Monday, April 9, 2012
Poem a Day
This is hard work (the poetry pledge)- although that is a "good thing". I am easily put off if it takes too much effort and I am trying to be more organised and put more effort into things.
I also discovered a blog about Nurse Education that I going to follow as we are so invisible in the "why do we have bad nurses" debate but also criticised indirectly. After all it is because nursing moved into higher education that we now have cruel and uncaring nurses. What errant nonsense - I had my eyes open when I started back in 1979. I was shocked and appalled at the uncaring and heartless way my colleagues would go about their work. At 18 I had no choice but to stand back and observe, make sure I did not join in and ensure it was not abusive BUT with the wisdom of over 30 years of hindsight I wish I had done more back then. I naively thought that all nurses would be caring, empathetic and nurturing souls. I did not expect a lack of humanity and uncaring practices BUT I now understand how people get to that state. If we are not shown compassion and generosity then how can we know how or find a way to offer it to others. We need to have a wider debate on what leads to this behaviour and also that we need to choose more carefully those we allow into the nursing profession.
Anyway having gone off on one of my tangents here is my poem for Easter Monday.
I attended a training session for working with people with Aphasia a couple of weeks ago and it was a fabulous, albeit difficult, experience. As someone who prides herself on her excellent communication skills etc etc it all went a bit pear shaped at one point. The key ingredient of the stimulating and effective session was a “hands on” conversation with someone with aphasia. I got a bit upset but it all got calmed down by the very wonderful Speech and Language Therapist leading the session and I have tried to capture my learning in this poem.
I am sure my first poetry tutor will be hyper–critical and not get it at all and that I should tell less and show more BUT I am paying more attention to actually writing and not being so conscious of the critics inside my head.
Six years ago he had been
used to a nightly slanging match.
Evenings ranting about the kids
and the choice of TV shows to watch.
Now his mumbles and mutters
just make him more angry than ever.
Pointing his finger at pictures
and letters, pen in hand,
wind him up to pitch of fury
of lost words and clogged-up criticisms.
No small talk will ever
bridge that gap.