I live in an Aging Ghosts’ Home.
Senior denizens, so to speak,
Prone to repetition
Colorless hair, flaccid skin, translucent flesh,
Mostly soul and little substance.
A weathered Victorian house
Shivering venerably, vulnerably in the wind.
Things that go “bump in the night”
Have gathered in the gables
For some spirit-infested occasion.
I hover tremulous in the vicinity of the bedpost.
A veritable Disneyfied soundtrack
Warbles gibberish from the attic,
Rollicks through the air vents,
Romps in the closets.
And what endlessly
Paces the stairs, the ceiling?
Panicked, I press speed dial.
“Do you know the time?” you scream.
My mind has slid, I think,
My hearing is fine.
“I still recall, dark means night,” I venture,
“In my apperception,
Phantoms are peaceful in the day,”
Click. Dial tone.
I coil into a fetal ball of terror.
By daybreak you indignantly arrive.
Sanity to the rescue, so to speak.
You, of course, vociferously pronounce,
That you observe nothing quotidian.
I, being nearly senile, repeat myself.
“Phantoms are peaceful in the day.”
My attempts to placate, feeble
Pigeon-toed, I twitter, abashed.
“Mendacity”, you bellow,
Jabbing a punitive digit
At my shamed, grayed head.
But In your rant,
You fail to notice your finger
Pass right through me.
I live in a Home for Aged Ghosts.
This is a work in progress. Are you able to follow it?
Sorry, you cannot respond to an archived poemReviews
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Aged Ghosts???
What is so romantic about growing old?.when does old begins ?with the firsr sachet of hair dye or when you start cutting down suger? for that matter when does young end?you know it won't ever.
there is no such thing called wrinkles.only the lines that tell an interesting story of a lifetime of love laughter, loss, learning. it is okay not to tell anybody stories of life well lived when you are still busy living it....
well it was my emotional response. I don't know whether I
have got the meaning of the poem or not but it has shaken my soul.only for one single reason the place I live there is an old age home where a lady lives.I call her grandma.ill ,alone, most of all deprived....
she tells me she is an aged ghost(coincidence).and I have to tell her she is an angel again and again.indeed she is!
look your one word made me write so much.actually I love her very much.
sorry for the irrelevent reply.
just felt compelled...
hope I'm pardoned..
jo
. Rewarded 4
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More than pardoned - appreciated
There is nothing whatsoever romantic about growing old, jo. However, shouldn't one write about one's life experiences? Your elderly lady is probably very much like me. I also have a faithful student who comes to visit me and tells me about the world. I am quite devoted to him. Perhaps, when I am better, I will feel differently.
Isn't poetry about giving others a new way to view reality? I am so glad this poem made you think even if the experience wasn't altogether pleasant.
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Mam, I was not complaining......
I really liked your poem and yes eveyone should write about life's experiences but you know I became too emotional perhaps.I love her very much and feel she is the most accomplished woman.I can't see a lady of such a kind heart is waiting to die only for she is old.
and I was not complaining about the subject just related my feelings.it is a way to see the reality .My experiences with your poem's have always been very pleasent but today it is more.I like pain, it makes me seek the sweet taste of relief!
jo
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Please feel free to call me Eosmia or Jan I am not now nor never was a Mam. Even when I taught my students always called me by my first name. I absolutely love the poem by Tagore. Now there is a real poet. I will head to the library tomorrow to get more of his work. Thank you so very much for sending that to me. It was very thoughtful.
Eosmia -
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Oh, it's typical Indian nature.we never call elders with their name.now on I will do.
My pleasure to send you that. -
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Thank you
Now to something serious. I noticed that a vulgar, gross person who sees himself as a poet has written about you. I never read his work but it is listed. I hope, whatever idiotic thing he has to say, will not hurt or discourage you. Remember that many of us like your work and appreciate your well thought through comments. -
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Jan,thanks for your kind advice and support.I needed
it.
