Ghosts Live Here

I have heard myself say that a house with a death in it can never again be bought or sold by the living. It can only be borrowed from the ghosts that have stayed behind.

Lily from “I Am The Pretty Thing That Lives In The House

I love to run, and I love to find and see old forgotten homes and abandoned places, and when the later happens in the course of the lesser it’s like magic.

(Seen along the Chattanooga 50 Miler.)

I think we should celebrate the things that bring us joy. This post is just a celebration of those places, and of this amazing poem I came across while *shockingly* browsing a Facebook group for abandoned houses (I belong to several).

(Bad road runner joojoo. Trail running in Rincon, Puerto Rico.)

Share what makes you happy, even if it’s some old haunted old wreck.

The House With Nobody In It

by Joyce Kilmer

(Witch house.)

Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I’ve passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.

(He was here. Trail running in Rincon, Puerto Rico.)

I never have seen a haunted house, but I hear there are such things;
That they hold the talk of spirits, their mirth and sorrowings.
I know this house isn’t haunted, and I wish it were, I do;
For it wouldn’t be so lonely if it had a ghost or two.

(Undisclosed not haunted location. Puerto Rico.)

This house on the road to Suffern needs a dozen panes of glass,
And somebody ought to weed the walk and take a scythe to the grass.
It needs new paint and shingles, and the vines should be trimmed and tied;
But what it needs the most of all is some people living inside.

(Find me on Instagram. @mediumpoke)

If I had a lot of money and all my debts were paid
I’d put a gang of men to work with brush and saw and spade.
I’d buy that place and fix it up the way it used to be
And I’d find some people who wanted a home and give it to them free.

(Clearly not haunted.)

Now, a new house standing empty, with staring window and door,
Looks idle, perhaps, and foolish, like a hat on its block in the store.
But there’s nothing mournful about it; it cannot be sad and lone
For the lack of something within it that it has never known.

(Like a lion stalking its prey the haunted house stalks silently through the tall grass.)

But a house that has done what a house should do,
a house that has sheltered life,
That has put its loving wooden arms around a man and his wife,
A house that has echoed a baby’s laugh and held up his stumbling feet,
Is the saddest sight, when it’s left alone, that ever your eyes could meet.

(So not haunted.)

So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can’t help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.

(Cloudland Canyon. Seen along the Chattanooga 50 Miler.)