do that
when concerning old people, we say it is for their
own good, but the truth is I didn´t know what
else to do. Mother became quite rebellious they
called me from the home she was throwing food
about and demanded, when she evacuated, that
an assistant come and dry her bum.
Wanted to go home, there was no home she had
lived in a rented flat and someone else lived there.
When she knew she she felt betrayed, her silence
was damning. She stopped eating, gaunt, a skeleton
before death came as a relief. Now that I´m old too
families telling me I should not ride on my scooter
in case I might fall off…like should I care.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Most Americans have some experience with nursing homes or other long term care settings, and nearly half have had a family member or close friend in a home in the past three years.
quote by Michael Burgess
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Home Coming
Leaving in the dark
In an accidental day
From the dawn
To the following day
Celebrated winter wedding
Putting on by
Official white dress of
Soft cozy woolen snow
Enjoyed the day having
Made a velvet carpet with fallen snow
Closed windows opened
Opened windows closed
To see the snow bride
Of celebration had
Melting the joy in the eve
Saying good bye
Left winter bride
Returned home
To live with a long time
Fresh and beauty of own
poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Song Of An Old Man
i
his song is sad
a white man in the nursing home
his children sent him there
and they did not bother
ii
the Filipina nurses him
everyday she takes care of him
as he pees
as he poos
she needs the money
she sends her children back in her country
to school
she needs the green bucks to pay her debts
she too has a sad song
iii
and there in the nursing home
the Filipina and the old white man sing their sad songs
they have broken hearts
one waits for his happy death
another one looks for her sad life
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A House Is Not A Home
A house is not a home
and now neither is ours
the day you left there world
left our faces with a throne
and though you were ready
we still wish it didn't have to be
cause a house is not a home
when its filled with sadness and misery
Bickering and arguments
left this family in pieces
as rules and laws are bent
and friends go away like diseases
a house is not a home
if a smile no longer comes
and time no longer stops
a house is not a home
if a heart beat feels like a stomp
poem by Robert Roberts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cold Snow Fall
The snow fall this year will be cold.
How will the homeless surive;
living on your doorstep,
or in your garden?
They will trudge through the snow,
their feet getting wet.
Their hands getting frostbite.
Their lips turning blue.
The snow fall this year will be cold.
Whining for food at your door.
Limping and shivering from the cold.
Why should they be treated like this?
The strays will try to do what they can to surive;
eating leftovers,
scrounging on the bins,
being swept away with a broom.
The snow fall this year will be cold.
You'll be at home,
getting warm by the fire,
opening gifts.
Your door is shut,
the curtains are drawn.
You have no clue what is going on outside,
in the cold cruel world.
poem by Scarlet Outlaw
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
As Per Usual
It'll not be the first time he'll
Have said that and not meant
It and she knows oh how she
Knows that he will probably
Say it again and bring her the
Usual flowers and maybe a new
Dress two sizes too big for her
And have that look on his face
That look he used to give his
Mother when he was late home
Or if he'd not noticed her having
Had her hair done and she knows
He'll get down on his knees and
Pretend to beg for forgiveness
Yet at the back of his mind he's
Already imagining the girl in the
Office bent over her desk and him
Doing what he thinks he does best
And now as she waits for him to
Come home knowing he'll have
The words sitting on the end of
His tongue like obedient puppies
Ready for the false apology and
The flowers in one hand and the
Maybe new dress in the other and
Even though she will be able to
Smell the other woman's scent and
See her hairs on his jacket he'll
Have that dumb look about him
As if butter wouldn't melt as if ice
Wouldn't drown his drink and as
She waits for him she really just
Wants him not to come home at
All wants him to stay with the other
Woman soak into her sheets and
Into her skin with his two bit morality
And sin oh that he didn't come home
At all she mumbles as she hears his
Key in the lock and that stupid look
On his face as the door opens up and
The flowers and bag with dress in each
Hand and hair limp by the rain she knows
He'll say he loves her and she knows he
Will do it again the liar her lover the pain.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Abani, Are You Home?
Abani, are you home?
The neighbourhood lies in sleep with doors closed
But I keep hearing the night knocking at my door,
'Abani, are you home? '
Here it rains all the twelve months
Here the clouds roam like cows
Here the eager green grass
closes in on the door,
'Abani, are you home? '
In my heart, half-dissolved, long-traveled
I fall asleep within pain
Suddenly I hear the night knocking at my door,
'Abani, are you home? '
poem by Shakti Chattopadhay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Nursing Home
The Nursing Home
by James Alexandros Papastamos
I
Imprisoned by such hands of time
That rape, incest, and so infect
The body, mind, perhaps the soul
Of those whose crime was age…at best
II
Each wrinkle drew to map their world
When they were young, its mountains rose
But seas would drown in shallow pools
Of joy, reflection, guilt, remorse
III
Though age, itself, is not so bad
The windows come to those who’ve seen
The best of all and worse to come
May those who’ve aged live on…in dreams
IV
In nursing homes that foster such
poem by James Papastamos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Dad's Home
My dad's home
From the hospital
But, he's not happy
Going to the nursing home
It's only for a while
Untils he gets stronger
And can better handle
His basic needs
poem by Jerry Abrahamson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The deep, personal material of the latter half of your life is your children. You can write about your parents when they're gone, but your children are still going to be here, and you're going to want them to come and visit you in the nursing home.
quote by Alice Munro
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Gentle The Stars And The Town Asleep
Gentle the stars and the town asleep.
