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Quatrain Nostalgia Poems | Quatrain Poems About Nostalgia

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

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A Christmas Snow

It is Christmas Eve, all preparations for the day are done,
My hand grabs the doorknob as I step out to take a stroll,
On this peaceful night the village is silent, and I see no one,
Walking under the warm glow of a decorated streetlight pole.

I stand and gaze at the windows of the house next door,
Where a tree glows with bubble lights and tinsel strands,
Three stockings holding wishes, await over the fire's roar,
A scene straight from a dream, so wonderful and grand.

Glancing upwards, as the clouds glide across the moon,
Silver stars are out mingling with the drifting snowflakes,
A sight to enjoy here and now, for morning will be here soon,
A beautiful Christmas memory, deep in my heart to take.

Only one car comes up the street, as I walk along our lane,
Just a friendly snowman is there to greet me with a hello,
I stop, adjust his top hat, and reposition his pipe and cane,
This cold-hearted man has made a child smile, I know.

My ears lead me to the street corner where carolers sing,
As those old familiar notes drift towards me on the air,
More sounds seem to awaken as the bells distantly ring,
I felt nothing but a warming glow as I was standing there.

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Lost, Found, and Now Just Missing

Going through some old things that just had to go, I came upon something that nearly got tossed. Memories came to me from long ago. . . . I thrilled that my treasure was no longer lost. Toys come and toys go. In the 60’s, one fad was to own an odd doll not seen much today. This doll had long hair and was scantily clad but wasn’t a Barbie with which I would play! Its body was squat and it had a pug nose. I probably loved it because it looked droll. Its hair could be orange, green, yellow or rose, but if you don’t know yet, that doll was a troll! How I wish I could dredge up some memory to know what was happening inside my head as a pre-teen with friends and what it might be that we did with those dolls and what fun things we said! The trolls that I owned must have been at least four - both sexes so they'd make a small family - their hair different hues, each a doll to adore. But one day they no longer mattered to me. . . I can’t say where all of my playthings got stashed. When I left for college, they vanished from view. But knowing my mom, they must have got trashed. She doesn’t hang on much to things like I do. Now four decades later, I looked at my prize, bare naked and smudged but its hair still jet black. It stared up at me with its cute amber eyes. I couldn’t believe how I got that thing back! It somehow had ended up in my new state. Good luck for that troll, I throw few things away! That doll would be learning soon of its new fate and meet other troll dolls with whom it would stay. Just like Peter Pan, I refuse to grow old, and new trolls I’d bought with long bright spiky hair when troll dolls again in the 90's were sold! But I had to recall where I’d stored them….. oh, where??
(I found the dolls and added the old one to the new collection, but my daughter's family moved in with me a few months ago. My daughter is a clean freak like MY mom is (apparently it skips a generation or something), and my daughter took my troll dolls and put them out of sight somewhere so currently they are floating around who knows where! For Paula Swanson's "Yard Sale" Contest

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As Christmas beckons with season of cheer I recall how we met, a hallway outside Year Nineteen-Eighty in a film's premiere; Offering your neck- scarf, we gently smiled. Flurries drifted while in haste I agreed, Invite for tea as we watched the moon fade 'Till season’s next, nuptial joy pealed At 25, a mistletoe crocheted. Tonight, the lights reflect your willow eyes Bestowing grace from Magi stars above Flashback of theme songs yearns for unity; Enduring a year of departed love. The holidays cloak time; you hum my name From spring's past budding to December’s snow, Alone, I toast reveries etched on life’s acclaim Kisses missed from my long- gone mistletoe. Kelly Deschler's Christmas Past, Present or Future ~based on my aunt's experience 1/03/2015

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Hope Chest

This once was an empty hope chest,
All my wishes it was waiting to hold,
Now it keeps the things I love best,
As my life begins to unfold.

A hope chest holds things from the past,
It locks away secrets of when we wept,
And poems written to make memories last,
In my Mom's diary of thoughts she kept.

A porcelain doll, of which I was very fond,
My Grandma made her, with care and grace,
She had long hair, curly, blonde,
And a blue dress trimmed in white lace.

My hope chest holds everything I love,
Like old photographs that are looking worn,
And the wishes that I've dreamt of,
Ever since the day I was born.

My hope chest may hold new things,
Like a Valentine my first love sent me,
Maybe, eventually an engagement ring,
And the rose that won him my heart's key.

If there is a newborn on the way,
My hope chest will hold many things,
Like maybe, a baby blanket, someday,
A reminder of what life can bring.

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A melody from yesteryear 
Plays softly on the wind--
A mix of myrrh and honey,
A wistful sweet and bitter blend.

Fond memories of bygone days,
Of long departed friends.
Of hollyhocks and lilacs,
A reverie that never ends.

A vision of a one-room school
Set in a woodland glade--
Of children playing joyfully
There in a spreading oak tree's shade.

A farmer toiling in his field
Behind a horse and plow.
No air conditioned tractors
As modern farmers do it now.

A rustic, weathered, country church,
A Sunday morning bright
Glows fondly now in memory,
Bathed in nostalgia's hallowed light.

A barefoot boy with fishing pole
Beside a lazy stream.
A song in perfect harmony 
Played in that golden summer dream.

Oh memories, sweet memories
Locked in my soul to stay.
Oh melody, sweet melody,
A haunting song of yesterday. 

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The Owl and the PusyCat Sail

Together the Owl and the PusyCat were married
Then again sailed out over the deep blue seas
Searching forever for the great Land of Nod,
To the place where they could find true peace.
True peace, true peace… Where they could find true peace.

The love that twined forever within their hearts
They sought throughout all the wonderous lands
Going to the place where they would live in peace,
A place where true peace, rules and lives in the hearts of the land.
The land, the land… Where true peace lives in the heart of the land.

Alas, the love of the heart, though truly not easy to find…
Is easier to find than the love of peace, found throughout the land.
So it’s said they will continue to sail, until that day comes true,
And when they land for the final time, will be up to me and you.
Me and you, me and you… That day will be up to me and you.

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Alone in the Dark

Evening softly pours down from the hills..
The birds quiet , I hear the old dog bark
Another day will soon be put to sleep
And again I will be alone in the dark

The scent of lilac now comes to me..
The breeze gentle as a baby's sigh
The old back porch a haven now
As I prepare myself to say goodbye

Never thinking it would be this way..
So many days without much meaning
Hearing the creak of the rocking chair
Now to the past my thoughts are leaning

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Under the Oaks

Under the oaks where we first kissed, And made incessant late night love. Is shaded with memories of great times, That my heart and soul are so proud of. · Under the oaks where time stood still, I held you many times in my arms. Where light dappled in the gaps of leaves, As I gave you, your first gold charm. · Under the oaks marks the place, Where you rest to the end of days. I visit your plot with my heart on my sleeve, Asking why God took you away.

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                                  THE SEASONS OF MY LIFE

In the Spring time I was blossoming,
The world was bright and new.
I learned to laugh annd cry and fight,
For what I knew was true.

That there`s a time to have your fun,
And there`s a time for work,
A time when we must learn to earn,
And value all life`s perks.

In Summer time I learned of life,
Of people and the world.
I learned that life`s a mixture,
Of experience, a whirl,

That sometimes life moves way too fast,
It should be sipped and savored,
Or else it plays out way too soon,
And loses all it`s flavor.

In Fall I learned acceptance,
That what must be will be.
It does no good to fuss and fret,
`Bout what was denied me;

For some it seems are richly blessed,
While others get the crumbs,
Who gets what is up to God,
From Whom all good things come.

Now Winter fast approaches,
And what`s important now,
Is what memories I`ll leave behind,
Who remembers me, --- and how.

                                                   Judy Ball

For At This Age Contest by Nette Onclaud

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These here are the indisputable facts
I was born on the right side of the tracks
WITH People who only smiled if their stocks or equity increased
If not they wouldn’t have minded becoming deceased

They had big cars, big bucks and big time class
With a million dollar house mortgaged up the a*s
Their children went to private schools in uniforms
With charming and well decorated dorms 

I looked at their faces and wondered why I didn’t fit
That’s when the fire in my belly was originally lit
I had no desire to play with kids from private schools
Nor did I ever agree to obey by their rules

So one day I skipped over steel and these here are the facts
The people I found lived in tents, not even shanties or shacks
But they didn’t have to read Dow Jones in order to smile
And couldn’t care less about having Gucci type style

They smiled at things people ignore like little tykes at play
And somehow or other they AWOKE contented day after day
They had no stocks to watch fretfully fall or RESOUNDINGLY rise
And you could see the easiness in their gleaming eyes

That which I observed in them appealed to me a great deal
The wrong side people taught me how satisfied I could feel
They lived out of back-packs, antique cedar chests and sacks
So if you come a’looking for me I’ll be on the wrong side of the tracks
             © 2011.…Phreepoetree   ~free cee!~

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Late Apple Themes

 come kiss the frost 
from off  late apple themes 
the carnival is coming into town
where everything is nothing that it seems
hitch up the pony,
take the surrey down.

 Let's take the long way 'cross the summer bridge,
the one where first you dared to touch my hand,
I still love seeing sunsets from the ridge
and down below the colors are so grand.

the county fair is finer from up here
all candy apple reds and spinning  beams 
the zephyr through the pines is all we hear ,
a place to sit and contemplate our dreams

the fantasy is kinder than the truth
recall the ferris wheel at sweet sixteen,
let's share that secret summer of our youth
and go back home to cherish where we've been.

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Drive across the country
Let imagination flow
Tumbleweed and flat lands
Reveal a western show

Mile markers pave the way
Across this land sublime
Wind blows through the car
On my arm sunshine

Generations of people
Spirits across the land
Occupy a history
Of faces in the sand

Deep inside our spirit
Adheres to our respect
This peaceful land of bounty
No one shall reject

Fresh cut grass lingers
The present rescinding more
Where old shacks and farms
Grasp our inner core 

Land abound with wisdom
Dust has settled down
Enjoy driving the distance
See another town

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The moon, pausing near her zenith,
On that balmy night in May,
Painted a warm, nocturnal landscape, 
In varying shades gray.

A mockingbird insomniac,
With golden harp did play,
And serenade his lady love
With songs as bright as day.

A shy, retiring whip-poor-will
In some hidden, forest swale,
Intoned his lonely-heart refrain, 
In a melancholy wail. 

The gentle breeze, that washed my face,
Tasted honeysuckle sweet,
While silver dewdrops glistened,
On the grass beneath my feet.

Though my magic, childhood years have gone
On frightened wings of flight,
I treasure, in my reverie,
That enchanted full moon night.

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The Child in Me

Soda pop and gum drops
A river full, so sweet
To be that child I once was
All that candy, I would eat

Not worry about a cavity,
the dentist or my skin
Just concerned with getting more
And filling it within

A jawbreaker, some nonpareils
Bazookas and candy dots
Sour apples and baby ruths
Oh I love it all a lot

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Old Fashioned Christmas

The snow fell gently on a quiet street
Neighbors walked in without knocking
There was a feeling of joy in the air
As each child hung up their stocking

There was a coal fire in the heatrola
Which took a little while to start
O Come All Ye Faithful on the radio
And a warmth radiating from each heart

The kids all went to bed early
Couldn't sleep until early morn
Waiting for presents from Santa
And to celebrate the day Christ was born.