jo
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Intriguing concept
Your relaxed and effortless vocabulary evinced in your choice of precise words and well-balanced turns of phrase denotes depth of perception and experience.You "flesh" out your dotty wraiths character convincingly. Enough material for more extensive renderings (short story, manuscript,serial prose etc). It leaves too many unanswered questions to be a one off. What the hell haunts a ghost? Is it her son coming to her aid? Doesn`t he realise shes dead? Who else resides there? Oh and how do "Aging Ghosts" age? Perhaps "Old Ghosts Home" would soften this ambiguity? I would love to see the house being portrayed even more in terms of physical decreptitude.Lines 13-17 I felt flowed especially well.Subtle use of internal rhyme makes the narration glide with spectral grace. It could easily`ve been twice the length. Deceased dementia, death deranged, spectral senility- neither drugs, lobotomy or electro-shock therapy would help. There`s a nobel prize in ethereal medicine here somewhere!. Rewarded 4
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Thank you for your comments. As one of your fans I appreciate anything you have to say. Unfortunately the half crazed ghost in this poem is me, well sort of. I was terribly ill, lots of pain meds and verging delusional. I live in an old Victorian house which on a windy winter's night is filled with eerie creaks and moans.
At some point I actually called my sister. All except for the finger through me I am describing a real event.
So you see no Nobel Prize maybe a nursing home...
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Hi eosmia!
I`m very sorry to learn of your recent illness, eosmia, I didn`t mean to appear insensitive. Your writing shows a author so very alive, perceptive and aware of mood and flow. I wish you all the best during your convalescence and look forward to reading more of your work. -
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Hello gnosisonG
Not to worry. I'm doing somewhat better now. The brain is still fairly good, I hope. Thank you so much for caring. I realize the end of the poem is a bit overdone. Can't decide whether to leave it or accept that it is a bit of fun and be done with it.
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Of course ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ !
Hello Jan, you survived this!
This poem was a real hair-floater!
Atmosphere galore, right spooky,
your surprise ending really got to me!
A spook scared by spooks implicitely
whips the poem into a new category!
And yet. . .
I saw myself in what you wrote,
in many many ways: the age,
seventeen beyond what was my due,
my health a lengthy anecdote
to match my name, the damage
similarly confining, repair overdue.
Mobile on wheels, "walker" quote
because I sit, and in its "usage,"
get smiles: my feet push to pursue
bargains in the mall, an antidote
to helplessness. I am at the stage
where pride has abandoned undue
decorum. My house, local footnote
to history, hides a century's damage
under fresh paint, but roof leaks too.
Noises? Sure. Little kids rollerskate
on my ceiling drowning out TV.
A big black dog tied outside, barks
and barks and barks and barks . . .
Tenants upstairs scare, stay up late,
and hide noises. They belong to me.
Note the dog left his high-water marks
and back inside he barks and barks,
but my son's family accommodate,
and really take such good care of me!
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I am a teacher too, and in the decades since 1950 when as a beginner I taught my first class, it is incredible that I still teach, only now they call it tutoring. It gets in your blood...verily!
Terry
. Rewarded 4
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What you have written for a comment is a poem. Poetry must be in every cell in your body. And you have gotten exactly what I was saying about aging or being terribly sick. In my case I live alone. I really don't know what creates all the noise. Thank you for understanding. that makes me feel less alone.
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Perfect
This poem is perfectly able to follow! You describe everything to the maximum, and it makes me feel as if i am this person. it is perfect and amazing.. Rewarded 4
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Sadly marvelous!
Jan, it's Lenny. I found this by accident, hitting the "more rewarding poems." Hey, that can't be a coincidence! Love the poem with its restrained sorrow, its disciplined lines, its acceptance. I remember your troubles of last summer well, and here is a quiet symbol of them. I'm really moved by the poem.
The format is perfect for the diction and the brief phrasing, because it suggests awkward thoughts uneasily picked out of a fading brain and offered to unknowing, perhaps well-intentioned "helpers." God, how much I saw of that at mom's nursing home, and, I have to admit, I sometimes was that accusing finger to her. Regrets. Regrets.
Favorite line: "Click. Dial tone." Concisely perfect in its connotations.
I thank you for this, even though, or better because, it brings back recent memories. And it gets me prepared emotionally for what is relentlessly coming, when there's nothing left to accept. Then, peace at last...
Lenny By the way, in case my last night's e-mail didn't transfer well: my name on this excellent site is Pentameterman.. Rewarded 4
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very good. i love it.
gypsy dreams
July 7, 2006