[stylist] Ghosts of yesterday poem

[Jim]

Hi Barbara,
I really liked this poem. Keep writing more.

Jim

On 12/5/11, Barbara Hammel <poetlori8 at msn.com> wrote:
> Okay, here’s a poem I wrote earlier this year.  After I get done reading the
> last book in The Earth’s Children series, I intend to try writing more
> poems—I have my seasons sestinas to finish up—and maybe I can be taught how
> to write better by taking criticism and change things before I consider it a
> final draft.
> Here goes:
>
>     GHOSTS OF YESTERDAY
>
>
>
> These hallowed halls are haunted
>
> By the ghosts who, yesterday,
>
> Were the life and breath of Iowa Braille
>
> But now have gone away.
>
>
>
> You can hear their footfalls echo
>
> Off the sturdy limestone walls,
>
> And if you listen closely
>
> You can hear their childish calls.
>
>
>
> Almost a century and a half
>
> Of memories linger here.
>
> As I roam these silent hallways
>
> On my cheek there falls a tear,
>
>
>
> For in the utter stillness
>
> All those children hold their breath,
>
> Their ghostly hearts are terrified
>
> Of their forever death.
>
>
>
> But sometimes in the silence
>
> All those sunny smiles of old,
>
> Overwhelm my heart with gladness
>
> And more joy than I can hold.
>
>
>
> These hallowed halls are haunted
>
> And if you can walk on by
>
> Without hearing or seeing those darlings
>
> Then you haven't ear or eye
>
>
>
> For the history that lingers,
>
> Which we wish to not let go.
>
> But the times they are a-changin',
>
> And you new folks just don't know.
>
>
>
> To you it's just a building
>
> That was built in days of yore
>
> To house and teach blind people,
>
> Nothing less and nothing more.
>
>
>
> The facts of its existence
>
> You can hold inside your head:
>
> What classes were taught and where,
>
> And when and what was fed.
>
>
>
> There are piles and piles of pictures
>
> Of people you never knew,
>
> And lists of names not familiar,
>
> So don't know which goes with who.
>
>
>
> And, frankly, in your forward-looking,
>
> Futuristic sight,
>
> You don't want to think of haunted halls
>
> When you turn off the light.
>
>
>
> You don't want to walk by daylight
>
> And glimpse a little shadow pass,
>
> You don't want to, in the quiet,
>
> Hear light tread of lad or lass.
>
>
>
> You don't want to sense the presence
>
> Of the children we used to be,
>
> All our talk of ghosts that haunt here
>
> Is making you feel creepy.
>
>
>
> But these hallowed halls are sacred
>
> To us oldtimers of the place,
>
> We don't find it creepy to meet
>
> Ghosts of our childhoods face to face.
>
>
>
> Those piles and piles of pictures
>
> Of people you never knew
>
> Have names we find familiar,
>
> We know which goes to who.
>
>
>
> And we know when they attended
>
> And friends they might have known,
>
> And friends of friends who knew them
>
> Till our web of connection has grown.
>
>
>
> This isn't just a building
>
> That was built in days of yore,
>
> To house and teach blind people.
>
> It is ever so much more.
>
>
>
> It was home away from home to us,
>
> This Braille Jail, some would say,
>
> But the grown-ups owed our parents
>
> Safety for us to learn and play.
>
>
>
> These limestone walls and hardwood floors
>
> Hold precious memories
>
> You new folks just can't grasp because
>
> They're not your used-to-bes.
>
>
>
> You never saw it thriving with
>
> The clamor of children at play,
>
> Or with classrooms of children learning
>
> Or large and small kids bowing to pray.
>
>
>
> For you this is an empty shell,
>
> The life has ceased to be,
>
> So you're filling it with strangers;
>
> Crowding out its history.
>
>
>
> Those little lisping whispers
>
> And the steps upon the floor
>
> Are our imagination
>
> That you wish you could ignore.
>
>
>
> But these hallowed halls are haunted
>
> By the ghosts who, yesterday,
>
> Were the the life and breath of Iowa Braille,
>
> But now have gone away.
>
>
>
>
> Let every nation know whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay
> any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose
> any foe, in order to assure the survival and the success of liberty.--John
> F. Kennedy
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