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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

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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 and tapped our shoes on childhood's stage where carefree laughter was the rage that filled each age with promised smiles 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
9/4/13 ....................................................................................................... Sponsor: Laura Loo Contest: BEST SAD POEM EVER II

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

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 | |

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.
                                Maybe ... maybe I can
 
                                burn the fallen leaves
                                those fallen years—   
                                this December

                                A promise in whispers, 
                                secretly kept, 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
                                your lips still 
                                so unreachable.

                                I was sure of meeting you 
                                under a fresh branch full of berries.
                                A latent foresight, a beating dream.
 
                                The past should be the past:
                                it's my own Christmas present.
                                I've been waiting for so long

                                and must deserve it. Snow:
                                grains, crystals, pellets
                                covering  days and hope — December.
                                
                                I was sure of meeting you
                                under a hanging of mistletoe
                                this cold, distant            distant December
                                  


1/31/16

Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2009

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.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

PLUCKED VIOLIN--- MEMORIES



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 these undefined memories… 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. Nayda Ivette Negron's Memories Contest

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

I Recall

I recall a dirty 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 | |

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 | |

Wild Cherries

A giant snowball in springtime
From twenty yards out the sound and smell
Closer now; breathing her numbing scent
Listening to the drowsy hum
of greedy and jealous bees
forced to share her bounty
with Tiger and Zebra Swallowtails
School will be out soon...

Memorizing every branch within reach
Her limbs are just low enough
for a boy to scramble up quickly
fleeing imaginary monsters
still lurking and prowling below
Taking ignorant and blissful advantage
of this daughter of the wild; his protector
His big sister to run to...

Shiny and slippery black bark
that oozes burgundy sap
which dries in animal shapes
Summer twilight is coming
Bats twittering overhead
chasing nasty mosquitoes
A noise echoing from far off
A door slamming maybe...

Tucked safely away in his favorite pew
(Naughty boy, eating during church!)
sampling her forbidden fruit
sweet and sour...half is seed
Thieving Blue Jays get the most
Screaming and scolding arrogantly
yet flying away unpunished
Grannny will make jelly...

Oh everlasting Father, creator of all things
He knows that heaven is far beyond the grasp
of a feeble and fumbling mortal mind
But when You decide to send Your beloved Son
back to rule the earth for one thousand years
If he is judged worthy to be in that count
May one humble servant say if it's like this
that would be just fine...



Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2009

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 | |

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 | |

A String of Pearls

The amber light, through window glass
like time itself, shines much the same
Some things change, but some remain
Tonight's full moon still knows her name 

Her silken hair, her porcelain neck
a strand of pearls, a diamond clasp
I find them now, within my grasp
They bask within the timeless past

With envy now, the night is awed
Covetously, it fondles rows
of tiny orbs, which, one by one
are miracles, with moons, within

I hold the pearls within my palm
and think of old Glenn Miller songs
and mother dancing long ago
She wore them like another skin
back, long before my life began

 
A grain of sand, then pearls become
A part of her, ....    a part of me

So fragile, weak the thread is bare
as if the sun might gaze too long
a tarried glaze, the string would fray
and pearls would fall and roll away

Perhaps such things meant to be
Each miracle, has just a while
Glenn Miller songs have come and gone
I'll put away the pearls for now
so moon can own the night again



_2013___________________________________________
A 1st in PD's Contest: 101 In A Row ...Contest Finalized 7/23/16.... 
Resubmitted For Laura Loo's Contest: Any First Place Poem
To hear Glenn Miller's rendition of "String of Pearls" click on the following youtube site:... 
 http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vY4gUhFVNfE

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

While Feeding the Ducks

Here, just by chance, we're caught, in the shade
staring, surprised, into eyes of the past
while watching the ducks as they circle the pond
It seems they are hands on a clock sweeping time
where silence is gentler,... because now we are friends

Today, on this bench, lost men will linger, 
while waiting for nothing, and no place to go
Once we had claimed this 'our' place to hold hands,
planning a future that never began
Children we were with the world at command
I'm glad we aren't talking in circles,   .. like then

Other children are playing in the rust afternoon,
zippered up tight, against winter wind
Talking of children..you tell me there's two 
You show me a photo,…then, I share a few

I am all out of bread, as the sun starts to fade
taking away all the stains of the day
East of the bandstand shadows grow long, 
falling in corners like memories do

We've learned to know twilight can be bittersweet
And taste what dim recall has only allowed
Goodbyes are said, and you then, kiss my cheek, ..
then you turn and you wave, as you are crossing the street

Left wondering now, where those lost men will go,
it worries my brow, what lost men will eat
A shadow of you, is still left in the park, …
of us holding hands, as it starts to get dark
I leave a few dollars here, on our bench
Checking my watch,… I will leave no regrets


________________________________________________________________

When Love Reckons For A Second Time Contest 
Sponsor Nayda Ivette Negron

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Afloat On a Lavender Sea

Decades stretched a cord, across years, up the stairs, and around chairs coiling beyond the door of one small room, groomed by the sun, of a Saturday afternoon... I am floating on a sea of a hardwood floor Prone, on my back, upon a lavender rug Examining the nail of my left hand thumb with a phone at my ear, a smile on my face while you've glady expressed, how you've aced an exam I confess how I've missed holding your hand only linked to your kiss, by a small ivory phone With a ring on my finger, to bind young love Blinded in the eyes, from an innocent throne Invitations in the mail, and a church on hold There was a cake on order, and a brand new world You were glued to my ear, I was wrapped by a cord that tugged on the wall, with long-distance words Light from the yard is scored by the blinds but, there on the floor, prone on my back, I'm bound by the cord that tethered our lives Linked to your voice, where a future was wound Hovering over the sea of cold hardwood, I had a pillow of shag, of that lavender rug The days would stretch shorter and our vows, on hold till the cord became stronger, watching years unfold
____________________________________________