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Once held with love, by hands so small-
You’d hardly know that they were mine;
Her hair, a matted yellow mess
That sticks strait up, from hands and time,

The dress, Aunt Rose knit with gnarled hands,
Still ties up proper in the back,
It hides her scars; so much undone
While keeping dignity in tact,

One of her fingers’ is too short
When I was small, I bit it off;
Her neck’s been stretched from need and love
Which now I hide with velvet cloth,

Her eyes, the same sky blue as hers-
A mother ripped from life and earth-
Who passed away, leaving her child
One blue-eyed doll and no self worth…

Many a year flew by in time-
An adult with kids of my own-
When our house burned, consuming all,
From photos to refuge of home,

There came from ashes, hope reborn-
A beauty with eyes of sky blue,
Covered in suet, fire-scarred but safe,
The only thing that made it through!

A miracle or mothers hand,
That saved her from the fire's embrace?
To place her safe with honor, down
Atop the snow to cool her face,

This doll may look a ragged mess
To those whose tears she hasn't dried,
But when I look in those blue eyes
I see a child’s love, survived…

My Thumbelina, dread locked doll
No other friend could e’er replace
Her love; I love her battle scars,
Where memory lives upon her face…

2nd place winner in Karen Neary's TRASH or TREASURE contest , 5/2008

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My Memories Of Christmas

Hearing the jingling bells of Santa's sleigh,
Hanging silver tinsel on the tree for trim,
My cousin and I going sledding all day,
Reading the story of Scrooge and Tiny Tim.

Building a house made of spicy gingerbread,
And hearing a Bing Crosby Christmas tune,
Leaving out cookies before going to bed,
Seeing eight tiny reindeer flying by the moon.

Santa Claus bringing toys down our chimney,
Almost every house twinkling with lights,
Cutting down a fresh, pine Christmas tree,
Hanging antique ornaments, so shiny and bright.

Grandma and I baking my favorite cookies,
Shopping for Christmas gifts in every store,
A fireplace with a stocking hung just for me,
And singing Christmas carols at every door.

My hometown covered in glistening, white snow,
And the sweet, minty taste of a candy cane,
Presents containing treasures we wouldn't know,
And drawing snowflakes on a frosty window pane.

My Mom making a snowman, as perfect as can be,
Decking the halls with garlands, wreaths and more,
Whispering wishes to Santa, sitting on his knee,
And the excitement we all had the night before.

December 12th, 2013

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How Dreams are Born at Fifteen

Fifteen days of living I blew bubbles
Bubbles pearlescent in the sun
In hope and love I blew you bubbles
Ephemeral, floating, glorious sun loved bubbles.

In my act of creation, exhale air
Life held close in the bubbles 
Uh-whoo, uh-whoo, here’s life to live
I blew you bubbles for you to catch.

Leap and snatch we played bubbles
Bubbles so airy we can hold and spray
A bubbly world of shimmery beings
Floating in the wind of our wake.

And at the end of the pliant and fun filled day
We dreamed of bubbles, leaping for bubbles
Watery, airy bubbles floating, flaring and caught
and held within our hand a bubble, a bubble  smashed.

And oh how silly we seemed to break our play
Open up our hand, find within a pearl
A soft shimmery white pearl of life
And let it fly away, in the breeze, like our dream, free.

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Made You Look You Dirty Crook

“Made you look you dirty crook!” And all those colourful phrases Have vanished from our lexicon They now belong to the ages! “Keep your nose to the grindstone!” Is another from way back when So sad they've all but disappeared Wish they'd come back again! Since the dawn of the computer age We speak in a different fashion Conversing in very short sentences Use acronyms without any passion! We seem to have totally lost the ability To have an intelligent conversation Emailing, texting, talking on Facebook A computer age generation! I really long for those simpler days When people took time to listen All the world seemed friendlier then Now feels like something's missing! © Jack Ellison 2012

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Summer Fun

Summer Fun
Summer was not much fun in the teenage years
In fact there was very little of it but lots of anxious tears
Then the summer disco started in the village hall
We couldn’t believe our luck we were gonna have a ball.

But who would come to a village disco not on a bus route
There were only about fifteen teenagers, and they were all related to boot.
Oh what joy, the army camp, sent in the boy cadets
We were all allowed to mix with them and this we did you can bet.

But there I was wallflower self- conscious feeling dull
Not asked to dance by any boy no one to give a thrill
Until the tallest most handsome boy, his smile lit up the room
Came and sat with me you should have watched me bloom.

He was the catch they all wanted, but none could catch his eye
Just me sat in the corner, and he never passed me by
At the end of each dance night, we walked home hand in hand
His kisses they were magical, I was in some promised land.

We only met once a week through the summer of seventy-two
What a summer it was full of fun and happiness and never blue
I often wonder about that boy who kissed so well at age thirteen
What a catch for some woman, and of his kisses I now just dream
© 09/09/2012

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Awaiting Halloween

My front door, the color of pumpkins As a skeleton adorns the screen door Jack-o-lanterns plenty about the porch And spider webs exist upon the floor Owl sits on the deformed tree in the yard Filled with many spooky eyes in the holes A scarecrow stands guarding my open gate Cats, all black, run around looking for moles A witch laughing sits in a dark corner Moving to the sound of a passerby We wait for the first sign of fearful kids On Halloween night, I love it, no lie Russell Sivey

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Stone black is the park at will But cool is the night That gleams across a lone hill Oak decked in white With moistened twigs nearly bare Clinging the pond Windblown by misty air Tells me I am bound For one early morning rain Languid in repose Pounding on an incised pain Bench without a rose This heart trickles as it sits A throb that heaves For drenched flower that wilts Upon dark moon’s eaves Oh the park knows my longing Tasting all seasons That drape souvenirs’ mourning In rain and reasons ..... *inspired by the title of Lightfoot's song, "Early Morning Rain" by nette onclaud Francine Roberts’ Write Me a Lightfoot Poem

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Tides of June Memories

The tides of June carry me over yesterday's sparkling waters to the distant shores preserved in my mind. Playful summer memories are just a light twinkling in my eye, pressed into worn photo albums, I find. Hotter days conjure thoughts of friends, no school to muddy the rippling lake and hours of summer fun. 'Last one in 's a rotten ..., splashing 'round, we kept cool, cannonballs and belly flops, a relief from the ruthless sun. An old boat dock became our fort, buckets of tadpoles were our mascots. Our neighborhood breathed new life and laughter... bikes flung upon the grass, lake waters beckoned of adventure 'til the ice cream man's music brought sweet dreams to chase after. Michael Jackson, The GoGos and Duran Duran played the soundtrack for our restless days. From our fort, the radio blared across the yard. Warm breezes held music and secrets of boy versus girl attacks. And though we often complained, the boys were never barred. Many years ago, summer time brought treasured carefree days of hide and seek, dodge ball, board games and cold lemonade. Slip and slides, cool lake swims and running through sprinkler sprays, all happy memories of our never ending June days on parade. By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders for Memories of June Contest (Joann Grisetti)

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Heart filled with happiness, eyes much merry; cheeks color strawberry,
just running through fields of ripe huckleberry,
keeping away from the buzzing, restless bees...
going to a from their sweet hives hanging from massive apple trees.

More than childhood memories, such are these...
a reflection of youth that removes them from nostalgia; husky peasants
shaking off the husks from the golden corn;
a tasty, hot corn meal for those winter's dinners drooling on my tongue.

And approaching a torrent, I threw pebbles found on its almost barren banks
back into the spattering water that I drank sporadically until I was full,
to indulge in its freshness...squashing tiny daisies
that seemed too afraid to squabble with a giant and fight for their survival.  

The southern landscape with its mild climate, was rich and fragrant,
inviting hands to pluck the delicious, tempting fruits
off their branches, scattering the thrushes engaged in musical tones;
and I tongue-tied hurried along cogitating an instant.  

Would it be too childish to ask for a come-back,
to relive the cheerfulness of the oldest days, ceased by time and age;
to observe a reflection of youth take shape...
and embed, in a secret, a conversation regardless  of present knowledge? 

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Pop Can Sally

Pop can Sally stock my pop.
Push the new stuff back!
Bring the old stuff to the front
and space them just a crack.

Sell me one to quench my thirst
but make me get my own.
Reaching further to the back
where cooler ones are known.

Take my change from out of pocket.
Thanks for this cold pop.
Refreshing when I pull it's tab
and help to blow it's top.

Guzzling down what rushes out
and soon to quench my thirst.
Swallowing it quickly now;
allowing it to burst.

Empty now a once full can.
Thirsty nevermore.
Thanks to Sally and her pop.
The Pop Can Sally Store.

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Gone Are The Days

Remember Petticoat Junction?
Perhaps Green Acres too?
I Love Lucy and Carol Burnett,
Just for a laugh or two?

Dick Van Dyke and The Munsters,
Back when the "tube" was fun;
Doris Day and Love That Bob,
Don't forget The Flying Nun!

Maxwell Smart was an agent,
We all know Uncle Jed;
Hazel was that clever maid,
It's sad how comedy's fled!

The Honeymooner's over,
F Troop's down to zero;
The Beaver's long forgotten,
While Hogan's lost his heroes!

Gilligan's left the island,
A Jeannie no longer dreams;
Car 54, where are you?
At times, I wanna scream!

Andy was a country boy,
Gomer, a seargent's pest;
Who made room for daddy?
Don't fathers know what's best?!

Dobie shaved the goatee,
Mister Ed's lost his voice;
My Three Sons are missing,
Ozzie and Harriet had no choice!

McHale can't find his navy,
The Addams flown away;
A Martian ain't so favorite,
Our Laugh In's gone astray!

Primetime's lost its essence,
Laughter is a con man's game;
A Family Affair's in mourning,
Is the "new age" ours to blame?

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A Christmas Tradition

So many traditions run deep in all of our families, And each holiday calls for a memorable and worthy gathering. At Christmas, one tradition fills our hearts with glee! When caught up in the season of joy; sadness, never harboring! We find that it matters not whether a leaf has fallen from our tree, And sailed on angels' wings to join the celebration above. We reminisce of yesteryears assured their spirits are free... Free from turmoil and chaos; free to taste purest love. High upon the Christmas tree, there, amongst sparkling colored balls; Tucked between precious old ornaments and brilliant, festive lights, Hang these amazing balls of glass; bearing the names of all. They're protected by the extra padded skirt made of satin- red and white Time will not dissolve memories or the love and affection which flows, When kindred spirits, on Christmas morn, gather to hear the sacred story. We’d recall the prudent sayings; simple stories that nurture, still, our souls, While in harmony, young ones and old, celebrate God’s majestic glory! ~*~
Note: For the Contest, "Traditions" 12/11 *Ist Place

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"Hope" - A Star For Me

When parents don't have a choice and die
And all alone survive the loss
As I lie down to sleep at night 
They send in dreams... A Star For Me...

