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Free Verse Nostalgia Poems | Free Verse Poems About Nostalgia

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

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Details | Free verse | |

Stardust Road

“Stardust Road.”

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

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

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

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

By;PD


Details | Free verse | |

You Caught The Wind

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


Details | Free verse | |

PLUCKED VIOLIN



This is too complex; i mean the throbbing wound grating my belly on a dappled day, a day breathing of tender winds and violins. Perhaps, the strains of notes shuttle me back to my grandfather’s library sitting on books and archaic telescopes. Here, we would empty the shoulders from a rough sail; he scattering fiddle songs on painted walls… the mellow notes tasted like hints of vanilla scent warmed by cadences of burning musical passion as his eyes , half-closed ,melted the noise of an anxious world, of teary wrongs. ‘Bathe in the splendor of the night,’ he mused, submitting to a trance smitten by some refrains of Moonlight Serenade… and my rubber spine would bend with the flesh of his vibrating hands; violin strings weeping till we drowned in holy streams. Now, I feel this undefined nostalgia… the phantom of light exhumed his lust for old charm; and my eyes fall on the alley of roaming vagueness. I could have loved him more than heaven plucking his strings so soon, uninvited. Regina Riddle's A Special Memory 9/17/2014


Details | Free verse | |

Hanging Berries

.

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

                                A fair flying flag of snow to my inner war
                                A temporary cessation still vacillating 
                                on this December

                                Out of breath and sight
                                fear of relapsing and the need
                                a bonfire to burn fallen leaves and years

                                A promise in whispers
                                kept secretly
                                binding a pact
                                Somebody sings a carol of joy
                                It's December

                                The sprig of mistletoe waits hanging
                                to exchange the prediction of happiness  
                                a berry for a kiss
                                a kiss from your lips
                                your lips... unattainable, unreachable

                                I was sure of meeting you under
                                a green branch full of berries
                                a latent foresight
                                the past must be the past
                                it's my own Christmas present

                                I was waiting for so long
                                for so long, and I deserve it
                                Everything is snow
                                and its grains, its crystals, its pellets
                                cover every day of December
                                
                                I was sure of meeting you under
                                a hanging of mistletoe
                                Oh cold...distant, distant December!
                                  


.


Details | Free verse | |

I Recall

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

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

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

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







Details | Free verse | |

Things That Seemed Poetic

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


Details | Free verse | |

It Got Written

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Free verse | |

Under the Willow Trees

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


Details | Free verse | |

Unforgiving

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


Details | Free verse | |

These ribbons I tie as you leave

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

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


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

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

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

It was the only time I watched you cry.

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


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

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

You left her waitng..always.

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

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

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

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

My words cannot reach you here.
You will leave.

We will divide our booty

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

Grey- 
for the morning 
now knocking on my window.

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




Details | Free verse | |

Gary's Yard Sale, the story

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


Details | Free verse | |

Sometimes

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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


Details | Free verse | |

Just I - All Alone

I swam inside the Mediterranean Sea. In what would be my Glory Days, off Valencia’s coast, I dipped my foot in freezing water; withdrew it; then dipped it in again. (I’d always had my own will even then, just didn’t realize how strong it was). Disappointingly, my one day to enjoy the sea was cold. I still cannot recall if others from my group ventured out there with me and stayed for long although I remember a few of them were shivering riding on the bus to go back home. Oh, it was so very long ago! Nor can I recollect the suit I wore (I do know I was plump then; "Gordita” the men called out to me). The season - was it early spring or still the winter? And what specific color claimed the sea that day along my beloved Iberia’s splendid shore? Of that afternoon, I remember only this: Aimlessly I let my body float first in one direction, then another; keeping my eyes always on land, my body numb, accustomed to the freeze. No one was around me; I drifted, sometimes nearly straying. . . just I - all alone - letting my whole self go. . . for maybe 40 minutes. It was something I felt that I just had to do so that years later, standing here today (“Gordita” frozen deep inside me) I can say that I swam in that mighty, ancient sea.


