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The House of Treasure
Posted: 05 November 2015
Word Count: 114
Summary: Sixteen and studying, my next door neighbour asked me to stand in for her for a couple of days tending an old gentleman who lived in the "big house" down the road. Never knew much about him. The house was like a museum. It fascinated me for years and I never forgot him (also it was a shocking revelation to a sixteen yr old, seeing a 90 yr olds "bits")
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It was a large house.
Dust and ghosts
embraced me;
filled my nostrils
with the stench
of age and money.
The owner was
ninety one.
A gentleman once,
now fragile
as a whisper.
I was to tend him.
I was sixteen.
He asked if I could
help him "go",
showed me himself;
small, damp.
Bottle fallen on the floor.
Embarrassed, I turned
away to see
the memories around.
A phonograph
with stacks of music;
A charming man
quick to dance.
Propeller from a
WW1 plane;
Two wars bravely fought.
I saw photographs,
paintings,
wife, children.
Life etched into
every surface.
I turned back,
put his bottle
beneath the covers.
Tucked him in.
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Comments by other Members
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 V`yonne at 18:33 on 06 November 2015
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I warmed to this. I think
embraced me;
isn't needed and in st2 maybe just
The old gentleman
now fragile
as a whisper
asked if I could
help him "go",
showed me himself;
small, damp.
Bottle fallen on the floor.
I was sixteen.
Then:
Embarrassed, I turned
away to see
the memories surrounding him.
I like the way this ends: (maybe His life etched) like the child tucking the old man in...
Life etched into
every surface.
I turned back,
put his bottle
beneath the covers.
Tucked him in.
Very nice flash!
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 Bazz at 18:46 on 06 November 2015
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Hi Jo, lovely story here, two different lives coming together, that reversal of the young looking after the old. I really like the end, the photographs, a charming man, a husband and father, now having to be tucked into bed. Quite sweet and sad.
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 FelixBenson at 21:00 on 07 November 2015
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Jo, this a really lovely memory poem - sweet and a little sad. That clash of ages results in a bit of shock in confronting mortality but results in empathy for the old man, surrounded by images and objects that portray his younger self. I think if you wanted to develop this a bit further, I'd explore rearranging the order of events, so it's not chronological. Maybe making it first person POV. I'd say you probably don't need that first line as I think some of the other details convey that anyway, and may 'dusts and ghosts...' is a stronger way for the poem to start.
Cheers, Kirsty
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 crowspark at 12:35 on 08 November 2015
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This really pulled me in, Jo. I felt the discomfort of the 16 year old, the strangeness of the house and the old man. And as I become more familiar with the man's history, like the "i" of your poem If feel a link with his life.
Good poem.
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Jojovits1 
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