When Motherhood gets disappointing
And all alone survive the loss
I borrow scissors from my heart
With trembling hands I cut... A Star For Me

When trains don't stop and soul mate's gone
And all alone survive the loss
I row my boat on lakes with moons,
I jump and catch reflections of... A Star For Me

When I am old, and years fly by
And all alone survive the loss
I won't be sad, would even smile
As I lie down, a final sight... 
                                  ...A Star For Me...               

For John Heck's Contest "Blink"         

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Thursdays Recalled By the Family's French Fry Girl

The number of us children growing up was eight. Each Thursday night was special, for our Dad got paid, and we would eagerly and hungrily await his bringing Henry’s fries and burgers home. Hurray! We weren’t allowed to pick and choose; we had to take two burgers each with “everything” and one bag of fries. While we grabbed our own allotment, happy to partake, Jenny scraped off from her burgers -onions she despised! Dori chewed so slowly, from her we all would steal. The baby, Theadora, just sat there and played with her food. I was strange and always made this deal: Both my burgers for two brothers’ French fries I would trade. And so the number of my French fries always came to three. Even with no burgers, I loved each Thursday night. for the Henry’s fast food and time with family. Oh, to go back to those days with loved ones in my sight!
*Henry's Hamburgers was the name of a fast food place in my hometown For Paula Swanson's "Traditions" Poetry Contest

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Summer Fun

The rest were born in spring or autumn,
I was Mama’s summer child.
Perhaps that is the very reason
I’m by summer days beguiled.

I counted hours until my birthday
On the seventh of July,
Rising crescendo of excitement 
Before happy birthday high.

There were the gifts of lady-fingers
That my brothers helped me light.
Attention from my loved big brothers
Always kept my birthdays bright.

One week’s stay at Uncle Charlie’s
Playing with my favorite cousins,
Aunt Lillian, relaxed and loving
Baking cookies by the dozens.

Then back home to little sister,
Teaching alphabet and numbers,
Those sweet days of early childhood
I’m reliving in my slumbers.

Written: August 30, 2012

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Night Calls

Of all that is nature, I admire…
the song of night is best.
The frogs and birds and insect writhe,
the breeze in trees undressed.

Do you hear the whistling train,
the sounds of far off laughter?
Can you cull the lullaby sung...
the peace that we’re all after?

The hoot of owl, the bark of dog
the crackle of a fireplace
The whirl of wheels on roadway
as homeward fathers race.

The creak of steps, the tone of clock,
the call of wild cats mating,
each tone rings loud upon the ear
of man, as sun’s abating.

So, I long, for the deep dark night,
when sounds are few and cautious,
when dreams flit by on fluttering eye
about our loved ones, oh so, precious.

Poet:D. Guzzi

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The Beat Goes On

Grandma was German raised to value beauty,
her art found in nature the flowers and the trees. 
Grandpa, a Wentworth, from an English family
whose Great Grand sailed the Mayflower, across the sea.

In the time of William Morris, when craft was art,
Great Granddad was a shipwright that's how we got our start.
So, we valued craft and beauty and adventure charted. 
Through tough times, poverty, still wisdom was imparted. 

Born in a place of splendor miles from the bay, 
Mom was raised on the poetry of Edna Millay.
I was born there to and in the woods I played
amongst maidenhair ferns and violets unafraid. 

In art born, with brush and pen, often did I write,
raised on Lord Tennyson to great my delight.
And, I adored the architecture of Frank Lloyd Wright
how he blended craftsmanship into each homesite.

Schooled in modern art Warhol and Mies Van De Rhoe,
my mind opened blooming to many new tableaus.
All my contemporaries were part of art neuvau.
Each masterly artisan's work helped me to grow

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Winter Forests in Oklahoma (without snow)

The night turns to day, it is oh so cold;
The moon is bright and crisp, the sun honey gold;
The forests are brown and leafless, there seems to be no life;
The silent peace within it, no ruckus and no strife.

I love the winter forests, no longer wet and green;
Everything within it, hibernating;
Every once in a while, a small creature will stir;
Sending golden colors up, a flurry and a whir.

Note from Author: 
This is a tribute to my Oklahoma home which I sometimes miss very much!

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Long Live Love

A toss of the head
A flick of her hair
The wave of her hand
As her beauty did flare
Her bountiful step
The spring in her stride
Her laugh as we waked 
Hand in hand through the tide
Her mouth with its smile
As we wrote in the sand
Her cries of frustration
As sea coated the land
Those little I love yous
Meant so much back then
That on annual vacations
We repeat them again
For least we forget 
In the daily ado
Our marrital vows
Mean forever I do

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:sigh of relief:

Words spoken in silence,

[When language does not suffice]

Like a look or a tear, although concise

Can echo a lifetime in your ear,

Much louder than those you can hear.

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The House On Fire

It has been standing here forlorn:
Now a burning house on fire;
None’s here to rush or shout for help:
There’s None for it a crier…

A gloomy place this has been
For past a year and score;
I’ve known this place since kidship days:
It never felt so sore.

What else can I but do,
Than watch and not respond—
I feel the attachment weighing me down
Now while I slouch in despond…

(Quick! Fetch some water—do someone—
I shall be its Crier—
But it burns with much vigor—
Flames are rising up higher)

It’s always stood separate from all,
In a state of mortal plight;
I never, ever before, saw it
Glowing thus, so bright..

…So, here I see a picture of 
How my thoughts could Clash,
And witness in silence now,
It’s disbanding to Ash… 

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My Memories Of Halloween

The glow of a jack o' lanterns light,
Walking among the fallen, dead leaves,
Vampire bats that are taking flight,
What a great night for All Hallows' Eve.

Sweet candy corn, cupcakes and chocolate bars,
Plastic skeletons rattling their bones,
A bright full moon among the cold stars,
Zombies roaming among the tombstones.

Girls dressed as fairies and ghosts in white sheets,
Kids in spooky costumes and monster masks,
My cousin and I couldn't wait to trick or treat,
And we never failed at our candy collecting task.

Mom putting a lot of scary makeup on my face,
A wicked witch with a broom and pointed hat,
Boys dressed as mummies and aliens from space,
The green glowing eyes of a curious black cat.

The haunted forest full of spooky owls,
Crisp caramel apples and a crunchy popcorn ball,
The chilling feeling of hearing werewolf howls,
And that mean little devil who scared us all.

Everyone almost wanting to get a good fright,
All of us quickly passing by the graveyard gate,
Lost spirits roaming on this dark, chilly night,
And getting home before it had gotten too late.

Caped grim reapers stalking the sidewalks,
Old, dark, haunted houses full of ghosts,
Steps and porches with pumpkins and cornstalks,
This is the one night that I love the most.

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So Long

We said goodbye two years ago today -
I'll never forget the way I felt that day.
I couldn't breathe when the door closed between us
And your taillights dimmed as you drove away.

I never thought i'd breathe the same again,
As pain took away all my wind -
And i stood there deflated and broken
Refusing to accept the bitter end.

It happened on my best friend's wedding day.
I'll never understand why you did it that way -
I had visions of our wedding as I was standing there
But you ruined that for me and left my heart betrayed.

I never thought i'd get over it, not in a million years.
I cried what seemed a river's worh of tears.
I mourned for you like someone mourns the dead -
It was the realization of all my fears.

But once the salt left my wounds, I realized I was free,
Free from all the emotional torture you gave me.
Free from wondering where you were -
Free from the fragile little girl you made me be.

And I never looked back once you were gone.
I learned how hurt can make you strong,
I learned what a real man should be.
And with that, my old dear lover, so long.

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A pleasant memory

I learnt to ride
many years ago,
upon a mare
who was rather slow!
Dear old Fruitgum
became a great chum,
each Saturday hack,
riding shotgun at the back!

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Its late March and spring has wafted in,
and we await a rebirth of that distant love...
we wished had, somehow, blossomed in us to allow
a fiery passion overwhelm us as darkness kicked in.

From that memorable day, our young faces shone:
we foresaw a happy future, if only destiny had been kinder
and granted us that desire before it was gone...
why did we vainly wait for moments so impossible and divine? 

Within this diary's small pages, I seal with deep regret
these immortal words that have become us instead...
we who weren't afraid of confessing to whomever read
them and understood the obstacles we had encountered.

It's late evening and raindrops erase the vision that enchanted me,
and easily stirred by a sad emotion I recall our wounded vanity...
we shouldn't have let distance destroy our dream, the dream of being together;
now, all that's left are these immortal words that other lovers should remember.  

Written by Andrew Crisci for Constance's contest, " The Diary "

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Christmas In The Forties

The best Christmas gift I receive each year Is love, simply pure sweet affection What could possibly be more cherished than that It's the meaning of Christmas on reflection Too bad this feeling doesn't last the whole year What a joyous world it would be Dream on little fellow, you're a wee bit delusional You're sounding like a nostalgic retiree The world has changed and not for the better It's just a personal opinion I quote Gone are the days of warm Christmas visits Bearing gifts under big overcoats Each generation has it's own treasured memories Today's kids will remember theirs fondly But ask anybody from back in the forties They'll say those were the best, by golly <3 <3 <3 © Jack Ellison 2013

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Bygone Years

Know a sweet lady who was once a nurse In a home for retired folks A perfect personality to take care of the aged Such tender caring she evokes Her sweet loving nature is a perfect match They must have really adored her A tender loving soul with a heart of gold A one-in-a-million type girl Honoured by her friendship and dear sweet love Fortunate to have met this charmer Would sure love to spend a couple of evenings Talking, some nights in the parlour Hearing sweet tales bout these elderly dears Their long and interesting lives Tales of a joy with their dear loving families Loving husbands and dear sweet wives For some, their memories are all they have left Abandoned, forgotten and alone Such a sad and unfortunate way to end a life Golden years can be overblown So if you have folks tucked away in a home Please visit these precious dears One day you'll also be thankful of those visits Talking about your bygone years <3 <3 <3 © Jack Ellison 2014

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Isn't this a sweet picture my friends Sipping sodas after the hop Much too young to remember this music Doo-wop was Mom's and Pop's Was just a wee tike in diapers then Sucking on my thumb Still was quite the ladies man though Traveling around on my bum Seem to be picking up negative vibes About what I'm saying here Have I ever lied to you people before I'm not giving you the gears Okay okay I've decided to come clean Sipped sodas after the hop That's where I met my first true love First ever to say 'doo-wop' So beat me up with a bunch of wet noodles I've led you poor guys astray My evil twin is now running the show Lost control of what I say © Jack Ellison 2013

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A Note Left Behind (to a Son)

I was born underwater with lungs oversized,
With gills immature in a world full of smog,
I'm filling petition to be cauterized,
And end other chapter in life’s fragile log.

I was born black and white with extremities gray,
The plaintiff accuses what I might hide,
It's nothing but SOUL constantly at play,
With spoonfuls of turquoise rolling down off life's slide...

Implosion of rainbows will probably be
The cause of my passing unknown and alone.
When thrown overboard and deep into sea
I'll finally return to my home long time gone...

I've moved in a place with no windowless chamber,
Where time has no meaning and waiting is painless,
If I had any hopes, I swear - don't remember...
And don't recognize him, his sorrow is senseless.