Details | Free verse | |

The Bakery and a Buttermilk Bar

I'd almost forgotten, how fondly this little hamlet
snuggles tight against the purple hills, and how State street
divides the town into two parts, like a pizza, one half a progressive present,
and the other half, the antiquated past.   The old library building still exists,
although now home to an upscale art gallery, but, over there, on the western slice, is a geometrical shaped building that
is now called library, even though it looks more like the Star-ship Enterprise.
I drive slowly past old Gibble Park,  and across the street is the same,
weathered brick building, where I spent many early summer mornings

Suddenly, I surrender to the decade when I was seventeen, 
working a summer job, helping Mrs. Casey. 
Back then, it was the only bakery in town, and I worked  a morning shift.
I was cashier, and handed out powdered donuts, jellied scones, and giant bear claws, 
to familiar faces that never seemed worried about cholesterol, sugar, saturated fats. 
Day after day,  they sampled with satisfaction, and gossiped, and enjoyed the morning routine.

I remember, with my own naive' innocence, befriending
a quiet, middle-aged man, with glossy dark hair, Cary Grant looks, and his overly charming smile.
I thought him to be nice, and knew who he was, from his daughter, who was a school mate, from a class below me at my high school

Mrs. Casey, (with a crease in her brow)  telling me
"Look out for that one" but never quite making it clear just what she meant by such a comment 
He always came by on his way to work, ordered  a buttermilk bar, ...helped himself to a paper cup of coffee, then often talked with me, while I wiped down the glass cases, and waited on other customers. But, I was flattered by the attention, 
Unexpectedly, when the end of  summer came,  while paying me for his buttermilk bar,he smiled sadly, barely said a word, and out of his pocket, he handed me a small package. 
He quietly told me to open it when I got home,..... it was to be our little secret.
Not knowing how to respond......I said nothing.

Upon arriving home, ....alone in my room, I opened the small gift, and inside a gold cross, on a long gold chain, and a small. brilliant diamond smack-dab, 
mid-center of the cross.  I didn't know what to think, and I never told a soul.   
It has never been worn.....it is still in my drawer....and though I had been warned,
somehow it makes me sad to think that some things still aren't clear.  

I was green, wet behind my ears......but there seemed nothing to fear, ....
the lines were blurred.... 
Even now....I can't be sure.



_____________________________________________________
9/24/14 Written for Regina Riddle's contest: Blue Mountain Poetry


Details | Free verse | |

TODAY

Today, I have read something that reminded me of you
Before I know it my mind has traveled back in time
To the time when you were part of my everyday
I only need to close my eyes and there it is
I feel that it was just yesterday, no, just moments ago
When we were together, when we had each other.

I read again your letters, listened to the songs
Looked at the sketches you created for me
Replayed in my mind the quiet conversations
That always took us late into the night.
It is amazing that lovers would smile 
At anything even the most remotely amusing.

But oh how we laughed…
Even a lover’s spat would end up in rolling laughter
Little pockets of time that I dip into
To assure me that it was not just  a dream
That it was real, that there was really you
That there was really us.

In them I take a momentary pleasure 
For those days were anything but ordinary
It felt like one long roller coaster ride
You took me to the highs and lows
Of feelings and emotions only a woman who loves
With so much depth and passion can go through.

I felt your love, the sincerity of it
The relentless pursuit of someone who loves
That my insecurities and fears were overshadowed 
By your patience and constant assurance of your love and desire
And I started to dream, of a time and space designed for us alone.
And yet…

It was not meant to be
Sadly, I came to know the meaning of “too good to be true”.
And as all things not meant to be, it has to end
We promised each other to keep to the path 
destiny has chosen for each of us separately
Hiding the pain in mute civility.

Today, for the last time let me say I love you.
For whatever it’s worth let me thank you
We have proven that the heart is strong 
That love is not the monopoly of the young
It is ageless, boundless, selfless
Beautiful and wise.


Kim Patrice Nunez
27 January 2015


Details | Free verse | |

Visit to Grandma

Have you ever woken up feeling like a kid 

With angels dropping cotton candy on your soul 

When knocks on doors reveal no steps in snow 

And shooting stars have white beards and presents? 

