Submit Your Poems
Get Your Premium Membership


CreationEarth Nature Photos

Free Verse Nostalgia Poems | Free Verse Poems About Nostalgia

These Free Verse Nostalgia poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Nostalgia. These are the best examples of Free Verse Nostalgia poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Free verse | |

Stardust Road

“Stardust Road.”

"Soft defense is driven by my thoughts,
I vanish away into yesterday’s scenic road,
Set the mood among the dark clouds,
Wish I could go back to the night, of fourteen and cold.
Tell me not to look up and cover myself with the world.

Sorry I could not stay, 
One too many excuses & lies,
To where they never fixed themselves;
I could not handle the air,
I had to breathe right the cold nights that followed. 
I stood as one in love, under the starry sky…
Young and alone, I left the never-ending vindictive feeling.
The dust slept every reason inside my soul.
I travel the world, snoozing with the magic of the sand.
Stars that echo and drop twinkles to my walking toes.
The horizon was my blanket and shield
Where the light and night I wore, 
Accelerating, escaping no more justification! 
"Oceans of excuses sailed through my soul, 
Heartbroken, but in love with defiance toward the stardust novelty. 

With a sigh!
I hesitate not to look back,
Somewhere the ages turn to rust: 
Old and grey, all alone,

The leaves I stepped on then are trample and gone.
One day I shall return for the proper goodbye.
For now, I must travel down this lonely road silently.
Slowly my heart will heal itself, nurturing the frozen sleet away.
Releasing the 14-year old girl at last,
In a body a mind and soul, 
Confronting her with an, I BELONG HELLO!”

By;PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

You Caught The Wind

I remember you, from when there was a spring When the seasons were ripe, with verdant green Our nimble feet danced in the wind and on the brink of everything Not a furrow in the brow of youth We borrowed life for just awhile We tapped our shoes, on a promised stage Where carefree laughter was the rage that filled our age with endless miles We danced and twirled a twin ballet just you and me on summer's waves Two pirouettes, in mode of curls of blossoms, frilled, and tender leaves unfurled in winds, we found a way to soar our wings, above the world We knew not yet of death or dying or of regret, or cause for crying But, something frowned upon the season You caught the wind, and without reason A colder wind that kept you flying far beyond my eyes could see And to the other side you disappeared beyond my words beyond my tears Now here alone I touch the day and taste the night remembering I will walk alone, in autumn sun And lay myself on dying leaves I think of you and think of then I feel the wind against my face that sweeps me to a distant place where I recall what time erased I'm closer now... to hear the sound The whisper of the seasons calling Above the trees, the sky is blue I think of you, and feel the breeze And all the while, the leaves must fall
.......................................................................................................

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Hanging Berries

.

                                I was sure of meeting you
                                under a hanging of mistletoe — 
                                this December

                                a fair flying flag of snow 
                                to my inner war 
                                deciding to burn 
                                fallen leaves, fallen years —   
                                this December

                                A promise in whispers 
                                to keep secretly, binding a pact
                                Someone would sing a carol of joy — 
                                It's December

                                The sprig of mistletoe 
                                hanging, waiting
                                predicting happiness perhaps 
                                each berry for a kiss, a kiss from your lips
                                still unreachable

                                I was sure of meeting you 
                                under a green branch full of berries.
                                A latent foresight, a beating dream 
                                Because the past should be the past:
                                my own Christmas present

                                I've been waiting for so long
                                and must deserve it
                                Snow: grains, crystals, pellets
                                covering  days — 
                                December
                                
                                I was sure of meeting you
                                under a hanging of mistletoe
                                this cold, distant
                                distant December
                                  


.

Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Things That Seemed Poetic

Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

PLUCKED VIOLIN



This is too complex; i mean the throbbing wound grating my belly on a dappled day, a day breathing of tender winds and violins. Perhaps, the strains of notes shuttle me back to my grandfather’s library sitting on books and archaic telescopes. Here, we would empty the shoulders from a rough sail; he scattering fiddle songs on painted walls… the mellow notes tasted like hints of vanilla scent warmed by cadences of burning musical passion as his eyes , half-closed ,melted the noise of an anxious world, of teary wrongs. ‘Bathe in the splendor of the night,’ he mused, submitting to a trance smitten by some refrains of Moonlight Serenade… and my rubber spine would bend with the flesh of his vibrating hands; violin strings weeping till we drowned in holy streams. Now, I feel this undefined nostalgia… the phantom of light exhumed his lust for old charm; and my eyes fall on the alley of roaming vagueness. I could have loved him more than heaven plucking his strings so soon, uninvited. Judy Konos' Contest: Your Best Old Poem Updated By nette onclaud

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

I Recall

I recall a filthy sidewalk
running in front of grandma's house
with bumps and cracks from the roots
of ancient white oaks…

Meandering down to the levee
with cane poles and sack lunches
crickets and freshly dug earth worms
Barefoot in careless summers...

