.
Back in the room we were before
Where the sun remained outside the door
Eight or nine old souls are there
Each ensconced in his own chair
.
Eyes cast down towards the ground
Silence reigns. The only sound
The clickety clack that needles make
Soft and rhythmic, quite hypnotic
.
In, round, through, off
In, round, through, off
Her neighbour busy too folding a tissue fanned
And ironing it smooth with the other hand
.
It’s quite easy to understand
The comfort gleaned from busy hands
Years of repetition ingrained
Rituals of the past retained
.
With the rest of the people it’s hard to tell
Just which of them are alive and well
There’s only one who meets your eyes
Before they slide away surprised
.
‘Cos no one cares if they’re alive or dead
Or fast asleep, though not in bed
.
©DGA 15 January 2012 08:39
Adeeyoyo's Blog 
15/01/2012 at 10:50 am
That is so sad..is that what life is like when all have given you up to an institution
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16/01/2012 at 7:30 am
Sometimes, quite often actually, that is how it is, Patrecia.
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15/01/2012 at 12:38 pm
So sad.
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16/01/2012 at 7:31 am
Oh yes, Barb, but only for us looking on…
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15/01/2012 at 12:40 pm
Is this a scene from your home, Denise?
If so, thank God you have blogging, and, I hope, other stuff.
Very evocative.
Thank you for the sharing.
John
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16/01/2012 at 7:34 am
A scene from most homes, John. The rest of us just pray we won’t also end up that way!
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15/01/2012 at 5:57 pm
Well . . . even if no one OUTSIDE the room cares, they could care about each other, couldn’t they?
After all, they have quite a bit in common.
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16/01/2012 at 7:35 am
Too late, Nancy. Each is trapped in his/her own little world and can’t see anything beyond what their hands are doing…
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15/01/2012 at 8:02 pm
ugh…heavy at the end there…to not have anyone to care for them…i dont ever want it to come to that…and great rhyme scheme…
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16/01/2012 at 7:37 am
The one who meets your eye is the only one who is not under this dreadful ‘spell’, Brian! The only one fully or half conscious of his surroundings.
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15/01/2012 at 9:51 pm
Some stories are so sad, yet at times joy can be found in the simplest of things. Very nice poem Denise.
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16/01/2012 at 7:38 am
Thanks, Jake. 🙂
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15/01/2012 at 10:29 pm
They each care and are putting it into their handiwork. This touched a deep place inside of me Denise.. thank you.
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16/01/2012 at 7:39 am
Jeannie, their handiwork, real or imagined, is their whole world!
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16/01/2012 at 3:04 am
You have the courage to look in the face what many avoid and bring us back for us to reflect on. Thanks.
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16/01/2012 at 7:47 am
I must say, Ben, that being here and privileged to see this, makes me wish I could make a difference for these people. I have been wondering if music would/could get through to them. I have just, a moment ago, broached the subject with the matron who told me they used to have music until the player was stolen! She has promised to look into getting something that ‘can be chained down’!
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16/01/2012 at 11:24 am
Great idea. Good luck!
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16/01/2012 at 12:29 pm
Thanks, Ben. I think I’m going to need it!
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16/01/2012 at 3:16 pm
The last part of life is so very sad for some. I wish it wasn’t a decline like this. 😦
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16/01/2012 at 6:09 pm
We should try to the best of our ability to make things as pleasant as we can for the elderly, Liz.
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16/01/2012 at 10:23 pm
Do many of them have dementia, Denise?
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17/01/2012 at 12:28 am
There are a few with Alzheimer’s, Bb. I’m not sure about dementia because all our brains deteriorate with age and these particular people in that lounge are, all but one I think, shut off in their minds from what is going on around them. I hope to get some music for them and, maybe, start a simple exercise program together with the music. Also I’d have to watch that the carers don’t just hijack the music, if it’s a radio, for themselves as happens with the TV. Ideally I’d like just a CD player, simple and cheap.
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18/01/2012 at 12:11 am
Beautiful piece. You’ve moved me.
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18/01/2012 at 7:05 am
Thanks, Hook. That’s what I wanted to do…
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