I have died underwater, reborn in blue nights,
Don't need oxygen to play with the whales.
Remember when watching those great Northern Lights
That Mother is smiling behind Nature’s veils.

for Constances contest "Mother"

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Chocolate-Coated Memories

Chocolate-coated memories of my morning meal fill my bowl to the top. I could get not get enough of the sweetest children's breakfast cereal. I was more than crazy for my delicious "puffs". My mother will confirm my cocoa obsession. I dug in only after the milk turned chocolaty. Yes, two boxes were always in my possession. How ever did I escape childhood obesity? for A Pleasant Childhood Memory Contest (Sara Kendrick)

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Tuesday, January 12 2010

Be happy for you have not witnessed it
The time where Haiti shook and fell
On this paper I transmit
This event worthy to tell

It started like any other day
Everything was calm and nice
Maybe it was nature’s way to repay
Us for our vice

In a split second it begun
Everything was going up and down
No matter what, you couldn’t outrun
This destructive force shaking the town

After a while it ended
The place was filled with dead silence
I was with my siblings that I defended
Saving them from this death sentence

I saw a man running with blood
All over his face, and lost his arm
The rest of his body covered with mud
With an organ sticking out of his underarm

During this catastrophe
I lost a lot of friends, and family members
I would like to destroy that part of my history
But everywhere I go that feeling ember’s

I was unlucky to see the remains
Of what was left in this desert
I had to close my eyes for it pains
Me to see my people trapped under the dirt

Just the thought of writing about it
Makes a bed of tears in my eyes
On that day I was whit
My friend as he lays and dies

For what happened to Haiti
Pray it doesn’t happen to you
This pain will cause you to worry
When they say you’re safe is it true?

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May Day Basket

A tisket, tasket, a pretty May basket Made to hang on a very special door Filled with flowers from the field For a neighbor that we all adore A tradition when I was just a girl Fun way to bring a bit of cheer The glories of the 1st of May A childhood memory so dear...
Barbara Gorelick 4/21/12

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A Penny For Your Thoughts


Saying that's been around forever
Where it came from I haven't a clue
There's many phrases just like this one 
So familiar to both me and you


Is a word not heard much these days
Its value's much less than a cent
We used to get a big bag full of candy
At the store it was a big event


Many years its value has decreased
There's a rumour they'll not longer exist
Where's this technological age leading us
The good old days I so dearly miss


Thoughts are probably, what an old geezer
He can't keep up with the times
But us old guys lived a much simpler life
For those good old days we still pine


Of sodas, ice cream and lollipops
Linger in the depth of our being
Tears can be seen trickling down our cheeks
A sad but so joyous a feeling

©Jack Ellison 2012

Many thanks to Connie Marcum Wong for her help and inspiration.

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Ye Ole Grammy Phone

Crank up ye ole grammy phone Play me some of those good old tunes Like “Happy Days Are Here Again!” “By The Light Of The Silvery Moon” Remember ditties from way back when You could actually decipher the words Hope young people aren't reading this They'll be thinking I'm quite a nerd Songs from the World War Two years Billy Holiday's “My Old Flame” Or “White Christmas” by Der Bingle The Duke's “Take The 'A' Train” You could call it Nostalgia One-O-One Wishing those times were still here Wanting it to be forever summer Days of soda, pretzels and beer! © Jack Ellison 2012

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Missing You

It’s been 15 years of silence, But your love still reigns true. Not a single day has gone by, That we never think of you. We miss you on the birthdays, Even more at Christmas time. Though you left us in a hurry, Your departure was divine. When you left us that morning, A piece of me left with you. But I’ll regain my happiness, When I’m next to you. Though the memories are fading, One thing will never fade. And that’s the love you gave to us, In the little things you made. We love you and we miss you, For our grief’s not told in tears. We’ve kept all the things you gave, As precious souvenirs. And in the years to follow, I know one thing is true. That wherever I choose to go, I’ll be missing you.

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Okay Then, Alright Then, Toodle-Loo, Bye-Bye

“Okay then, alright then, toodle-loo, bye-bye!” Sure love to hear that again My first wife would end each phone conversation With this familiar old refrain Once uttering these words of sheer finality It was over, finis, a done deal Even though their words are heard trailing off Time's up, no chance to repeal Was definitely over when this sweet lady quoted These charming memorable words Am I dreaming or did I actually just hear them again Can't be true, that's totally absurd! “Okay then, alright then, toodle-loo, bye-bye!” Sure love to hear that again Life has moved on but love to hear them once more That familiar sweet old refrain © Jack Ellison 2013

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A Derailed Train

Have you ever noticed lately How the speed of life has picked up No one has time to listen anymore It's tough just trying to keep up Most don't want their train derailed Afraid of losing their thought So they barrel ahead totally oblivious To what's going on in the plot Different thoughts, different tracks Amazing how this can happen Query them on the things you just said Your story always comes in second Disconcerting is this hyper approach In place of polite interaction Give me back the good old days We spoke, then waited for a reaction No texting on cell phones, no Internet Just plain old repartee Intelligent conversations face to face Content as a person could be © Jack Ellison 2013

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Drawing A Blank

Drawing a blank, now how's that possible Unless you use invisible ink Then what's the purpose if no one can see it Kinda senseless don't ya think However it seems I can kinda remember The comics offered this kit You wrote with a pen containing invisible ink After rubbing it appeared bit by bit Thought the whole thing was simply magic Master spies is what we became Belonging to the army's intelligence corp Sending notes in an espionage game Oh those were fun days of make believe Pretending to be super sleuths Slinking around passing invisible messages Those super fun days of my youth <3 <3 <3 © Jack Ellison 2014

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Returning (Englyn)

Cold engulfed her flesh when she lastly reached
this old house forsaken;
lilac scent has awakened
at yesterday's ghost's haven

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Windows in the dark

She walks in the night
In hopes the chill will ease her heart
suspecting not the nip that came
when she looked through the windows in the dark

A fathers belt
high in hand
Thinking this will make
his rebel son a man

She walks in the night... 

Pretty girl, barley a teen
holding the joint to her lips
In search of feeling anything 
than the empty life inflicts

She walks in the night...

He sits before the monitor
a gamers fury colored screen
In rage he screams profanities
trading reality for make believe

She turned around and walked the night
her chill turned bitter cold,
her only thought to hurry home
and her children she longed to hold

Are the days of gathered families
enjoying a movie and playing cards
or sharing an evening meal together
found no more through the windows in the dark? 

Where are the lovers
dancing around the living-room
fathers and mothers loving
knowing life will end too soon?

She thinks of all the images we used to dream
and the heart we hoped to impart
when we ourselves were children on our walks
looking through the windows in the dark.

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Socks For 29 Cents

I'm a master chef when it comes to cooking That age old favourite Kraft Dinner Don't know how nutritious they claim it to be But it certainly doesn't make us thinner As foods goes, t'was a staple in our house For years it cost a lowly 12 cents But that was way back in the good old days Grocery bills now are immense Coffee for a dime, a sandwich for quarter A pair of socks for 29 cents Now we need to take out a personal loan Surviving is a touch-and-go event My very first job was as a teller in a bank Earning a huge $18 a week Over the moon when I got my first paycheck Back then my life was complete What more could anyone have really asked for The world was a beautiful place I'd love to feel that euphoric feeling once more Great joy would beam from my face! © Jack Ellison 2013

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Amazing How Much a Mother Gives

Danger gripped that day so long ago.
Sunshine and a picnic should be fun!
One mom and five children, friends, you know.
Hysterically shouting, mom screamed, “Run!”

There they were, skipping rocks on the lake.
Two boys, one was ten and one seven.
Both carefully watching for a snake,
Sisters nearby played, each soft spoken.

Boys had fun counting skips.  One.  Two.  Three.
Mom by the grill, busily cooking,
Watched; two girls laughed and giggled by a tree.
The toddler hugged her mom, clinging.

The boys, soon, tossed some stones at a log.
Competition: who could hit it most?
One after another in the bog,
Counting their hits, they both were engrossed.

All of a sudden, the log rose up.
“Come get the baby; go climb a tree!”
Life or death seemed to be a tossup.
Terror stuck; like mom screamed, we did flee!

Boys in a tree, girls on a table,
Mom and the gator stared eye to eye.
He moved forward, each step gradual.
She stood her ground; I feared she might die.

Not one step back, she stood there and dared.
Would he attack?  We all watched Mom’s back. 
He wanted to…Mom won as she glared.
He slithered back, Mom’s courage, no lack!

The picnic was over; we packed up.
Mom loved her babies; she saved our lives.
Needless to say, it was a shakeup.
Amazing how much a mother gives.

© October 8, 2011
Dane Smith-Johnsen

Oops...too late for the "Stand Out Day Contest"

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Memory of Bread

Whenever I smell warm loaves of bread
The mouth-watering smell gets me thinkin'
Of my childhood at my grandparents' house
And kneading bread dough in the kitchen.

When I bite into bread, fresh from the oven
The present is soon chased away,
For I'm back baking bread with my Lola
Though I can't bake my own bread today.

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Story of My Life

A tear fell today,
The first one in a while.
I had made a promise
To only think of us a smile.

I'd say I'm sorry,
And I won't do it again,
But I'm sure I'd be lying,
Because when I think I can't, I can.

I can still cry a little
And miss our happiness,
Especially on days or in moments
That are even close to this.

Every night I dream
Of when we'll be happy together
And every day I wake
To the reality that you want her.

You tell me everyday it's temporary.
You swear that it's all for the best,
But it hurts because I swear you're lying.
I think you are just like the rest.

I thought you were better than that.
Sometimes, I think I still do,
But then a day like today comes up.
Story of my life. It's nothing new.

You'd think I'd be used to it.
I'd adjust to ruining my own happiness,
But I honestly don't think I could ever.
I don't want to get used to this.

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I haven't visited you for a long time-

I haven’t visited you for a long time…Excuse my yearning yield`gap:
I was locked in a Cathedral, in the sixth century, under a secret step
While reading a verse that much more later will be made: 
”Men can excel one another only in piety”-as Sura 4:1 said.

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When Marbles Fall

          When Marbles Fall

Happy are the children on the wall of time
Playing marbles by the castle keep
Soldiers watch them secure that they won’t climb
But become bored and fall to sleep

The children are not children at all
But spies that cry for freedom
They slay the soldiers in a modest brawl
The king is next to fall to lose his kingdom 

Fate takes the king with a confidant to towers top
Spies follow them to that end
It is there where all of this must stop
The king must die but first his friend

Marble in this upper room is splendid
King marvels for one last time his acquisitions
Too bad right here and now he must end it
To simply die without his royalties permission 

                   Created 7/12/14 for- Not Just Any Old Quatrain contest

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Bates spoke of the moments that
Whisper the past awake,
But mine sleep still too far between
On my path. Overtake

I do, these fallen, felled branches
With careful bounds. Afar,
I see my future life winking.
I wish upon this star,

A northern star, a forward star
That drifts as if at sea,
To bring, as from the night to dawn,
Nostalgia to its knees

To bless my heart. Yet, I fear it. 
It, to the woods I bade;
I sleep beside my naked path,
My blanket torn and frayed. 

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There was a Time

There was a time…
When the world was mine
When everything held wonder
There was reason and rhyme.

There was a time…
When a touch held magic
When a smile was a haven
And only fallen ice cream was tragic.