I recall one low spot 
beneath a straggly Chinaberry 
filled with pitch-black delta dirt
washed in by summer rains
Shuffling through and digging down
burying our toes...

Often now I recall
when the heavens are shrouded in grief
when darkness closes at the edge of vision
I recall a porch light flicking on in the distance
I recall grandma’s trembling soprano calling
calling me back home….










Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

When We Were Royals

Leaning against the warmth of old oak, I recall your sun burnt skin that summer. As I let my fingers linger on the side of the bench where you used to sit, a memory - like noon day’s sun light, seeps into my senses. A light wind ruffles my hair at the nape of my neck, that same spot you liked to kiss. You said we were royals as we scattered bread crumbs for our loyal subjects. Where have those pigeons gone? I lift my face to sky and close my eyes, breathing in the scent of nearby roses; suddenly something tickles my cheek! Opening my eyes, I see a Monarch butterfly, its color that of your sun burnt skin. Written 8/31/2015 by Andrea Dietrich for the Sense of touch contest of nette onclaud

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

These ribbons I tie as you leave

Blue – 
for your arm wrapped around
my clavicle. I thought
I would loose my breath.

Red – 
for the cusp of our hip bones
struggling to pull the drunken color
from our orange cheeks.
and our sweat, our sweat, our sweat
evaporating 
in the drenched summer air.
Our pants futile afterthoughts
Left crumpled on the floor
It is here I asked for your respect
And you filled me with it.


Orange – 
for the musk smell of our blanket den. I would watch the way dawn light
speckled your shoulders, pale, white-blue
Iridium. 
I would trace the ink
of your skin, fingertip hovering a half inch
from your bone. 

Green – 
for how my name would hesitate
on your breath in brief puffs 
like dandelion seeds blown from 
My wistful lips when I was 
eleven 
waiting for them to bring back my wish.

Black – 
for my sleeveless dress, as we strolled from 
your father’s funeral.  

It was the only time I watched you cry.

There were little holes in the cement sidewalk.
They filled with rain, oil
And your tears.
I watched your face change through 
their watery colored reflections.


Pink – 
for the way your skin repels from my 
Touch, quivers as though my finger- 
print were a red hot poker.
You haven’t allowed me to touch you
In a year.

Purple – 
for the color of her font, as she responds to you. It is an eager
Color. She responds with all the passion of an Eskimo kiss. 

You left her waitng..always.

I have been special to you,
she replies to your
overtures.

Her letters 
Who blush
like a maid
Who’s felt the hot moist
whisper of something naughty
tickle against her ear lobe.

White – 
for the way your eyes punch accusations
sharper then your razor tongue.

They spit 
blue crackled lightening,
like an angry alley cat.

My words cannot reach you here.
You will leave.

We will divide our booty

Words that once held my name like a piece
Of carefully folded origami
now hiss cold 
devoid like the plaster of our empty room.

Grey- 
for the morning 
now knocking on my window.

I am livid in my withdrawal, tossing and turning
I can find no comfort
in
the tangle of these vacant sheets. 



Copyright © Jennifer Brooks | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse | |

Gary's Yard Sale, the story

Gary's Yard Sale, the story
                                                  Authored by Chuck Keys

Among the rustbelt cities of yesterday,
Along the edges of the Detroit River,
A short distance to the side,
Resides a slice of Victorian times,
Excesses exceeded needed, 
Where age confronts time,
The day before meets the day of,
And greets tomorrow.

Those in the hood
And outside,
Meet and greet among 
The scraps of forgotten memories.
Lawns filled with bygones of size,
Tables filled with important somethings,
Maybe everythings,
For important that evolved into history.

Where memories become linked,
Each to a stored thought,
Treasured, pleasured or disdained,
To a person,
Of late or present,
To a future of who knows what.

During the day,
The history-of and the future-of talk,
To each,
Of where they were,
And where they hope to be,
The dust is blown off with the wind,
From the east, west, north and south.

