THE STATE HOSPITAL THREE

THE STATE HOSPITAL THREE

–

Springing from memory,

State Hospital Three–

Two doctor’s kids and me,

Making our way through academy…

We were the Hospital Three.

–

Brent and Taisa competed for

Valadictory.

I was twenty-seventh of

Two-sixty-two…

A good showing for me!

–

Taisa next door and Brent on the Hill

We grew simaltaneously…

With other kids in the neighborhood,

In general–happy.

–

We all walked to school or took the bus,

Sometimes got special transport…

In later years we each did our thing,

Paralleling the Street named “Court”.

–

Fortunately “The Hospital Three”

Are all three still around,

Each in a different part of this country…

But finding new common ground.

–

–Jonathan Caswell

OLD POWER PLANTS AND MY PAST

OLD POWER PLANTS AND MY PAST

Did you know Internet libraries

Of images are extraordinary….

Finding key words

Open up worlds

Beyond what most records carry.

–

A State Hospital is where my Dad

Worked, and it had…

A coal-fired plant

The steam of which went,

Wherever heat was had.

–

I never got inside,

Was too young and too scared to hide…

It fascinated

The trestle grated,

From train cars the coal would slide!

–

Then within the last twenty years,

The plant shut down (no tears)…

With less occupied

Smaller plants were applied,

Most buildings were left empty for years.

–

Of the two small steam plants used,

One had woodchips to choose….

As an alternate source

And isn’t needed, of course,

Only one plant still warms its flues.

–

So I chosen to model

My past (though not in a bottle)….

Woodchips and coal

Fired plants are my goal,

Which my model trains will serve, full-throttle!

–Jonathan Caswell

(image on Bing)

INMATES’ BREAD AND OFFICER’S BREAD

INMATES BREAD AND OFFICERS BREAD

 

Appearing rather ironic

Is the effort, health-wise chronic…

To find whole-grain good

Which in old times would,

Be considered cross-class histrionics.

–

Early in State Hospital lore,

The funds for management were poor…

They lived on farm land

Growing on hand,

Whatever foodstuffs would endure.

–

Primarily oats and grains

For patients and animals remained…

Hardy and rough

Their bread was the stuff

Fortifying from the hard work gained.

–

Officers’ bread, meanwhile,

Was better in cultural style…

Ground and bleached flour

With real yeast, not sour

Dough, made their families smile.

–

These days, the formula’s reversed,

White sponge bread the masses are cursed….

But stone-ground whole grain

Is a treat worth paying

Extra for those so versed!

 

–Jonathan Caswell

 

LOOKING OUT FOR US

LOOKING OUT FOR US

 

Growing up on State Hospital grounds,

My brother and I did the rounds…

Of friends to see

And places to be,

Within certain bounds!

–

At the time a thousand pair

Of eyes kept our parents aware…

On the Chaplain’s kids

And what they did,

The patients watched with care.

–

And if they could offer a treat,

Like something good to eat…

They would in a flash

To the store dash,

Buying with their pennies a sweet.

–

In that environment I grew,

Something you get used to…

Moving far away

From that kind of display,

One assumes that others do, too.

–

So it was a little shocking

That someone insisted on talking…

About watching me

In difficulty,

At work without squawking.

–

For me it was a concern,

‘Cause often I had been burned…

Confessing illness

Oft led to a mess,

Losing the job I’d earned.

–

I’d learned tight control

Over the view of my role…

To do as needed

No weakness conceded,

Being always ready to roll.

–

But still it was a comfort to see

This person was watching me…

Not for trouble

But knowing my struggle,

To just talk about it with me.

 

–Jonathan Caswell