There was time…
When I felt safe and secure
My dad was a Superhero
With a love that would endure.

There was a time…
When Mother’s love was a light
When MS didn’t control her
When she didn’t give up the fight.

There was a time…
When wonderland was near
I saw it in the snow… the rain
And in faces so dear.

There was a time…
When I didn’t ask why
I knew we’d live forever
No one I loved could die.

There was time…
When ignorance was still bliss
And the pain went away
With a lover’s sweet kiss.

But now is the time…
When I clearly see
There are broken branches
In my family tree.

This is the time…
When I know every story will end
Sickness and betrayal
Might be around the bend.

This is the time…
I see that beauty won’t last
Cause I’m just too scared 
By the sins of my past.

This is the time…
When nothing does surprise
Instead of fresh sweet rain
Bombs fall from the skies

And yet….
The little girl in me
Still believes
That the best of life
Is in this moment….
This time!

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My Roll Top Desk - Revised

This desk of mine is solid oak
And it’s forty-two inches wide
The sliding top has many slats
So that up and down, it slides

For certain is a real antique
Of a hundred years; probably more
Old Trader Joe found it for me
Sitting on the “Odd Fellows” floor

This old desk is such a beauty
Took a lot of work to restore
It has a lifetime of memories
I keep them safe inside the drawers

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The 50s Were Cool

The 50’s are special to me Started High School in ‘52 Wore shrink tight jeans and cowboy boots Long hair ducktails and sideburns too Rock and Roll music was “the thing” Meet your buddies with a high five The girls started looking good to me That’s when bop dancing came alive Buddy Holly, Little Richard Elvis Presley and the rest I’d listened to them all the time Soon Bebop music was the best Got a job at the Trading Post Learned to drive and got my first car Fender skirts and a necking knob And a muffler that sounded bazaar Then girls suddenly caught my eye Double dates to the drive-in movies Smooching when parked on lover’s lane A French kiss was something groovy Out of college in ‘59 And from then right up to today When I think about the 50’s I just grin, what else can I say?

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I remember how you looked that day;
How happy, young and free.
Your sun bleached hair, your sun bronzed skin,
I watched you from the lea.

You never saw me standing there,
I'm glad it stayed that way.
We never spoke, we never met,
But I came every day.

I came to watch you cast your net.
You were my mystery man.
I whiled away the live long day,
Watching from the sand.

You seemed to have all you could need,
The surf, a boat, a net.
I close my eyes and click my heels,
And I can see you yet.

                                  Judy Ball

For Close Your Eyes And Click Your Heels Contest by Michael J. Falotico - Aug. 22,2011

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Tim Horton's

I'm off to Horton's!
Where's my coat?
Where's my gloves
and hat I tote?

Head to wind
I walk the path
with all my strength
within God's wrath.

Losing time
I start to wander.
'Behold' the stars;
their size I ponder.

Getting close
my feet relax.
I gaze ahead.
The wind it slacks.

I reach the door
and pull the handle.
Air rushes out
warm as a candle.

The lights a-glare.
There's several tables.
I place my order
and spread my fables.

I take my seat
and rest my coffee
then raise it up.
My arms like toffee.

The sip is bitter
but starts to quench.
I swallow gently.
My throat a-drench.

I sit and rest.
Half hour aside.
Get up to leave.
My hunger subside.

I exit quick
fresh with air.
Head held high
and head of hair.

I'm headed home
without goodbye's
and at my back
the other's eyes.

I look ahead
toward my home
and move my feet
and start to roam.

I will come back
and won't forget:
I love Tim Horton's
without regret.

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The Babe, Ted Williams, And The Mick

Remembering the days way back when Baseball was what made life tick Lived and breathed that wonderful game With the Babe, Ted Williams, and the Mick Jackie Robinson breaking the colour barrier Sweet memories inhabit my brain Jackie was the absolute first hero of mine Brought equality to this time honoured game Stan Musial, Bob Feller, and Joe DiMaggio From a much simpler era, these names When salaries hadn't yet become astronomical They played for the love of the game How many remember the powerhouse Yankees Every year the cream of the crop They were always a perpetual Series contender Seemed like the Yanks were always on top Those days are gone but sure not forgotten In the recesses of this old mind Can still see Ted hitting one over the fence In my mind, it's nineteen-forty nine © Jack Ellison 2013

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What's more passionate
that closing dreamy eyes
to lips that surrender...
isn't it a lover's passion?

Summer should be blamed,
for the  strong scent of its flowers 
that is inhaled while kisses are given, 
but that's the secret of every lover!

In Fall days no longer seem eternal,
as a lover's passion increases with the chill;
perhaps their fire is more intense in this season...
when warmth is denied by the parting sun!

Leaves begin to fall and paths
are adorned with loveliness, that's where all lovers
stroll to rekindle the passions of by-gone seasons;
and yet spring is their favorite.

What's more intimate than caresses
given by warm hands followed by a kiss?
Isn't a lover's passion expressed gently as lips draw closer,
to replenish what was lost in remote time as those yesterdays?

Our desire is more than a mutual feeling,
it lays its hope on faithfulness to revive
that promise recited in revered silence as soft whispers;
life will end, but this lover's passion never will!.  

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Ye Ole Jalopy

Just saw a fancy new jalopy go by At least that's what we used to call 'em Guess the ad men would surely cringe Jalopy wouldn't cut it for them! With all of today's sexy new cars Jalopy is a blast from the past The pace of life was much slower then Less frantic and surely not as fast! Any of you remember “rumble seats”? Wonder why they called them so 1939 was the last time we saw them Gone with those silent movie shows! But the reality is there's no going back We're stuck in this frantic new world One which no longer has time for niceties My mind's in a tizzy and a whirl! I take solace in knowing in coming years Today's technology and texting Will be just as passe as the old jalopy The future will be even more perplexing! ?Just saw a fancy new jalopy go by ?Traveled back to another time and place Enjoyed the much simpler things in life At a slower and less frantic pace! © Jack Ellison 2013

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Beneath starlight, a red ember

Beneath starlight, a red ember;
I think about the past.
How life’s events roll slowly forward
And leave the present last.

I’m standing as their stems emerge 
From soil too long staid;
They grow like weeds and flowers in
My yard of moonlight shade.

My memories, invasive plants,
Consume my empty chair.
Deny me any desperate rest
Without your presence there.

Recalling wandering memories,
Adventures conscience free,
Reminds of souls without purpose,
A soul that still is me.

Bring back the rocky quarry edge,
The late night New York trains,
The tunnel underneath the street,
And muscles sore and strained.

Bring back the open, solemn night
That beckons, calls, persuades,
Our longing hearts to mischief hid
In midnight’s dark cascades.

Bring back freedom from anxious fear,
Do that or leave me be.
For even though my heart feels still,
It still beats to be free.

Beneath starlight, a red ember
Goes out among the weeds.
I close the door on moonlight and
My distant memories.

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Debussy Inspiration

Debussy Inspiration

I advanced from piano player to pianist
When I finally memorized Claire De Lune.
Since then I’ve migrated to a rhythm guitarist,
But I could never escape that flowing tune.

I played Debussy’s song so often without the sheets
That over time it evolved to something else.
A few different notes or off-rhythmic beats;
So that an expert would patently find it false.

I eventually learned to play more difficult songs:
Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini,
And many of Scott Joplin’s syncopated ragtime songs;
But Debussy’s Claire De Lune still remains a part of me.


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His Little BLue Egg

He cradled it in his little hand A perfect egg of robin's blue Treasure found beneath a tree Already covered in morning dew Convinced that he could mother it Unable to accept nature's way He tended his little blue egg Until it turned a mottled gray Today I found a robin's nest High up in the backyard tree Memories came flooding back Of an egg held up for me to see......

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Summers long ago

Nestled in coconut groves and lush fields of paddy,
with the love of a large family, each day warm and tardy,
Ever poised and elegant, stood my trove of memories,
as boys and girls innocent, played under mango trees.

Soon as grandma came in sight, her hair grey with age,
we rushed to hold her tight, dropping our baggage.
It felt as soft as feather, touching her frail hands,
her eyes filling with tears, to see us back on her lands. 

Dewy mornings crawled by, as we grew lazy by the day, 
sultry afternoons passed by, watching cows feed on hay.
Breaking the serenity of dusk, came a fishmonger yelling,
catch of the day cooked with much spice, there was no telling.

Swollen with the monsoon, the dark night sky,
eager to pour it down soon, still as the earth did lie.
And soon, when will I see you next, grandma would sigh,
Feeling sad, as the moment came, for another good-bye. 

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A Circle of the Globe

Little did I know that
A year ago today
We would end up right back here now
Like you never went away

The scabs have only just left
My skin still pink from scars
Not enough time to forget you
Not enough to stop wishing on stars

And yet you're standing here once more now
On my doorstep wanting in
And believe me I want to let you
But I don't want to hurt again

So I'm faced with the decision
To forget and go on with you
Or to bring the scars to your attention
Tell you what you've put me through

Or be silent and walk away
To wonder what could have been
If this was the one time you had pure intentions
Or if I'd be burned within

But with everything that's happened
I can't pretend to be okay
I can't ignore the lashes to my heart
Given when you walked away

I so wish I could forget it
Because as much as you've hurt me
I would never want to hurt you
I don't want to ignore your plea

The world spinning has changed so much
A circle of the globe
Time seems to move so quickly
But with you, time seems to slow.

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What is it

What is it...

What is it I would give
To once again relive…
A time back in my past
What is it I would give?

My life’s had many facets
Not all of which were best
But the lessons that I’ve learned
Have stood me to the test.

They are the staff with which I stand
And the colors that I see
If something past were different
I would be a different me.

So, no, I cannot give an offer
To give up what I know
To make a past change happen
Could change my whole life’s flow.

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Goodbye Fall with all the auburn leaves of the reddest sunset,
goodbye crackling path where I met the last songbirds,
whose melody accompained me to winter's doors;
and with deep sadness I kept on looking back.

Welcome gloomy winter with short afternoons and long evenings;
watching the advancing shadows and loudly hearing
the furious sound of the squall rampaging the stately trees,
and making them weep when the icy rain comes down with lightining. 

Sitting in a rattling, rocking chair, I peruse through pages of sunny places afar,
forgetting the dreariness of this frigid season and be consoled by a warm fire;  
and still nostalgia abounds...thinking of the pleasant strolls of a past season,
which thrilled me with its colors, and through delight I justified my reason. 

O winter, don't linger as you always have...shorten your stay, avoid foul play; 
and could I ever stand a pale sun, hardly giving off with its luminiscence,
in this house hidden among the maples and the pines of a squalid valley?
Old winter, don't mislead me with days without snow...that's utter pretense!

Goodbye explorer fedora hat keeping my dreamer's head cool, 
sparing my skin another ugly wrinkle, allowing late beauty to rule;   
goodbye iced coffee sipped from my Big Apple plastic cup,
which I bought along Fifth Avenue in a crowded, variety shop. 

Ummerciful winter, pity the desperate state I am in,
reduce the wrath of your devastation, step inside and to tell me your amazing tales...
hoping that I will write them down for everyone to read and enjoy for immortal ages;
relentless winter, reduce the dreariness of this frigid season.

