Best Rest Home Poems
By morning, I could feel the first hints of warm air,
Relieved I took my bath and dressed for work.
There was no music in the block of flats,
But in my head rumbled a hundred old time songs
That tantalized me into a stupor of great expectancy.
Down stairs, near the elevator, was an old woman.
I was shocked to see her on a wheelchair, eyes vacant.
The landlord smiled at me and told me not to worry.
Seems Angelique was to be taken to some rest home.
Her mother just wanted to see that the upstairs
Apartment was in perfect state for the living.
Disappointed at the name I left for work later for my groceries.
Back home I concocted some pasta and cooked the sauce,
Opened my favourite bottle of red wine to drown my sorrows.
Silence reigned supreme and I felt rather annoyed.
So I betook myself to sleep hoping at least to dream.
The phone rang and a dulcet voice asked for me.
She had arrived late and had got nothing prepared for her meal.
Could I take something good for her to eat?
So I put on my track suit and with little or no enthusiasm
Went upstairs with some pasta left over and some wine.
That would be enough I thought, but the mother
Was old enough and should have known better.
Mother? The girl that opened the door was young enough.
A nymph that beckoned me in, in the warm atmosphere,
Balsamic perfume that inundated the cosy apartment,
Low magic music swirled and vibrated everywhere.
My name is Angel she tenderly smiled, shall we dance?
I felt the warmth of her; felt her arms and the dance began.
It did not take long to become lost in her euphoric bliss.
And our lips met, again and again as our hearts beat as one……….
You want to know the end?
We lived happily ever after…….
As all fairy tales should…..
I was minding my business, taking my time,
Ridin’ Ol’ Bess from the West Miller Mine
When all of a sudden, (weren’t nothing’ I did)
Bess started buckin’ and she hit the skids!
I was pitched off her back like a sack of no worth
To land near the meanest dang rattler on earth!
His tounge was a-flickin’, tasting the air,
His eyes clouded over, like a blind man’s that pair.
He was longer than Bess with a full twelve-inch girth,
My mettle dissolved to a pitiful dearth.
His head raised up proud, his tail even prouder
And that buzz just kept getting louder and louder!
His mien was aggressive and I was a wreck
So I pulled out my shooter and aimed for the neck!
Now I hate killing creatures; God’s watchin’ and all,
But he had my number and was dialin’ the call.
His head is still there, by the side of the trail
But I took the rest home, even that tail!
His meat fed me supper, yep, top o’ the line.
His hide and those rattles? A hat-band so fine!
When the Parakeet increased his squawking
with the noise box ceaseless talking
far louder than the muted city roar.
Then I pondered that curious poem about the lost Lenore
About that bedeviled man and the raven Nevermore
How I envy Poe his quiet midnight
when he could hear a tapping however light
through the window pane or was it a chamber door
when quoth that famous raven Nevermore
I agree oh raven, Nevermore!
Nevermore what power lies in that word
I'm trading my parakeet for a silent gallows bird
that knows only that single solitary noun or did he mean it as a verb?
Nevermore the nightly noises that disturb
television gunfights, cabs screeching off the curb
neighbors who are seldom seen but always overheard
The raven sought a bust of Pallas
as a quiet place to perch
They took me to the rest home
between the firehouse and that bell ringing city church
so to the end of this as must all tales
for now I contemplate Poe's bells, Bells, BELLS!
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Old Folks Home
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: June /2015
Good morning
Mr Wilson,
Sir -
Are you
ready
for
a
bright
sunny day?
Young man,
today
is the same
as
yesterday,
I can't
remember
a
bright sunny
day,
here
In this
rest home -
I get three
meals
a day,
a
game board
to
play -
my
medicine;
a nap
after lunch,
exercise,
and
maybe
someone
will wake
me
for supper.
That's
how my day's
are
spent -
You know
young
man,
as I recall.....
a man
wearing
a
white
uniform
said
to me,
"Don't worry
Mr Wilson,
family
will come
to
see you
once
a
week."
Well son,
ain't
nobody
came
except you,
and
I see
you
everyday.
Now,
tell me
again,
Are you
my
grandson-
"No
Mr Wilson
Sir -
I'm your
caretaker -
Sunset through the glass
One window shade left open
Letting me look out
To watch the darkness coming
And the fall of one more night
My
stepdad,
stricken with
a terrible
disease, suffered for
over a decade as
his mind slowly unraveled.
Bits and pieces of it vanished.
He had to be removed from the house
in which he'd helped Mom raise all of us kids.
At the rest home, seeped in dementia and
confused by a recent surgery
whose aim he could not comprehend,
he cried out helplessly, but
seeing our mom, he took
her hand and gently
whispered, "You're the
one I've been
thinking
of."
I wish I didn't stop to think,
about the man who cherished me.
My childhood so fun and fair,
I remember your cologne drifting in the air.
The days we went to the Space museums,
showing me pictures of your trips to new Zealand.
The greatness achieved when in the service,
giving lives a better purpose.
Just thinking of your voice is hard enough,
I wish that I could be more tough.
It hurts to think that now your gone,
Grandpa I just can't be strong.
That day in the rest home I hit my peak,
the fear so bad I couldn't speak.
I had to leave because I just cried,
and cried, and lost my chance to say goodbye.
I wish I could have let it out,
and now I have to live without.
I know your looking down and see,
this pathetic thing I've grown to be.
I just want to be like you,
but I could never amount to you.
Please help me through this pain I'm in,
and help me to feel alive again.
I miss you so much I just want to scream,
I hope you visit me in my dreams.
I love you Grandpa with all I have left,
there is not much there but shame and stress.
I want to honor you and become better,
find my peace, if I can ever.
