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Nostalgia Funny Poems | Funny Poems About Nostalgia

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

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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


Details | I do not know? |

Nasty girl

   There you go again doing things that you are not suppose to be in and then you look at 
me like oh i'm so sweet if you only knew I can be a freak without showing it. Here they 
go listening to the rumors but i'm your friend so in the end I know that they are true. 
How could you do that with him and her and they were on the ground you were pretending to 
pick up gum? You need to be safe, making out with strangers girl I aint no saint but god 
what are you doing? I don't want to see you years from now telling me you got aids, I 
worry about you and I feel like your special so I even wrote about you come on look how 
much you mean to me. You like him I get it but how many other guys have you liked in the 
past. He's your only, he's a phony make sure he's not just in it for the prize because 
girl you never know some guys are. It's the truth and you need to listen, I don't mean to 
sound bossy but soon enough your name is going to be posted on all the bathrooms walls. 
Telling things that you haven't even done yet. But you will front about it, Lie again. 
Telling everyone it's happened how do we know what's real or fake. I love your 
personality I wish I could steal it, Your loud, and flirty, daring and smart girl you got 
too much heart to be showing it to everyone who wants a sip. this is for all the nasty 
girls out there who think I don't know what i'm saying just ask anyone of them who are 
dead now or are on the streets prostitiuting. Don't be afraid to be a freak it's healthy 
but sometimes it's better when it's secret closet freaks have more fun.


Details | Rhyme |

The 70's

Back in those heavy times when everything was so far out Our words were but a whisper, the mans were but a shout Flower power was spreading, and everything was out of sight Preaching peace through out the days, and gettin our groove on into the night But we were always gettin hassled, by the fuzz, the man, the pigs They didn't want us smokin doobies, and flashin peace signs, can ya dig? Then peace and love had flourished, we needed to get funky and do our thing We needed a place to get our groove on, so the discos were the scene The threads we wore back then were styling, some were off the hook! It's hard to believe with the slim bread we made, we could carry that funky look? Bellbottoms, platform shoes, and jump suits people were a cravin Boogieing away the nights in the discos, where the lights were just a blazin Then the foxy chicks started getting pregoed, and the discos no longer Dyno-mite! Men needed to start makin more bread, and trying to live the family life But gigs weren't easy to find, and life became somewhat of a drag Some of the dudes skipped town, leaving the foxy mamas holding the bag Well thats the skinny of the seventies, the lowdown of peoples ways So keep on truckin all you cool cats and foxy mamas And remember all those ~Freaky, ~Far Out, ~Out Of Sight days
Dan Kearley:1-21-12


Details | Light Poetry |

Glutton

This's the world of dreams  and 
reveries
Where I think ev'ry that reels,
After a thousands times,
would as same beliefs things 
besought me,
Is it a mere dream? 


Details | Rhyme |

Kilroy Was Here

There was an elusive little guy often espied during World War Two,
And who he was and whence he came no one ever really knew!
He was a bald headed little feller with a very prominent nose,
And he always left the message "Kilroy Was Here" in very stilted prose!

You seldom saw his eyes and his hands were clinging to a wall.
Many G.I.s saw him in latrine stalls and in their greasy dining hall!
His origin and parting message are debated to this very day,
And no one has ever nabbed the graffiti artists who always slunk away!

He was portrayed in cruisers, battleships and even on submarines!
Kilroy's portrait was tattooed on the chests of a few diehard Marines!
'Tis said Hitler saw "Kilroy Was Here" and wondered what it meant,
Thinking it a secret code when found on American accouterment!

Kilroy became as famous as the mysterious smile on the Mona Lisa.
(I even saw his mug when I climbed to the top of the Tower of Pisa!)
Rosie the Riveter may have been guilty, if the truth were told,
Of tracing Kilroy's image on bombers, including the bomb bay hold!

Well, 'tis for sure we couldn't have won the war without the little guy!
Kilroy's antics lifted morale at home and overseas, that you can't deny!
But you haven't seen the last of him, for he is forever etched in history,
On the World War Two Monument in DC - how he got there is a mystery!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved

For those a tad younger who may have never heard of Kilroy, go to your search
and type in "Kilroy Was Here" and click the Wikipedia notation and you will learn
more than you ever wanted to know about him!