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Children see things in a simple way
They could teach us a lot, my friends
Makes sense and it's perfectly logical
That eleventy-ten follows ten

Sadly they have to eventually grow up
And lose their childhood innocence
Again to see the world through their eyes
Before life's problems commence

Life's not complicated as in later years
Just black and white, no greys
No traumas, no hang-ups, no challenges
To trouble their brain each day

They just say it and play it like it is
No delusions of fame or riches
They simply live and enjoy the moment
And scratch where the itchy spot itches

Those days are distant and gone forever
But I still remember them well
When I see some tots on a teeter totter
I just sit and watch for a spell

Children see things in a simple way
They could teach us a lot, my friend
Makes sense and it's perfectly logical
That eleventy-ten follows ten

@Jack Ellison 2012

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Your Gift To Me

Exhaling petals in the time of need 

I keep replaying the blossoming of gardenias 

by pushing buttons on my remote control 

with painful fingers - reminders of lost wings.

The mini blinds are broken so I peek 

Over the sterile walls mutilated by wrong turns 

I hear you calling me on a disconnected phone 

I'm fine!...and you? - followed by a timid silence.

Accidental spring brought us back together 

In a building where daffodils smell of chloroform 

And angels lie flat on a recently emptied bed 

As I watch windows cry in endless raindrop dances.

It's so much life outside I feel I suffocate. 

I see returning swallows through your candid eyes 

As panicky sirens make your heart pound in my chest... 

This accidental spring we'll finally be... forever.

For Laura's "Recovery From Life" contest

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Candles and nightlights flickering bright,
blackout curtains shutting out the moonlight.
Snuggle down cosy with blankets tight,
perhaps the war will end to-night.

Dripping setting from Sunday's roast,
spread so thick on Monday's toast.
Meat bones simmer on the old gas ring,
Pa's homemade soup,the 'real thing'.

Paper chains cut and glued,
beer in glass bottles brewed.
Christmas puddings with threepenny bits,
the Meccano present made to fit.

Sunday school outings upto Coombe hill,
my first ever train ride,so quite a thrill.
Walks over corn fields  to the Bugle Horn,
crisps and lemonade upon their lawn.

A weekly soak in a round tin bath,
towelling off by a fire in the hearth.
A viewpoint from childhood scene,
 growing up at sixteen,Beech green.

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Woven Thoughts

Woven Thoughts

Recollections of childhood—
Each fighting for breath.
The beauty and the horror—
Enduring life’s test. 

Gunshots and flowers—
Evil wrestles innocence.
Both entwined in one heart,
Screaming to make sense.

Mom snapping photos
Of tulips and me.
Fight flashes of fear—
Being lost among trees.

Discovering mortality—
Beauty and life both exist.
Yet the reaper of death
Will demand his cold kiss.

Looming waves of the ocean
Touch soft colors in the sky—
Fear melts into glory
Adding lessons for life.

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Her story told by old charts, scattered, water-drenched. 
Portholes all broken, shaft and screw missing :  a  wreck ,
Grounded  on concrete platform  like an old man sitting on bench, 
Battered  funnel,  broken hawsers, holes in deck.

Tell you stories about the old days when he mattered.
Eyeglasses cracked.   Some say he has a screw loose :
Old man on a bench, like a ship in dry dock, rust splattered,
Battered hat, torn trousers,  holes in shoes.

Endured war  sagas at the siege of Malta,
Braved storms in the Bering Sea  - ice cold, 
Saw exotic island sunsets in Straits of Malacca,
With cargoes varied, they  traveled  the world. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Written   for  Matt   Caliri’s  Contest    “Write A Backwards Poem”

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Big Nickel Eyes

Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada

It's at the top of the hill.
It's silver and shiny.
It's broad and it's tall.
It'll make you feel tiny.

It's above an old mine.
It's next to some rails.
It's a dot on the horizon.
It's not heads and not tails.

It's a circle with edges.
It's a coin large in size.
It's the money we made
for our Big Nickel Eyes.

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Came from work, exhausted and moody,
fall is advancing with an improvised, swift pace,
but the meteorologist defies it with the happiest face;
and tomorrow I'll wake up and trot away! 

Planned a day in the merry sunshine,
with a basked full of treats and a bottle of red wine,
to be consumed by the shade of an elm with my dearest;
and all the songbirds I will invite to my afternoon's feast!

We lay on the neatest blanket, facing the calmest, eastern sea
as sailboats drift by...a toddler listens to his mom's nostalgic song,
and in her tender voice that soldier's smile, on rippled waves, appears;
and tears, with a solar luster, fall on the pristine sand to recall her lost love.

Seagulls glide over to announce the close of an August's evening
still huddled in intimate embrace, the rushing waves tickle our toes,
and not minding their amusing play, we carry on and not withdraw;
before we lift the damp blanket, we are greeted by stars in throngs.

Planned a day in the merry sunshine,
a fantasy realized by two who will dream of this passionate season,
remembering our tanned faces and skin glittering with sand;
waving goodbye to the disheveled mother and trembling child.

Note:  These are the observations of a happy couple spending a day on the beach,
but  the happiness they felt wasn't shared by a mother and child who both missed a husband 
and father; and by the sad look on their faces, gazing out to the sea...he had gone to the  
Iraq War, and unfortunately had never returned home.

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Big Nickel Jail

Poem about Sudbury, Ontario, Canada

It's said by some
that the Big Nickel Mine
ran a jail for years
when there wasn't a fine.

There were hundreds of kids
whom their parents locked up
while they took their pictures
with an old tin cup.

Though they rattled the bars
and some did pout.
After just a few minutes
the parents let them out.

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My First Car

At twenty, a sophomore in college I bought my first car A forty seven Chevy club coop It was clean and up to par Of course, it had to be personalized So I lowered the rear end Put on fender skirts and a Smitty That rumble would make me grin All the interior lights were blue I thought that was cool But everything wasn’t so perfect At times that car was cruel The car had what’s called a vacuum shift A faulty design at best It would lock in gear, you couldn’t shift What causes it, a guess? The only way to get it unlocked Is to rock it forward and back That was more than a one person job It would unlock with a crack It would happen at the worst of times Like when I’m out on a date Asking your date to help rock the car Didn’t always turn out great Something special about my first car Just getting it was a thrill But at the times when it would lock up It’s a car I could just kill

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How many remember the View-Master It took us to romantic places Like Rome and Paris and Amsterdam Sure put a smile on our faces More than sixty-five years of 3D vacations It still can be purchased today But now geared mainly towards the kiddies No more flying us guys away With the advent of the great world wide web View-Masters became out of date They're like dinosaurs in this high tech world Been pining for those times of late For those less hairy days way back when Been accused of reliving the past But find so much peace and solace there Life was an absolute total blast © Jack Ellison 2013

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a stolen kiss

A stolen ravishing kiss,ignited a brisk fire
Gloating savage temptations,fueled burning desire
Despite trying so hard ,to forget our covert past
You relentlessly recalled,those endless times to last

The sneaky peaceful moments,which,so secretly we shared
The love,lust,rage and passion,for each other we spared
The moanful sensuous pledges, made in each other's arms
Have been refreshed now, by a kiss robbed in all charms

How can I ever forget, your love ,now, I 've  realized
The raving vows and pleasures,we achieved or fantasized
Thinking if gone faraway,might get this flame cool
savoring taste of your lips,testified I was a fool


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Along the Riverbank

The luminescence of low hanging mist whirls
Agitated winds shiver the tall cottonwoods
The ever present sound of the old river passing
She stands on the small rustic pier daydreaming

Watching the waters carry an old tugboat south
She waves as the captain sounds his sad horn
A breeze catches the hem of her dress, lifting it upward
Her long slender legs and bare feet exposed to morning rays

 A single teardrop falls from her troubled eye
She knows she will soon be leaving this magical place
Traveling far to the western desert, and away from her folks
She turns and leaves, making her way up the wet path

She ponders her anxious future amid the vines of honeysuckle
The smell of bacon soon fills her senses as her home appears
Smoke curling down from the antique stone chimney
Porch steps squeak, the screen door slaps, she has decided  

© Copyrights G. Jones 2006

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Down Memory Lane

I took a walk down memory lane,
My heart reliving the scenes
I visited with loved ones now gone
The ones I see in my dreams.
Each picture tugged at my heart
Some even brought down a tear
I felt a special kind of glow
For I felt each loved one near.
There was my mother alive and well
I felt the warmth of her arms
I knew that I had been loved
And kept safe from all harms.
I took a walk down memory lane...
I held my baby girl tight
She was fast asleep on my chest
Unafraid of the dark night.
The man of my dreams was there
Back when passion meant fire
I stared at his youthful face
Was once more filled with desire.
 Tonight I walked down memory lane
The journey was ever sweet
I saw myself as I had been
Oh, it was such a joyous treat!
One day I’ll reach the end of the lane
That lane that is called life
And I’ll look out from a picture
A smiling mother and wife
And when she looks at my picture
I hope my daughter will smile
Remembering that she was loved
Which makes life’s journey worthwhile.

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They made a huge nest with straws of golden hay
on the top of a fragrant, shady apple tree;
and they were the beautiful bluejays of May
that constantly warbled until sunset vanished entirely.

They have gone to a warmer place with pretty cotton fields...
before winter approaches and turns into a white blanket,
but my nostalgia for the departed bluejays with soft wings
fills the chilly and stormy air with something I can't predict.

Oh, bluejays which other bluest sky you fly under...
without the fear of an impetous, frightful thunder,
to find that haven which delights even a restless lark  
when sunrise arises his desire to be a free heart?

Luckily, they won't be here when the frigid wheather will be coming...
when that glistening blanket of snow will cover every meadow;
they will remember spring battering the land with a sudden windstorm...
and listening to their cheerful song, brought true joy to my living. 

Oh, bluejays from this icy window I yearn for a celestial, melodic praise!
Could anything console me as the moon wanes,
if sunrise offers no hope for my deep longing
that soars over miles of frozen sky...until it awakens me from dreaming?

Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci

Written for Constance-A Rambling Poet
for Beautiful Birds Mini Blog Contest

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Rebuilding what was torn down
might take endless effort,
and it can be definitely done
without recalling the hurt.

To visualize it again,
it's putting together the ideas 
that started it in adolescence...
will it be the same dream as then?

Some achievers build it
as a bricklayer does: brick by brick...
until it is clearly conceived,
to amaze themselves who strongly believed. 

Rebuilding what was torn down
by malevolent forces takes firm belief,
and with my defiant courage it will have life again:
breathing as I breath with much sought relief.

Copyright 2010 by Andrew Crisci

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Forget Not-Lest History Repeats (For Abe's Contest)

Forget Not…Lest History Repeats

Victims of the Nazis Regime:
Jehovah's Witnesses and Jews.
Marched like chickens to their slaughter.
Once walked in twelve million, plus, shoes.

Social democrats and partisans, 
Gypsies and orphans did death reap.
Disabled by body or mind –
Add more feet to the deadly heap.

Communists, and trade unionists,
Soviet prisoners-of-war,
Polish Intelligentsia,
Vacant shoe-stack grows from the floor.