The yard sale, the graveyard of the past,
The arena of the present,
Life and death of the sale,
Dance together, coupled,
Where Mine, becomes Yours' while
Gary the Conductor, orchestrates to perfection,
The operatic enjoyment of history,
Buyer meets seller, exchanges
Are made.  As is today.
Bravo! Bravo!

*This poem is dedicated to Gary and Ann Harris of Northville MI USA – May they and 
their Yard Sales age forever!

© Charles H Keys, 2010.  All Rights Reserved.  V1.4.09252010

Copyright © Chuck Keys | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

It Got Written

it got written in the sunshine
in the late eve
in the cool breeze
it got written in the moment

it got written on a swing
on a deserted beach
a most curious thing
it got written in the moment

it got written on the sand
where the seaweed washed upon the land
without a plan
it got written in the moment

it got written where the waves of the bay lap like static
and I can hear the metal grinding of a windmill
over the sound of that cool breeze in my ears
it got written in the moment

it got written watching a seagull doing a fly-by
watching me, squawking at me
like an impatient child wanting me to give it something
it got written in the moment

it got written under a big blue sky
on a distant coastline
close to where I now live
it got written in the moment

it got written while I waited
while we lived apart but worked together for our future, fated
when we again would be mated
it got written in that moment

Copyright © scott thirtyseven | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Under the Willow Trees

A path strewn thick with rusty leaves led to nowhere and everywhere in our fantasies, rescuing us from after school chores and homework pages wrinkled in time; a memory come and gone returns to me. Back home, under a row of willow trees, I weep for my childhood friend, for the innocence lost, I thought I could keep, for the faded line between joy and pain that suddenly comes with age; I close moist eyes to see you dancing in rain showers and climbing up rays of sunlight, imagination uncaged; running carefree for hours - just us, two, whether skies were shades of gray or blue. We said forever, a pinky swear I remember, naïve in our make-believe world. How many years passed by, distance growing between you and I? A phone call once-in-a-while became just a Christmas card once-a-year. I hope you always knew the truth, I loved you, my dear friend. Time cannot erase our laughter caught on the autumn breeze and the childhood secrets shared on that path strewn thick with rusty leaves, trodden bare each year come fall of winter snow. Our laughter now echoes in dreams, chaffing the row of willow trees still sulking low, moss brushing tears in timeless beauty, waiting for you to come home.

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

My City

Of the Gods own country of this paradise where green and blue merge as one in the north is a city that encompass the beauty where the dream lands meet lined by kaasaraka trees where seven tongues are spoken and a unique lingo was woken lined by shores and calm beaches which meets with forts of ancient elegance who can pass by with no notice the mountains high and hillocks of beauty forests green and tranquil rivers places of worship, unique structures renowned for coir and handloom and for its customs varied The people here, with a smile of warmth welcoming with open arms known for their variety dishes which does prick ones tastebuds of the sense of fashion who can beat their passion and their thirst for knowledge is to be acknowledged fame it has know from times of yore of the arts and culture it beholds this is the city of budding talents feel the vibe and do relent © Nadiya(14 May '15)
*Chosen poem of the day on 16 May 2015

Copyright © poesy relish | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

When Love Was Innocent

Sing for me the sweetest song of love when life was still so young. Those tender times and days devoid of cares and wants troubling the old, when smiles and laughter ruled the day, when worries passed and did not stay. Strum so softly your guitar just like the nights along the shore when music meant the world to us and dreams were spun with so much fun. With nary a thought to hindrances, and silence in between did not mean sadness. Sketch the image once again of all our hopes and aspirations. Paintbrush, our imaginations that fueled all our conversations. Let the canvas capture the moment when each one’s triumph was heaven sent. With words of wonder I will write of every look and all the sighs, of every throbbing thud within our hearts that sometimes drown the din. Still, we aimed our sight so high a desire defined by what’s ideal... When life was young, and love was innocent.
16 May 2015 Kim Patrice Nunez Any Poem That Received Honorable Mention Contest SPONSOR: Broken Wings

Copyright © Kim Patrice Nunez | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Visit to Grandma

Have you ever woken up feeling like a kid 

With angels dropping cotton candy on your soul 

When knocks on doors reveal no steps in snow 

And shooting stars have white beards and presents? 

I get lost sometimes under goose feathers and it feels good, 

Broken speakers squeak Christmas Carols 

There are no clocks on walls, only the rhythm of pine logs in the fireplace 

It smells of the forest I used to fly with horses, 

No saddles, no hats, no shoes, no wolves... 

Just practicing tying my shoelaces and sitting up straight for life... 

I watch her reflection secretly pray in a room made especially for us... 