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

Broken speakers squeak Christmas Carols 

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

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

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

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

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

* 

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


www.scripca.com
 

Iolanda Scripca copyright  2010


Details | Free verse | |

Afloat On a Lavender Sea

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


Details | Free verse | |

UP WHERE IT BELONGS




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


Details | Free verse | |

Cockcrow

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


Details | Free verse | |

Bedlam baby

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

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

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

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


Details | Free verse | |

If Only

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


Details | Free verse | |

Trick or Treat

The rubber soles of my sneakers scrape along the sidewalk
as I go down the streets of my small hometown
with only a flashlight and the dim streetlights to illuminate the darkness
I walk my way through piles of scattered dead leaves
jack o' lanterns smile brightly as they sit in window sills
hanging in trees, white sheeted ghosts are stirred by the chilly night wind
paper cut-outs of black cats, witches, and jointed skeletons decorate doors
my vision is distorted by the eye holes of my mask
I can see just enough to find my way to a house
my sneakers thump up the wooden porch steps
with a cold hand I reach out to knock or ring the door bell
I say those three words which earns me my first treat of the evening
no harm done, you will get no tricks or mischief from me
then it is on to the next house and the next welcoming porch light
as Halloween night nears it's end, my bag of treats starts to feel heavy
my feet are tired and sore, yet there are still a few more houses to go....


I hope I can relive these sweet memories someday, with my own children.



Details | Free verse | |

These hands

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


Details | Free verse | |

WHEN LOVE WAS INNOCENT

Sing for me the sweetest song 
of love when life was still so young.
Those tender times and days devoid 
of cares and wants troubling the old,
when smiles and laughter ruled the day,
when worries passed and did not stay.
 
Strum so softly your guitar 
just like the nights along the shore
when music meant the world to us
and dreams were spun with so much fun.
With nary a thought to hindrances,
silence in between did not mean sadness.

Sketch the image once again
of all our hopes and aspirations.
Paintbrush, our imaginations 
that fueled all our conversations.
Let the canvas capture the moment
when each one’s triumph was heaven sent.

With words of wonder I will write
of every look and all the sighs,
of every  throbbing thud within
our hearts that sometimes drown the din.
Still, we aimed our sight so high
a desire defined by what’s ideal...

when life was young, and love was innocent.







16 May 2015
WHEN LOVE WAS INNOCENT POETRY CONTEST
SPONSOR: JUSTIN BORDNER


Details | Free verse | |

The Beauty of Yore

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

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

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

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


Details | Free verse | |

Its Raining...

                          Its Raining…

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

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

                               Amen


Details | Free verse | |

Opening The Fridge

I had an unusual reaction to opening my fridge today
Two cardboard boxes from a long ago memory stood in my way
And I found suddenly I no longer had the appitite to eat
And with the palapating of my heart came the quickening of my feet
And I - without thought - decided to hide from my past today

Bruised knuckles and silent tears
Even sunlit pictures are filled with hidden fears
And a symbol or a number or a song or a smell
Takes me by the eyes and drags me back into that hell
And no memory is left to be sweet
Every thought leaves me trembling at his feet

I hurry to leave the heart throbbing sight 
The trigger following me into the height
Of my paradoxal panic - that leaves me senseless
And the memories flow of the nights I lay defenseless 
Two cardboard boxes stood in my way
Active PTSD can transform a whole day.


Details | Free verse | |

My City

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


Details | Free verse | |

How I Danced!

The night is cold, awaiting the early light of dawn
My body shivers, my feet like ice, I long for sleep but it does not come 
Like so many lonely hours in the darkness
The ache of my bones so cruel and relentless

Tears on my pillow, I once again slip from the warm covers
Leaving the placid breath beside me, never knowing I’ve gone
I would give so much to have the peace of slumber
The chance to dream of an earlier life, one that is gone now

Where I danced with the clouds on a warm spring day
Ran in the woods chasing butterflies or a humming bird 
The gentle breeze brushing against my skin
My soul free to be who I am, without the pain of this withering shell

Some nights I long for an end to this misery
Life has dealt such a difficult challenge
But more often, I sit in the dim light of the morning
Remembering my youth and the freedom that it gave

How I laughed in its face, knowing I would always be young
That I would always be ready to take on the world unencumbered
How naïve…and how unappreciative of the wonders of my youthful body
Pushing the limits of this fragile home to my soul, never fearing an end to my 
flight

But the dawn comes, and I bravely go on to face another day
Determined to make it the best possible
Although this life, even with it’s wicked edge, so unexpected
Arrived before I was ready to give up my wonderful dance of freedom

I rub my twisted joints, warming them near the fire
Knowing that, even through the pain there is hope
For my mind is sharp, my wit is clever 
And I may yet find joys in the brightness and warmth of this new sun

For I can still hear the birds sing their happy tunes
Watch the grandchildren’s innocent play, their melodic giggles of joy
And remember how it was not so long ago…
And how I danced! 


Details | Free verse | |

Roaming through Memories

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