No stranger at the gate. No door ajar.
The windows deep in their own affairs.
Flowers thicken the hot night air
with pheromones of sex and death
that follow you all the way down the street
like homeless kittens and lonely junkies.
Walking my solitude off alone,
the cold stone of the moon overhead,
the first night bird I've heard tonight
singing high in the leaves of an elm
strung like a guitar with power lines
and in my heart, a child of longing,
the half-finished spectre of a poem to you.
The streetlamps bud like day lilies
but nothing blooms in the tungsten light
though insects gather in impotent frenzies,
my poem to you makes love through its eyes
to the leaf and the star and the stone
seeking out images of you to adorn
this figment of desire in a shrine of thorns.
A woman dreams in a house far away.
The road grows darker and longer
out among the fields where the stars
wax brighter than the themes of a poet
igniting like fireflies down by the river
he sits by nursing his imagination
on the night shift of the inconceivable.
poem by Patrick White
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Transitions....
at first the house is one kind of a party
more friends are coming
you even let the mailman to have a drink
and stay for a while
though he has nothing to say just like
the masons and some carpenters
then the house was almost burned
there was so much panic that day
the whole village talked about it for weeks
of course, the house as usual is silent like
most rocks
to regain its solidity
it listens to the refreshes of the sea breeze
it resumes its pacific nature
facing the sea and learning from the past storms
then something so horrible happens
but no one in the house is telling about it
the pillars shook and some walls gave in
a part of the roof was taken by the hurricane
but the house is still in tact
changes come into play
the gates are closed
the mailman is having a hard time pressing the door bell
the mail box is broken
and some thieves are anticipating that someday
they can get in and make their presence felt
perhaps to take
what is essential
what they did not know is that
no one lives in this house anymore
all the memories are put into boxes and kept in the cellars
the house has become one mummified pharaoh
a pyramid that points to the sun
the village only talks about the built-in mysteries
it is one kind of a cadaver surrounded by flowers
whose heart has been removed a few days ago
and then the talk stops
and that was only when the last prayer was said.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Take It On Home
Sometimes at the end of the day
Before I head home, I make a stop along the way
A couple of drinks, wait for the 5 o'clock rush to go by
And almost always there's a lady
Oh, and it's so hard, she starts coming on
I back it on up, turn it around and take it on home
Sometimes I've gotta go out of town
I'll be gone for a couple of days
And this buddy of mine he's a hound in the first degree
And almost always there's the ladies
And it ain't easy there out and alone
But I back it on up, turn it around, take it on home
I take it on home to a woman who sticks by me
'Cause I believe she'd do the same if she was me
And I wouldn't know where to turn to if she was gone
So when I ain't working, I don't hang out I take it on home
I back it on up, turn it around and take it on home
song performed by by Charlie Rich, lyrics by Kenny O'Dell from Behind Closed Doors (1973)
Submitted by Jeffrey Kosloske
Vote! | Copy!
Inside My Study Room
five o'clock, the usual time
but i already woke up at 3: 45
too early really
but i could not go back to
sleep
the words arrive
riding on the boat
such wind
hovering
disembarking in my
brain
i am surrounded by
glass walls
and light brown
drapes
books scattering
like garbage
on the floors and
tables
i smell the odor of
dust and
water inside a vase
unchanged
the red rose
had long wilted
no one comes around
to fix things
and keep all of these
in their proper places
the windows are still
closed and it
is still dark outside
though the crows
have already
sounded their
sad calls
the cocks keep sounding
it is already morning
and the windows
must not be opened
i write some lines
as usual and then
i'll wear my socks
and put on my
rubber shoes
and then i will take
my walk to the
woods
it will be cold
and i can see my breath
like smoke from a pipe
but i need this
my body craves
my feet want to move
the walls are too much
and the curtains feel
like they have to be washed
i open the door
and then i meet a new
world again
i know at first it will
still be cold
that is usual
i know after this
the sun comes again
as usual
and things will warm themselves
again
on promises
like what hope is all about.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You padlock a butterfly
Hey my Girlie! the nursery teacher
you taught me to spell love
and how to love smoothly
instead of nursery rhymes.
It's all over like in a movie.
I am a desperado in a nursing home.
Sitting on an isolated bench
And I recognized you from afar,
Your exceptional smile.
Oh! you are designated as a new Matron to this desperate home.Anyway I hope that you will teach me
Your Toy boy, again the spelling of love
And how to love politely not smoothly as earlier?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Someone has said the best nursing home is the U.S. Senate.
quote by Ernest F. Hollings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!