Adolf Hitler ordered them killed.
Annihilation camp, grim rouse,
Death at Auschwitz-Birkenau –
The stench of death reeks in mourned shoes.

WRITTEN FOR ABE LOPEZ "Leather Voices" Contest

© Dane Smith-Johnsen
May 14, 2010
Poetic Form: Quatrains

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King Of The Licks

...for jazz people everywhere

He's King of the Home
in his high chair and gown,
takin' his feedin's with 
dreams of bein' downtown;

his jazz band was playin'
he'd blow and he'd sway,
he remembers those times
like it's just yesterday.

Sneakin' drinks from old Joe,
playin' cards in the back,
goin' upstairs with Lil
so he don't lose the knack!

He's behavin' hisself,
but he ain't forgot tricks
he learned in the mean streets
as King of the Licks.

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Summer day in  Gateshead  grim
Go  with  limping  uncle John
Leave  the slums and  factories  dim.
Train to   Cullercoats  on our own.

Steep cliff steps and sandy ramps  
But  cliff-edge  binoculars  explore -
Though   his lost leg  gives him cramps -
My  sandy-play  and the wreck  offshore. 

Appetites  from cool breeze salty
Gravy   ducks  *   then stand in door
Of pub-wood polished, shiny, malty -
One  lemonade  -  or maybe  more. 

Pocket-sand  home  now,  and shell,
To extend the joy for a time,
Thru  dark train tunnels back to hell
Across the river  in  Gateshead’s   grime.

Note :     *A   gravy duck was a meatball dipped in savoury sauce, extremely tasty

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Miller And Dorsey

Was just a young'un in the big band era But it seems just like yesterday Remember listening to Miller and Dorsey Still love it right to this day Miller's Modernaires, and Dorsey's Pied Pipers With their smooth harmonic blend Chattanooga Choo-Choo and The Trolley Song Brought me so much pleasure no end Guess I was influenced by my older sisters Was not even ten at the time It just goes to show the impact they had made For those long ago days I still pine It wasn't until Elvis debuted in fifty-six When Rock'n Roll took over The Big Band era came quickly to a halt And ended it's popular exposure Don't even know what is popular today Or even if they've given it a name Guess I'm just an old guy living in the past Progress is the name of the game <3 <3 <3 © Jack Ellison 2014

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Since childhood my vivid and alluring aspirations
painted my rainbows with different colors,
not the ones I was after and truly adored...
who has ever heard of a teenager being bored?

Anytime I saw a train leave the station with its smooth rhythm,
I wanted to be that conductor who could never fall asleep,
and at every stop he would look carefully before closing the doors...
then, laid-back, watch the changing landscape and whistle his tunes!

If imagination had not been there to tackle my reflective tendencies
that were, indeed, rooted in all aspects of the present wilderness,
I wouldn't have cultivated this passion and turn it into a realistic dream...
which allowed inspiration to enter the subconsciousness of this thinker's realm!    

The fast-paced postman delivering mail to mailboxes seldom locked, thrilled me;
he looked so sharp and handsome greeting folks, and it would have been an honor
to chat with them, listening to their suggestions and helping them thoroughly...
I visualized myself as such, and even practiced it daily in front of large mirror!

If tons of ideas hadn't fed the urge to jot down details with ebullient imagery,
unless I wasn't aware of their poignant meaning and powerful message,
I wouldn't have let fantasy create an extraordinary dreamer out of someone so ordinary...
to adorn dullness with my cheerfulness and change winter to spring!

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The warm spring rain still falls on the cherry trees,
pelting on the sodden and drooping *lavender lilies...
forming a small lake, where playful robins
bathe and fend off the thrusting, thirsty shrikes.

Soon children will come out and act dippy...
chased by wild puppies and mousy kitties
fighting over their stuffed, torn bears;
oh, there goes my peace and *tranquility!  

The *fragrant lilacs are in dire need of growth and color,
lately they haven't soaked up enough sun and raindrops:
tingeing them, allowing them to revel in their *splendor;
never denying lovers the *dulcet tones of their voices.

The tranquil skies conjure up a past *bliss,
can a poet's unrhymed words, emitted in a *whisper, go on *lilting?
He will delightfully inhale the strong perfume of the breeze *wafting!
And will he create verses with *eloquence?

Entered in Andrea Dietrich's contest,
Word Warrior Challenge: Beautiful Words

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                                                    BLUE/GRAY WAVES

The sun is gone behind the clouds,
Soft shades of misty blue,
Gentle waves lap at the shore,
And through the mist I see you.

You're pullin' in your net again,
You set your sail against the haze.
You disappear behind the mist,
Hidden from my quiet gaze.

Blue-gray clouds engulf the shore,
You never saw my silent wave.
You never knew that I was there,
Your eyes beheld but blue-gray waves.

                                             Judy Ball

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The countless flights of noisy seagulls
seem like my days once idled away,
sitting by the ocean appeasing the relentless loneliness of my blues...
beyond that horizon, so traveled by ships, another sunset faded away.

Being brought here by destiny's hasteness,
I am unable to return to my adored land...
hinderd by unknown forces more devastating than summer's violent storms and hurricanes;
even the gentlest breeze can erase those memories still imprinted into the smooth sand. 

Springs have been short and winters last much longer, 
and only the red Lighthouse surrenders to darkness;
the gelid winds of the North batter the snow-decorated docks making the waves rise higher;
this calm harbor resembles a Norvegian fiord from where the Vikings left in small vessels.

Serenity is deeply felt, but not readily greeted as in other milder seasons,
and I can endure the harshness of any winter day with this heavy coat...
the cold and hungry beggar could use it and keep herself warm and sleep peacefully at night;
where's she? I've been sitting by the ocean, she hasn't come to melt away my frozen tears!

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Youth seemed an eternal joy
for a gorgeous and happy boy...
no worries over necessities,
with desires without sequence.

The fear of dying was far from pondering,
only beautiful days ahead for the youngest heart....
longing for a tenderness other teenagers never sought,
and sometimes sleeping away the afternoons was invigorating. 

Like glass sheding water, his soul was pure and epic
and he never shook his fist to seek revenge;
he never shillied to shin a tall tree with panic...
always used pragmatism whenever on perilous edge.

He lives miserably, living on a day-to-day existence,
but the fear of dying is to exemplify weakness,
not to exert himself and to better before he hits dead-end;
yesterday God was his sunrise, now that light is glimmering instead.

He justifies his misfortunes with an inadequate story,
while his friends enjoy a happy life, he frolics like a sky-lark 
feeding on what people discard in a garbage pail daily...
and weeps occasionaly, instead of coming out of the  dark.

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It was there mysteriously hanging, as He 
shaped it in a perfect form as other planets...
the Romans called it Luna, and what a revered goddess was she!
Superstious souls still fear it, I stare at it with reverence!

Even before we were created,
that moon, which illuminated our dark Earth,
was believed to have mystical powers...
causing high tides and frightening all voyagers.

Luna, as magnificent as you are on a clear night,
by morning your glory will completely vanish,
and you will return with the shadows and by that bright
glow, we shouldn't be afraid but make a vivid wish.

Even before we were created,
those moonbeams softly caressed the lonely oceans...
when no human beings were sighted;
and she, the goddess Luna, ruled over eerie darkness. 

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Reaching my golden age 
was an improbable, distant image...
rarely thought of, or even visualized by me,
I still cherish the fancy-free boy that was me!

My careful footsteps have become slower,
and my skin is losing its gleaming, brilliant look;
I stand before my photographs displayed underneath
the hand-painted coat of arms with a disillusioned, displeasing glare!   

Could that handsome young man be me?
His skin is so smooth and his teeth dazzling white,
lots of strands with curly hair reflecting a resplendent light...
he's smiling staring at his friend, who's kissing a girl called, "Mimi."  

And unstoppable, bitter tears relentlessly flow; why haven't
childhood and youth waited another year, or even another longest day,
to let me breath with more easiness, seeing myself once again a virile lad...
how horrible and scary is to face the merciless phantom, who will take me away!

But this faith is too strong, and I can defeat any evil force;
and although I seem unable to fight as I did when strength was mine,
an angel will escort me to the gate, which will open to greet this faithful one...
not regretting anymore that improbable, distant image retreating and fading as reality itself!

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Memories of Gram's House

Gram, today we celebrate your birthday, so I decided to write you a poem
To tell how you were like my second mother, and your house, my second home

Many precious memories; my earliest one is sitting in the washtub taking a bath
Making cookies from leftover pie dough, sneaking over to see you by crawling on 
the path

Meals at the picnic table, gliding on the porch swing on a warm summer night
And when Gump came home from work, how I loved to jump out to give him a 

Many hours of playtime I fondly recall; under the steps, I was in a plane flying high 
Playing house in the yard with three rocks for my chairs, herding toy horses, as 
the hours passed me by

Thanks for all those holiday meals, for encouraging me to read God's word when 
I was young
Just for being such a wonderful grandma, giving me so many memories to 
cherish in the years to come!
                                                          Love Always,

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                                        SMOKEY - MY FIRST FRIEND

Smokey was a funny cat,
You could see him think.
His favorite place to do this,
Was table or kitchen sink.

He'd loll about for hours,
In seemingly deep thought,
Musing o'er life's mysteries,
Or the mouse he never caught.

He looked so wise just sitting there,
Mysterious and ancient;
Never bothering anyone,
Complacent and so patient.

The only thing he didn't like,
Was being combed and groomed.
If you picked up his comb and brush,
He'd quickly leave the room.

I sweqr sometimes he read our minds,
Knew what we were about,
He understood our every word,
Of that there was no doubt.

He was my friend from babyhood.
We were babes together.
He taught me climbing, stealth nd patience;
our bond could not be severed.

He taught me to look nonchalant,
And even innocent,
If by chance I should get caught,
Whene'er house rules were bent.

Whenever Mom and Dad were cross,
He taught me how to blend,
Into the background or become,
So cute they had to grin.

My memories of him are fond,
I thought he'd live forever.
He taught me fun and love and loyalty,
He won't die, not ever.

                                                          Judy Ball

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Velasco Riverside Park

[To the city of Freeport Texas]

Near diamond shaped
and backyard small,
a park that’s barely wider
than the trees it holds are tall. 

Where a warm gulf breeze rattles
sleeping Palm-tree leaves
composing a feral music 
filling ears with restful peace.

A gazebo just off center
beckons without words to say,
caring for its sitters
shade from a hot sun's ray.

Where I sit in noisy silence 
from cars passing by
enjoying tunes from wood birds 
like a love struck, male Magpie.

A testament to city workers
the grass there neatly mowed, 
the hedges forever trimmed
their care and hard work shows.

So I offered up a prayer 
(Interrupted by a Lark)
God grant a grace of hours here
at Velasco Riverside Park.

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Battered  funnel,  broken hawsers, holes in deck,
Grounded  on concrete platform  like an old man sitting on bench, 
Portholes all broken, shaft and screw missing :  a  wreck ,
Her story told by old charts, scattered, water-drenched. 

Battered hat, torn trousers,  holes in shoes,
Old man on a bench, like a ship in dry dock, rust splattered,
Eyeglasses cracked.   Some say he has a screw loose :
Tell you stories about the old days when he mattered.

