Robert Starkey
10-17-12
Glass Man
An elderly man once full of beguile
Lie in bed round doctors with psychosis
Too tired to act hostile nether while
I fathomed stories rather prognosis
As he looked at me with a senile smile
He said, “Never shame your diagnosis”
I could smell bitter sweet in something ill
How this gentleman spaced in worlds so still
He’d tell me of third generation meds
Tales of how hospital staff would treat him
Cried of strapping his arms and legs to beds
The truth that he himself knew he was grim
Complains that doctors would mess with their heads
All and all to family sounded whim
Stories of long ago, clinics deranged
I wonder what of this century’s changed
I know what some social folks won’t accept
Although he may not, he looks as if so
If not for the many years of inept
Folks would want to know what he’ll always know
Some claim to care and even intercept
Maybe I’m the proof that needs not to show
As I opened my eyes and time unfurled
I came to fear the beauty in the world
Pristine or profane resides in the glass?
I do not recall a sip nor a pour
Seems pointless to calculate dense or mass
It’s just something nothing less nothing more
One day, some day this man will some time pass
I’ll tell him he became the glass before…
An elderly man with stories to tell
And a story for him beneath his shell
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Author:
Rob (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: April 23rd, 2013 12:44
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 41
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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Comments2
Densely laden with excellent imagery and very thought-provoking, more haunting perhaps seeing, curiously enough, I just wrote a sonnet this evening in tribute to earlier nasty hospital experiences. If I may be so bold, the stilted fashion and rather inverted phrasing lacing this lent my lower rating since I was instructed to avoid such manners and write in as straightforward a fashion as possible, and as is only sensible. While I realize that may have been due to the end-rhyming, yet it devalues the intensity of the poem since it makes it poorer than it might be, a near masterpiece too rough still, seems to me. Hope it goes well nonetheless when it is exhibited. Thanks for sharing. Puir feller, my heart goes out to him. Lovely.
ttfn,
Jenny
great tale of how they treated psychosis in the past and I loved the title. I could picture everything in the poem so you know your imagery is A1. Take care and be proud of your writing. It's fantastic. diamond
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