* 

It's warm, pupils - two mirrors of colorful lights on a plastic tree...


www.scripca.com
 

Iolanda Scripca copyright  2010

Copyright © iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

UP WHERE IT BELONGS




Strewn by knitted spines and a tail with ribbons on its hair, bright flowing visions float along an azure sky. Gracefully, the flight takes a diamond shape as if to roam away in some twirling glide. And as it slowly faded from sight, the little boy on the beach giggled and tugged the braided loop calling his paper wing, “ Come back; I’ll have to pull you in.” But it waved on like an entranced sail kissing the clouds; till near dusk marked the rising moon…quietly, he rested on the sand to gaze at the breezy sky again; this time a bit aware the kite he handmade and loved won’t come back… for it is up above where its home belongs. ~ Contest: Gwendolyn Rix's Let's Fly a Kite and PD's Poem Under 15 Lines by nette onclaud

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

If Only

If only...I could start over again.
Took that job in Memphis and stayed away from so-called-friends. 
     If only...I could right the wrongs.
Find the perfect songs and make you giggle all night long.
     If only...My wager would have been on the winning team.
But life is mean and I lost everything.
     If only...I would have turned the other cheek.
You can't walk down a street without a coward preying on the weak.
     If only...I would have turned left instead of right.
An automobile accident plus the loss of my eyesight.
     If only...I could travel back in time.
Do things differently and have peace of mind.
     If only...she were alive today.
My mother would shake her finger and say...
     "If only, If only, If only!"

Copyright © Jimmy Anderson | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Bedlam baby

I remember you
cartoon smile and egg-shaped head.
Do you remember
how the rainbow formed on the water,
how the neon lights flickered,
or the scent of nectarines on your forehead?
They were happy to see for the first time
behind glass window,
between speaker box voices --
unopened package,
untouched collector’s item,
you shiny new contraption,
star of the play,
hero of the hour, 
flavor of the season.

Seed of your father,
soil of your mother.
Fruit of love,
fruit of conflict.
Decision’s aftermath,
delusion’s consequence,
Are you accident,
                    intention,
                            problem,
                                  solution?

Bough in the river,
wrenched in the current.
Hand reaching for hand,
hand holding your own.
Bedlam baby with the guilty smile
do you remember
how you would not fracture the  mullioned frame,
how you could not shatter porcelain,
or how you hid in changing alleys?

I will save you
you will save me.
My hand in yours.
I am the boat
you are the journey.

Copyright © Ryan Caidic | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse | |

Cockcrow

The moor side broadcast,perpetually
amid airwaves of delirium,
aria that reverberates, from crag to scar
beacon to abbey century to century,
Everyday truth in simplicity
to ignite the human race!

Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

Unforgiving

You think you know him
But you refuse to see
The artful way he abuses me
He captivates my mind
He traps my soul
He pins my arms to my side
When I tell him just to go
He uses knife like words
To slice me with his tongue
His eyes are like daggers
Causing me to come undone
Harsh fingers press against my face
Proving im a Doll
To play with as he choses
Or throw against the wall
He taunts with cruel intentions
To make my heart bleed
Playing Devils advocate
Once I cry myself to sleep
Soft and bitter sweet
In an instant he turns to stone
A heart as cold as ice
Mean down to the bone
But you refuse to see
You glance the other way
And listen to his words
You join in his game
Each word he says is now a jest
Each look is a mistake
And when he grips painfully
He just meant to play
Close your eyes to his work
It really is an art
But no matter how you spin it
Inside he is an abusive jerk

Copyright © Jay Loveless | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

These hands

These hands have known the joys of a boy’s youthful play
Also known the farm work that was required each and every day
These hands pulled the weeds from the fields where we toiled
Laboring under a blazing sun; leaving these hands rough and soiled
These hands held the hand of my lady as I asked her to share my life
Held her by my side the day she became my wife
These hands reveal the ravages; of weather’s savage breathe
Held a knife in the flowing blood; in a beasts ultimate death
Hands that held many a hammer; swung too hard; swung too long
Time has taken its toll on these old hands; hands that once were so strong
These hands proudly rocked the cradle as I watched my babies sleep
Held them closely to my chest to calm some hurt causing them to weep
These hands gently pushed a child’s swing; as my children laughed aloud
Held a daughter's hand walking down the aisle, made her father proud
These hands have known the heat of a sculptor’s flaming torch
Held brush and pallet while painting out upon the porch
Cradled my pen as I spread the ink in the poetry that I write
Ink that is sometimes spread well into the night

Copyright © Donald J Bennett | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Its Raining...