Details | Epitaph |

Floating.....

Wish I could have taken better 
Care of my body... 
Wish they could have stopped 
the cancer sooner... 

I'm just a spirit now, 
Floating over my own funeral. 

If I had my way, I'd pick another church. 
At least one that spelled my name right 
On the obituary. 

I wonder if they knew, 
That I truly loved Sonya, 
but married Adele out of convenience. 

Wish I could have told my brother, Kenny 
I forgive him, maybe he wouldnt cry so hard. 
Wish I could tell Aunt May that hat is too big. 
I wonder if Tara knows the deacons 
Are looking up her dress. 

Im just a spirit now, 
Floating over my own funeral. 

I wonder if the choir knows 
How much I really hate that song... 
Hope they know the Pastor's lying. 
I was not that good of a man.. 

That suit is not the one I would have picked. 
My body looks so much smaller, 
and that make-up makes me look too light. 

Im just a spirit now, 
Floating over my own funeral. 
Free from pain, free from it all. 

Wonder if they know, 
In spite of my short time on this earth...
i truly enjoyed it.
I truly loved it all.


Details | Rhyme |

Granddads Book

In my quiet times I often try,
To remember places I've been.
To recall folk I have passed by,
And sights that I have seen.

There is nothing wrong with my mind,
Sometimes my memory is quite refined.
I think it's filled over many a year,
With so much junk, nothing seems clear.

So, I made up my mind to write it all down,
To recall it all caused me to frown
It started like I was in the dark,
A memory flared, I was in the park.

That day in the park was just the lever,
I found my mind was as good as ever.
Tho' times and places got out of line,
I wrote it all down, now wasn't I clever!

I'm nearly at the end of my story,
A journey I'm glad that I took.
For my grandsons to read in years to come,
I'll call it Granddads Book.

© Dave Timperley 2012.


Details | Blank verse |

Love Song

Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.


Details | Rhyme |

MAMMA ANNA MADE THE BEST BABBA' AL RHUM

Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum,
you should have seen me how it made me slightly drunk;
and jumping and screaming I danced to the beats of a drum...
then grandma joined in and she sang a classical song!


And the sweet cream was on my lips and cheeks, 
the Babba' al Rhum was delicious and I topped it with chocolate;
everybody began shouting, "It came from Paris,
but we Neapolitans reinvented it by improving its shape and taste!"


Mamma Anna made the best Babba' al Rhum, soaking it in that liqueur much longer;
and Papa' always told me to eat more of it...saying with a suppressing laughter,
"It's a man's dessert, after you eat it, you'll be strong!"
Oh, did he really tell me the truth? No, he was wrong!


It's so very sad that they aren't here,
and I am eating pretzels and drink a beer,
the harmony that stirred their passion can't possibly return...
as they danced on the terrace to celebrate the day I was born!


Mamma Anna knew how to make the best Babba' al Rhum,
and I licked the dripping rum with my finger...not my tongue!
She spoke calmly...when she should have gotten mad and picked up a broom;
no, she was never mean and rude, or ever said to me, " Go to your room!"


Details | Prose Poetry |

Camp Anawana (An Ode to 20-somethings’ Nostalgia)

Sometimes I can't believe it
It all happened so fast
Real life is truly here
Just who is that looking at me in the mirror?
How come these bills are addressed to my name?
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And I'm all grown up

Sometimes I miss the days
When your crush had cooties, not STDs
And afternoons were spent climbing trees
And it's hard to grasp our age
Who's that man calling you "his wife"?
How come that little girl just called you Dad?
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And we're all grown up

Sometimes the kids today
Make me feel so old when they say
They've never heard of Kurt Cobain
But I know that we're better
Cause we could fix our Nintendo in just one blow
And we all figured this out sans Twitter
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And I'm all grown up

I remember the stupid things
Pogs and Goosebump books
Playlists were mixtapes on cassettes
And Friday nights meant TGIF on ABC
Nickelodeon was our only obsession
Friend requests were made in person
And they still showed music videos on MTV
It's like I went to sleep and woke up
And it's a different world - Nothing's the same
Cause we're all grown up


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