[stylist] Ghosts of yesterday poem

[KajunCutie926 at aol.com]

There are those minor things that others have  mentioned before me but 
still this is WOW!  I went to LSSB in Baton Rouge  which is now located where 
the School for the Deaf was.. As I read this I was  taken back to the dorms, 
dining hall, main school building, the gym, and all the  rooms and buildings 
and the grounds that were part of my high school years. The  ghosts who walk 
there will always be in my memories.. they haunt but in a  reassuring 
way... but again this was well done.. I may have punctuated it  differently but 
it took nothing away from the voice of the piece...nothing at  all.  Thank 
you for sharing this.
 
Myrna
 
 
In a message dated 12/5/2011 3:49:38 P.M. Central Standard Time,  
poetlori8 at msn.com writes:

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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