                          Its Raining…

God’s Cleansing Tool
Cloud-Concerto… How Cool !
Plop-Plop Plopping into Pothole Pools
On the Grass, Pavements and On My Own-Sweet- Fools…

who, don’t have Sense enough, to get out of the Rain…
… I think I’ll go Join Them… Again

                               Amen

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

The Beauty of Yore

The memory still lingers,
Of the times, we ingested this scenery.
The solace of the water 
Brushing the distant horizon.
Reminds me of the time,
I spent with you...laughing and crying.

Beneath the sun and moon,
Where the canvas sky painted,
Many inspiring sunsets,
In a sequential series of beauty.

This place still touches my stomach
In a special way like you did, 
and I wish you were here,
To reminisce those days with me.

But the photo remains, 
As a souvenir of the best times of my life.
Our impressions have cast their mark,
On that very spot where we once stood
And you took my breath away...

Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

A Memory

Rugged and rebuffed it still sets all alone
A memory of my very long ago childhood
Vine covered with creepy crawlers all about
More frightening now then when a child I think
I remember the old outhouse from long ago
3rd Place Winner Contest # 189 Sponsor Brian Strand July 17, 2012

Copyright © Carol Sunshine Brown | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Roaming through Memories

alone now I roam through memories recalling treasures of the past journeying back to seaside treks with my husband riding to the city to see Broadway shows reliving nights of romance even visiting John’s grave in the best of times memories carry me to ocean jetties where vows of love were exchanged as waves lapped gently against rocks if only we could feel these sensations again family outings at the beach building sandcastles burying Dad’s feet in sand sauntering along the festive boardwalk hiking through woodlands with friends who have passed wanting to hug them again feeling the weight of concrete preventing my spirit from moving on as I reach out to heaven seeking a sign praying for guidance hoping past joy will be restored confined by sadness I roam through memories alone now
For Drake’s “I Roam” contest 4/23/11

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Senility

The rainbow of reason ends
With a pot of gold and jabberwocky.
When hippocampus dwells in solitary,
       silent,
              eerie,
                    forgotten dormitories
of the expatriated mind.


In planned visits 
To familiar spaces,
When elapsed faces are still hailed with fervor, 
         and hasty,		
                 eager,
                      vivid candor,
As though they had never gone.


Deep in thought
In cavernous bowels tangled lost, 
Remote repartees recurring restlessly. 
          Cautious,
                      wary,
  	                    and ever leery	
of echoing footsteps anxiously nearing, as though someone might overhear. 


As even eyes fail to mirror
The twilight of past vigor,
Speaking in feeble voices muddled beneath walls,
            beneath walls,
	           beneath walls,
	                     beneath walls.
Walking politely in ancient, and empty, imaginary halls.


The stars stop still and unfleeting
Listening to last breaths, and the heart’s last beating,
To hearken timid last words from the past's last illusions,
            past apparitions,
                         past veritas
                                   past delusions,
Where celestial alae still go a-flutter with lost aspirations.


When the frail hand that once held and sheltered
Cannot even rattle dandelion clocks,
Or crush delicate imago wings into dust,
          and caress, 
                  and feel,
                           and touch, 
Save for Elysian veldts
Where the rainbow of reason ends.


Copyright © Ryan Caidic | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse | |

Sometimes

Sometimes I am happy, sometimes I am sad.
Sometime I sing, sometimes I stammer

Sometimes I dance on the music of my soul, Sometimes I dance on the fingers of 
one single person
Sometimes I expect so much from others; sometime I myself can’t meet my own 
expectations.

Sometime I make fun of others and feel bad later, sometimes life makes fun of me 
and I smile
Sometime I win and sometimes I lose, sometimes I don’t even understand whether I 
won or lost.
 
Sometimes I laugh as if whole world is with me,
Sometimes I cry as if I am alone wandering in a strange land

Sometimes I give up so easily
Sometimes I work so hard that no one can stop me to achieve what I want

Sometimes I am dynamic person, who wants to change the world,
And sometimes I am a kid who expects anyone to embrace him tightly.

Sometimes I feel happy about the achievement of my enemy
Sometime I feel dejected with my own success.

Sometimes I help others and show them the right path
Sometimes I feel totally helpless and don’t know where to go

Sometimes I ask god to please give my past back
Sometimes I pray to show me the way forward


Life is composed of SOMETIMES and I just flow with that.
U admit or not but you are also sailing on the same boat.
So join me and enjoy it EVERYTIME as SOMETIMES life is very short!