I hope on day again I will see,
the man who truly cherished me.
I love you so much Grandpa and I am so so sorry.
This is about a Christian woman living at a rest home that has no other place to abide without anyone caring and depression. I used to work as a CNA(Certified Nurse Assistant).
The Final Hour
Oh, I want to go home
cannot wait to roam,
not here but far above,
to abide in God’s love,
where tears never flow
like they do here below.
I wake up no shoes
when without a clue,
locate under the bed
as I lift up the spread.
What time to go now
for the dining room, chow.
My eyes are growing dim,
help me to find Jim,
do not want a dispute
with you…, I’m in pursuit,
is he over there,
in his favorite wheel chair.
Do I have to take a pill?
What a splendid thrill!
Here she comes so late
find I detest the wait,
once gone need to eat,
no other person to greet.
Isn’t this exquisite?
come in and visit.
three beds in a row,
she sounds like a crow.
A toilet to share,
I’m hoping no one’s there.
Who gave me a phone call,
only, Sister Hall.
How is the preacher,
his wife, still a teacher?
My bible lies here,
in the heart it lives near.
Wipe tears off the sleeve,
now you go and leave.
Days I long for past,
desire to be free at last,
so I hear the songs
of praise for which I long.
Who knows the final hour
that’s in God’s power?
The curtain of life
opens to no more strife,
leave this earth of pain
forever without a cane.
By tiptoe
You see things at the rest home
you don’t expect to see.
New veteran in his Korea cap is
whipping everyone else in pool.
He never has to bend over
and aim before he shoots.
He strokes it from his wheelchair
then rolls to his next shot.
Donal Mahoney
As I awoke to a brand-new day
I asked Him to direct my path
To protect and guide, lest I should fall
And keep me free, from grief and wrath
In haste, I departed on an errand
Forgot - if I, had locked the door
Returned and found that all was well
Now,- to that sale, at the discount store
About a mile down the interstate
"One Lane Closed," the sign read
A mass of crumpled steel I saw
I, - could have been, there instead
The sale now ended, when I arrived
"They're all gone", the clerk advised
For that item, I had waited long
Now, I would have to improvise
I heard an old friend was confined
At a rest-home, in the next town
A call revealed, a quarantine imposed
I'd have to wait, before driving down
I had tried to do what I thought best
But obstacles altered what I chose
As I analyzed events of the day
The picture I, began to compose
Watching the evening news, I learned
An interstate accident, with one dead
And a recall on the item, I had sought
Injuries had occurred, - the reporter said
So, - back to that morning prayer -
Did He supply my wants, - - or needs ?
Consolation I found, "alone" - with Him
As I read, - Jeremiah, ten: twenty three
Colan L Hiatt = 02-24-13
© All Rights Reserved
Heck, who am I?
I fell, taken to hospital.
Strong antibiotics and was sent home.
I felt dizzy. Who cared?
Diabetic pills sent me into deep coma.
Found myself in a different new hospital.
Woke in a corridor alone.
Who am I? What's my name? I want to go back home.
My sweet daughter
Took me to a rest home, explained.
And showed me some photos, went for a walk.
Mild amnesia. 'twill pass.
Old and new flashes of memories came and went.
Began to write poems. Old friends just disappeared,
Wish some memories went away.
But the urge to write poetry, free or rhymed, stayed.
Placed 1
He lies on his bed in the rest home -
the old man that nurses all there
have given the nickname Old Pickle.
(Of course they've seen beneath his underwear.)
Like greenish blue cheese
bulge the veins of his legs.
By this stage of his life,
he wished they were pegs.
He once was as smooth as mozzarella,
melting every woman with his smile.
Now his body is crumbling away.
His smell is somewhat barn-yarn vile.
Old Pickle loves the pretty nurses.
Amazingly, he can get it up still.
Bemoaning his looks, he lies in his bed,
wishing it weren’t all such a big dill.
An old man at a rest home, in a pillowed chair
sat turned to a window with a cold and distant stare.
Now bid by politician to impart his words so wise ,
startled all that day as he spoke with tear filled eyes.
Willy Nilly !
Slogans silly!
What a lot of worthless poo !
Vanity and irony , Arrogant hullabaloo !
Rounding once again the bush and never coming to a point.
Answers from a candidate with eyes that case the joint.
Searching for donations selling hundred dollar dogs
while your nation lives in squalor and their rations feed the hogs.
Acid etching freedom as you fly the flag in storms.
The Whitehouse once a castle is now a drunkard’s dorm.
And we the weeping people must cling to hope and faith
in the remnant of a legend of a country that was great .
You greet each other in the street and shake each other’s hand .
Taking shortcuts to your pedestals to bypass common man .
Your citizens are divided over conflicts you devise .
They vote for you and for their votes your promises are lies .
For this our comrades shed their blood !
For this their mothers cried !
And when Uncle Sam was finished,
He bowed his head and died.
Swab
inside
my nose
presses, swirls. Twinges,
twitches, runs like it’s bleeding.
I wait in lobby, till rest home screener
smiles. “Negative! Good to go!”
Grandmother, I only
do this
for
you!
The wresting groung for old homos
Is full tonight
Because we spilled so much of our youth
In endless repeat anonymous encounter
That it was not enough to end the world once
More than a thousand medieval nonyears ago,
That spun off revolution in the sixties
Into reactionary shaved heads in the ninties.
They're scratching their old heads
Saying what have we done when we were young
enough to know better
Than dad
Because we had more fun than zoot suits
That women diddn't catch on
Until they got mad enough at us
To start their own rest home
For the partiers who came too late
To catch onto the disease that followed
Our young release
At the old new
We now are.