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Between the Nightmare and the Dream

In my grandpa’s field I stand midst rows of grain whose gray-green blades stir softly in the moaning wind. A night chill permeates my skin. I look down at my arms and legs and realize I’m a little girl again! How did I get here? Why am I now standing here in the dark of night? Far ahead of me, I see the old worn farmhouse. Moon, big and golden, seems to have left the sky. It’s reappeared at the window of my grandparent’s old house, where it glows with a mesmerizing light eerily beckoning me. I stand transfixed, not knowing what to do. Is this a dream? It has to be! Grandma sold that house when grandpa died. I’d seen it one more time remodeled and repainted and with another owner’s name. The house I’m seeing now is the old one from my childhood. Many things from long ago are coming to my mind: The fields where my sisters and I frolicked in the summers; the long dirt lane we skipped happily along; the berry bushes along many pathways we discovered; the hollyhocks we learned how to make cute dollies from. It was daylight when I knew the farm back then. Sun was high in the sky. Now I’m only seeing the eerie glow emanating from grandpa’s house. . . I awaken to the darkness of a winter morning’s gloom, vaguely remembering a vanished moon which turned up on the face of my grandparents’ old farmhouse as if to beckon me back to my childhood. But somehow I knew (even while asleep) that to near that house and then to go inside it would not be the stuff of happy dreams. There was a reason for the coldness of the night, the moaning of the wind. The summer days have fled. Between the nightmare and the dream, subconsciously I knew you simply cannot go home again. For the Dreams (poems about dreams)Poetry Contest of Royal Ninja

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012

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 | |

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 | |

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. ~ Moral: There are precious moments when it takes strength to know when to let go. Contest:A Delightful Children's Fable Sponsor Carol Eastman

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2012

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

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 | |

My Grandma Smelt of Peppermints

My Grandma smelt of peppermints. 
Her kitchen of boiling bacon, 
and margarine - it was always steamy 
and 'welcomingly' warm. 

The bathroom, off the kitchen, 
smelt of carbolic soap, and a layer 
of talcum powder dusted the cupboards 
a reminder of its liberal use. 

The garden, with a greenhouse, 
had a glorious array of pinks 
and Sweet Williams - it was always summer: 
no winters here, always sunny, as I recall..... 

The old corrugated air-raid shelter, 
above ground now, was a haven 
for childhood, childish games. 
It smelt of paraffin from the heater. 

My Grandma smelt of peppermints. 
She would lick her hanky and 
wipe my mouth if it was sticky 
from the gingerbread she'd made. 

My Grandma always looked the same, 
never younger, never older:- 
her memory etched in my cerebral 
photo frame as I remember her ........ 

smelling of peppermints, 
fingers deformed with crippling arthritis, 
but smiling, wiping mouths, cooking, 
or sitting in her little garden in a floral dress..... 

She's been gone for thirty years now, 
but still I see her there. 
I see the  tissue filled pockets in her 
'pinny'and the pin-curls in her hair. 

Yes, my Grandma smelt of peppermints.........

Copyright © Helen J Radford | Year Posted 2008

Details | Free verse | |

winter's afterglow

stars twinkled brilliantly
against majestic snow-capped mountains,
delicate pure white flakes danced;
swirling, twirling, rhythmically.

she stood, nose pressed tightly
against the window pane; gazing in awe
at the magic the snowflakes created;
as tears spill from her emerald green eyes.

the cabin is warm, radiating a comforting glow
a fresh pine scent lightly sweetens the air;
she fights the memories, as she begins to shake.

fingers entwined, she tries desperately to hang on
be present in the moment;
"stop, stop, stop" she says, stomping her feet;
she falls to her knees; quivering. 

she holds tightly her arms and begins to rock,
feeling his presence in his favourite black sweater;
she cannot bring herself to take off.

giggling sounds permeate her thoughts
cocooned in his aura, his essence, his scent;
she feels his lips kiss the nape of her neck,
his strong hands caressing her hair.

she rocks and rocks, time ceases to stop,
as she falls deep into a rich
moulton pool; his smouldering brown eyes.

her lips part; barely into a smile at
his joy when he surprised her with the cabin; 
their oasis away from home.

she wipes away a tear, beams from within
as she recalls the snowball fight, he lost, she won.
he scooped her up, carried her with glee,
over the thresh hold of their cabin; 
their oasis; their heart's retreat.

a decadent white rug bought just for her
lay invitingly in front of the fire,
fiery orange embers crackled and glowed.
he gently laid her down; "my beauty" he said.

they drank champagne, drunk in each other,
wrapped up in his care, she felt peace.
as they lay basking in winter's afterglow,
he whispered "this is my time, i must go".

startled, she sat up, staring deep in his soul,
as snowflakes twirled and danced, 
fresh pine lightly sweetened the air;
he breathed one final breath; then he let go.

her screams were not audible, her body convulsed
as she lay on his chest; her heart; her home.
she cursed the night and winter's afterglow
sobbing "not him, not him, please take me too".

she fights to bring herself back
to the here and the now,
as embers slowly dim, she wobbily stands
clutching tenderly his urn, she must set him free.

the stars twinkled brilliantly
against majestic snow-capped mountains
she opens the window, where dreams breathed of life;

with tears cascading
she releases her love; her life;

to become one 
with the magic of;
winter's afterglow.

Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2006

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