Copyright © Rajat Singhal | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

My Son Moon and Star

            My Son Moon and Star ~

        Approaching the celebration of his Birth 
                cherishing the gift I received 
           within weeks of conception I knew
            something amazing was in Creation ~

            the Stars held a party
            sending me with one of their own  
    Gazing at 3 shooting stars twinkling crossing the sky   
       It was magic  It was destiny taking its flight.  

           In love with an October full moon 
               drawing and painting I liked 
             thinking of Vincent Van Gogh ~
                caught in a loss of time 

          Hours going by as choosing my color  
           a wittness to three falling stars 
             A clear night sky sparkle's
           A once Famous Star was sent 
            inspiring the tiny child inside ~ 

           Never a doubt in my mind at all     
       child bearing was worth any pain received
      yours will be in a pursuit of a dream ~
             one to cherish and hold
          My Son was born the following August ~

    working on the set of Grimm 3rd season this year  
         as the set of Leverage for 3 years .

              Has done a Indie movie here  
             In Paris it was seen and honored
             coming soon filmed in Portland ~
                 "The House of Last Things "

        awaiting the credits , you will see
                        
    1st Assistant Director ~ production assistant 
   
                 My Young Lion Mans dream ~
        A proud mom I watch every show and the credits 

        as foretold in a whisper to me 25 years ago
              My Son &  Moon and Star  
               A name you will all know ~

            Happy Birthday to my creative Son
             you will exist in my heart forever~
                        and thereafter               
                             Mom

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Nothing the Same Anymore

NOTHING!  THE SAME ANYMORE?

I remember that place
in green pastures called home.
But where are you now
“Union Yard, Britton Holm”
Deep in reams of memories
indelible you lay,
reposed at the helm
of a life rushing by.

Guess i’ve played life’s
generation game,
yet somehow you appeared the same!
Misguided my mind
in local pursuit,
when reminded
one does not belong,
the only stranger there was i.

Sometimes I try to tell myself
that life yesteryear was never real,
just a fantasy of one’s youth
the way I use to feel.
“But you are so astute”
No one to change nature’s way
when every step together we retraced,
“Only the human race it seems fluctuates.”

From time to time
the dream awakes, then swiftly abates,
even the memories seem to fall
like autumn leaves
that swirls within the gutter,
when I see urbanization,
spread its wing
like some gigantic woodcutter!

Alas no more the sight
no more the sound
no more the light,
in this life to be found
in that foundation called home,
the last bastion of my folks,
only a memory of love
and a mind at will to evoke!

© Harry J Horsman   2013

Copyright © harry horsman | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Old Ship

I feel like an old ship Anchored in the bay, Too old and slow To battle storms Or haul the freight That pays the way. I’ve had my turns On stormy seas And danced on waves That threatened me. I’ve spent my time On misty isles And slept with strangers In lonely ports. I’ve heard the songs That nature sings And drunk the wine Of slower times. . . . Now . . . The journey’s over The mellow, harbor lights Of yesterday Are gone. I’m anchored in the bay And people come to see This old ship Whose memories hang, Like shrouds of rope, Down from the mast. And, younger ships have come To take my place upon the sea.
Written while visiting the ship, "Star of India," in San Diego

Copyright © William Crocker | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Occasional Snow

Huddled over that old black radio
waiting for the final announcement...
School canceled tomorrow!
Bedtime? We actually have to SLEEP?

Where am I? Is that light coming from...
No-No! Don't look out the window!
Then-how-what-when-where?
Oh me oh my, the door, the front door...

Some has swept up onto the porch
And the steps, the steps!...
Breathe a deep, icy breath first
Go ahead now, look on out and note
how everything is smothered,
smothered, muffled and quieted
by the blanket that covers all,
covers all but the perfect silence

Breath another deep, icy breath
Go ahead now, step on out
Step out in the yard and note
dainty, delicate bird tracks
And rabbit footprints too?
(How DARE they get here first?)

Fence posts measure how much
Wearing comical, tilted hats 
Pesky sprinkles of sleet
tease and tickle my nose...

Like a magical wide-awake dream,
familiar yet so unfamiliar...
A brand-spanking new kingdom of white
custom recreated just for me

Oh, you BAD little brat!
Will you again tromp out and ruin
Mother Nature's picture of perfection
and forever scar this eternal moment?

Oh yes, I believe you will
Hurry! Get dressed! Now GO...

8/19/2014

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2014