With cargoes varied, they  traveled  the world, 
Saw exotic island sunsets in Straits of Malacca,
Braved storms in the Bering Sea  - ice cold, 
And endured war  sagas at the siege of Malta.

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Before I had a boy's perfect body,
the sharpest mind and a spirit full of energy;
even strangers complimented me
on my selflessness, asking God to bless me! 

Had I known then that youth wasn't eternal, unlikely the indelible seasons
that renew themselves accordingly, I would have had
a different view of how it should have been lived...
with a more purposeful insight, which allowed no time for regrets! 

And that boy's perfect body, carved by loveliness , 
could be seen in photographs belonging to another century;
thick hair and a smooth face defined a neat appearance...
to make plenty of girls stare at me desirously! 

O young years, why didn't you warn me of your hastiness?
I could have made the effort to slow you down,
and enjoyed you more without ever wasting time in idleness!
Beautiful and care-free days, how can I posses youth again?

I am still kind of handsome, much older now,
and ladies adore my good looks, once flashing a sweet image   
in those attractive and radiant smiles of long time ago,
not worried about any wrinkle revealing their true age! 
Before I had a boy's perfect body...
magnificently sculptured like Michelangelo's David;
my adolescence began with my physical beauty,
and ended with that ravishing vanity tossed aside!    

Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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I have many qualities and talents 
that make me popular and likeable for my kindness,
and unpretentious gallantry;
ask me if I'm blue-blooded like the gentry!

I exist for a purpose and I intend reveal my cause;
honesty and shrewdness will guard me against errors...
do weeds grow in a well-maintained and embellished garden?
A grubby garden attracts gloominess, mine appeals to sunshine!

I have traveled down rough and dark roads,
grabbing the attention of bad-wishers,
who handed me gooseberries, not gorse;
it was a clumsy course swarming with rocks and thorns!

I exist for a purpose that puts fear into my unseen enemies,
who grumble and judge more than the-assumed-righteous-ones,
they are obsessed with their perfection and like to impose it on me;
but do they know that I control my destiny by spinning my fortune' wheel?

My belief is not to accept anything of worthless beauty,
I love to hide myself in the grain fields,and shake their stalks...
to celebrate a harvest more bountiful than sunflowers;
and I imagine myself gorging on fresh-baked bread daily!

O golden grains, your seeds satiate many that earn their hard living,
saying grace at God gives them His blessing;
and those hands that cut the husks off are much detested   
by the elite with a feeling of inferiority and a lack of gratitude!

I exist for a purpose to bring glory to the Heavens,
that magnificently dazzle upon me in times of desperate need;
pity is an unacceptable word whenever they attempt to make a deal;
I change no direction and try not to fall into the trap of moral weakness!

 Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci

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Global Loneliness

O that I could touch the hands that wished me well
And tell from the eyes truths mirrored up
Or beside each one's cottage my presence dwelled
Planting daisies, and not pushing them up

            This global expansion we are on, merging conditions
            But not our memories, breaking bonds
            Between the real, linking us like mirrored apparitions
            Promotes a garnering of stocks and bonds

Lo the virtual world is a figment of mind, a citadel
Of lies, but my heart is longing for real
To share life's lores; then global loneliness farewell -
When tongue to tongue contented in zeal

           The soup is a wonderful place to write, a firm fence
           Between our brittle emotions and needs
           To feel the joy of faithful friends, and take evidence
           Of difference shared yond skin and creeds

But when the light goes out, and the pen softly falls
Like tears, I want to hold each hand
Give a joke and hear the laughs pierce ears and walls
As we sip our wine: jove's jovial band.

           O that I could touch the hands that wished me well
           When all the family of soup in virue meets
           O that we were all children of a common citadel
           All poet's love pulsing where sorrow bleats.

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Seasons of Memory

The flowers that she carried were so many and fresh
The fragrance of her memory that holds me complete
I will not forget her, the softness and her touch
For my love, she is gone, but love’s not to deplete

Awakened, the senses, within this man’s blue heart
By scent of the jasmine and the lilacs in bloom
Left now to live again, as dreams take me back 
While sleeping alone in this new springtime room

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Self-Destructive Page

I never hold a candle to you
never shine a light
There's no internal force
which keeps me yearning through the night
I'm horrid faced with paperwork
and technically unsound
There are no love notes hidden about
since you're not around
This town is vacuum-packed and rude
with heartstrings cut asunder
I can't help but wonder if you're still strung to me
I wonder, do we still love each other?
Our history is pasted 
on the walls of mind and matter
Electric smiles light up our lips
in glass too thick to shatter
But now my candle's flickering
on the edge of youthful age
I'm a story with no ending
on your self-destructive page.

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Missing Andrea

When I am in your presence
and our souls are drawn in line
we pale the day in an eccentric way
within the folds of time
When we are separated
our souls demagnetize
We crumble in our delivery
dust to dust and rust inside
I watch the clock impatient
with my fingers tapping your tune
Make ready your feet to be with me complete
under one and the same golden moon
I'm catching the next constellation
to fold and unfold wrinkled time
I'm internally set by the pulse in your wrist
just as you are incumbent with mine...

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Love, Long Ago

When wintertime chills the nighttime air
and fireplaces, like candles, glow,
it is your hearth, I long to lay with you by
and reflect on days of long ago.

We were young and frolicked the days away.
We had no thoughts except for the now,
but those days had traveled on so fast
and we lost sight of those days somehow.

We enjoyed those times, those carefree days.
We threw it all to the wind for a chance.
The love we shared was beautiful then,
far greater than any other romance.

Here, in the shadows of the hearth glow,
though time had stolen our days,
age has been kind to you my sweet
and changed our love in so many ways.

Now, when I hold you, a tear I shed
knowing you’ve given your life to me.
Though, beauty surrounds us each and every day
it is only you that I will continue to see.

Those young ones that don’t know what true love can be,
like talking or just holding hands,
will never attain the love that we’ve  shared
and will never appreciate the dance.

That dance, when we first locked in our gaze,
and together, learned to move as one.
Dances like that are left to the past
and for the rest of the world, they’re gone.

Here, as the light of the fire surrounds
with the music that’s played in our hearts,
I still see the young girl I met long ago
and see forever with no endings, just starts.

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For memory's Sake

A memory, soft, it makes my eyes to water
As many events of life so come to mind
The maudlin rains, a facial recollection
A reminder of my youth and love that binds

I thought I had forgotten all the yesterdays
Truth be known they were always there, suppressed
As now I am reminded of the many people
Who contributed well, that make me now feel blessed

The many friends that guided me from darkness
The mentors at my jobs that came and went
I think of them so fondly, on this morning
As time this morning, now, is so well spent

The memories, they make me smile so freely
As all of them so fill my heart with worth
The love, the blessings from so many people
Let me know I am valued on God’s green earth

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Soul stir my attitude
Blow me a kiss
from off of the tip
of the top of your list
written in muse
in pockets crunched up
Just unlock your soul
and start off at the top
Amber in anklets
and peppermint pine
A song humming breath
from the day you were mine
Green gold in rings
from a shop lit in winter
and shards of blown glass
which you still have a splinter
Promise of virtue
and floating of vice
Circles of star storms
we saw once or twice
Pooling of thunder
over our heads
Watching the rain
without leaving our bed
Summer blonde hair
while we swam in the sea
all this and more
in your kiss blown to me...

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What You Leave Behind

I touched upon an old handkerchief
That sent my mind to better days
The scent of perfume was held within
As the image of you left me crazed

Alive you were again standing before me
That smile only you possessed, held me dear
It was as if you had never left me
Still standing close, so very near

Each time I hold something you left me
So many things then come to mind
But I only see the positive, the beauty
For that is what you left behind…

Memories left, for me to find

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Come Back to the Now

One looks behind him,
  To a distant vanished time.
To relive what is done,
  From way back in the prime.

One was happy then,
  And now so miserable.
We live in the haunted past, 
  Wasting time, inconsiderable.

One looks for happiness,
  To some glad day of joy.
But nothing from the past,
  Can fill today’s voids.

One looks at old photographs,
  Before wrinkles filled the brow.
Your missing today’s moments,
  So come back to the now.

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Welcoming the freshness of early morn
With a youthful, vibrant smile;
Yet, the masters scorn
Towards you, with their usual vile!

O Kopela, do not hide in a cell so small;
Patiently, just do your every day’s chores; 
Into a goblet of salt, let tears not fall;
Ponder not, for the olden days of yore!

Take with you, the wireless phone
For when they make a call after call
Especially when you’re alone
Readily, you can answer them all! 

O Kopela, come to the blooming garden
Scented flowers in different color; 
For your shivering spine, will be freshen
And will lessen your unending dolor!

Dry your tears with fresh roses
For sure it will make you fine,
Helping you forget the bad bosses
And you’ll see the sun will shine!

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Backyard Memoirs

Tangerine shells, hollowed of pulp
left out to dry like pumpkin debris
Surinam cherries, peppered with bite
red juicy flesh, but mostly just seed
Sky line of rain trees, cloud chomping blue
to eat up my dreams and float me to sea
But, mostly there's you, laughing with eyes
that right now resemble the woman in me
I'm not a fool, to live in these dreams
balmy and breathing the salt in the air
I've given up all of my conjuring thoughts
smashing up memories 'till you appeared
Tangerine shells, skin of my skin
now part of the soil at a home that's not ours
Leveled of trees, blown to the ground
Lifetime of growth stripped to earth in but hours
Still, mostly there's you, laughing with eyes
listening strong as I storied my dreams
I'm not a fool, with wisdom defunct
but there's no leveling me by my memory's decree.

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Do I Mis Her? Nah!

It has been 3 years to the day since she left
It was just like when she entered my life, hurried
Like a whirlwind she was, a petite dynamo
Always doing something, leaving nothing buried

She had her hands in everything she wanted
Never gave a thought to how it could affect most
She was in her own world; I let it go too long
She was always the center, always being the host

I look back, thankful she’s gone, still I miss
We had many wonderful times that were shared
I hope she changes her ways, less selfish
For anyone she is with now, I just hope she cares

I have no regrets over any time spent with her
She was able to fill some of my nights with dreams
Her character or lack thereof, was the problem
I hope her new beau can put up with some screams

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Leather was absolutely everywhere
The smell of liquor lingered throughout
Long hair, spiked hair, blue hair, green hair
The music was what it was about

We, as teens, came forth in droves
To get polluted and to listen real good
Totally awesome, standing right by the amp
Listening, as one really should

This club in Staten Island was my stomping ground
Snuck in with a bottle of JD in my jacket
Musicians came and played all their songs,
Though my parents thought it was all a racket.

The music was great, each group I heard
Like Generation X, Catholic Girls and Joan Jett
Here I saw the Ramones like five times, too
A better time, no one could ever get.

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Fred and Ginger

Paper waltz in candy light
flickering and swollen
We belong to yesteryear
in this moment stolen
Dancing 'round the silvered cane
sugared lips a salty kiss
Black and white on tv screens
longing stripped as pure as this
Flowing skirts in see through silk
tapping heels on marble floors
Slipping air into our pockets
makes me want you all the more
Might as well be strung on chords
candy floss from rafters wood
as we dance with swollen looks
spoken not, but understood.