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Husband Nostalgia Poems | Husband Poems About Nostalgia

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

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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

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Narrative | |

Alone in a Hospital Room - An Alzheimer's Song

Don’t you remember, love, how we danced that first night;
beneath the sun’s rays, toes dipping in the cooling sand, 
to the tune of our favorite song –
with me humming the best I could – 
(I sounded terrible, but you told me I sounded divine, remember?)
while falling all over myself, and your delicate feet; 
and you, trying so hard not to laugh as I made such a fool of myself!
Did you ever think we would go 
from being love-sick teenagers dancing on the beach, 
to a couple of old-timers reminiscing 
about our best years – our long ago days together? 

Sweetheart, please…
If there is any part of that teenage girl 
left within that beautiful head of yours…please; 
please, just look in my eyes as you once did…
look at me, sweetheart…
Don’t you remember? 

My love, do you hear? 
They’re playing our favorite song…

*Inspired by Izzy Gumbo's Solfege Contest
I really hope I did this right! :)

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds

Details | Limerick | |

The Broken Vase Of Love

Is never a crime so earn me awhole. 
For all whom thoughts were crack in noon,
And still do not think is right left being dumb.
Would in pre-nuptial undertaken sauntered, when lifted'd had  imagined what the world is of its own. If it's a wistful pan of several host or A spiteful mine of volcanic tusks?

Copyright © kelechi Emeaba

Details | Quatrain | |

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.

Copyright © Carol Eastman

Details | I do not know? | |

Today Is Terrible----

The cracked spine of
the book I dropped
at the call.
A chip in my
windshield left by a
pompous *?#@! in a
red sports car as I
drive to the
Rain expectorating
from an ashen sky as
the dirt is turned.
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
crack in grandma’s
spine from her fall
down the stairs.
The chip in her
amazingly smart mind
after eighteen years
as a teacher.
Tears running,
dripping from my
Mothers ashen face
as she cries “My
mama’s dead.”
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
cracked family
emotions left raw
and empty.
The chip in Grandpas
numb mind at the
gathering… “Where is
Irene she should be
Faces gone ashen
with dread, do we
leave him numb or
remind him that his
wife is dead?
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
empty silences,
missing the jokes
Grandma used to
Grandma’s laugh and
her endless smile
which always exposed
that tooth with the
chip in it.
Without her the
world has become
empty, bleak, and
Today is terrible.


Copyright © Summer Gratias

Details | Light Poetry | |

' Rain, Fire, Ice and Breeze '

I Watched A Man, Named, ‘ Rain ‘
Pounding Across The Plains
Running with Cascading Joy
Like a Wet, Happy, Little Boy …

I Found A Man, Named, ‘ Fire ‘
Blaze in Life, A Lightning Desire
His Bold Passion – Consuming Power
Sent Smoke Signals, to My Tower

I Observed A Man, Named, ‘ Ice ‘
Tho’ Frost-Natured, He Did Entice
‘ … Come Hold Me, if You Dare …
And Find Out, if Cold-Can-Care …’

… I Beheld A Man, Named, ‘ Breeze ‘
And Begged Him, ‘Touch Me Please …
Gentle, like a Lover’s Kiss
Whisper to Me, Things I Wished…’

… and Sitting Content, on This Hillside
Listen Now… as I Confide …
‘ Rain and Fire … Ice and Breeze ’
Don’t You Know … You Are All Of These . . .

Copyright © MoonBee Canady

Details | Light Poetry | |

' The Pearl Ensemble ... '

… I Awoke to  A Classical, Pearl Ensemble
A String Quartet’ Upon My Pillow
Your Bass, Echoed – like an Ocean-Rumble
‘… I Love You …’ Plucked the Polished Mellow-Cello’

and the Flawless Violins and The Viola – Flow
Rushed to my Wavy Shore – Aglow
Displayed and Spilled, like a Whirlpool- Vibrato …
… Your Cultured Concert, left me … Staccato’

… I Awoke to A Classical, Pearl Ensemble
A String Quartet’ Upon My Pillow
and as Each Iridescent Drop, Solo-Sheen-Tumbled
… My Own Heartstrings, did Crescendo... Maestro

Copyright © MoonBee Canady

Details | Free verse | |

If I Forget

If I forget,
Remind me of your name
As it must have slipped away.

If I forget,
Show me a photo of my face
As it surely has changed.

If I forget,
Take my hand back to that place
For I've certainly lost my way.

If I forget,
Breathe a gentle breath in my ear
If will calm my fear and rekindle the flame.

If I forget,
Bring the heart straps
That held me to you like glue.

And if I forget,
Carry the memory of us
It is lost but a treasure on a raft on the waves...

TRS, 09/13/08

Copyright © T.R. Sevrens

Details | I do not know? | |

A Story My Mother Told Me

someone always told me this with tears in her eyes...

(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

a wife left South Africa in the 1960’s to join her husband 
who was in exile at the time...

in 1970 the husband was sent by the African National Congress to India to be its representative there...

the husband and wife spent two years in Bombay...

one afternoon the husband fell and broke his leg...

the wife knocked on their neighbour’s door, in an apartment complex in Bombay

the neighbour was an old Punjabi lady...

the wife asked the neighbour for a doctor to see to the injured husband...

a Parsi ‘Bone-Setter’ was promptly summoned...

the husband still recalls his anxiety of seeing ‘Bone-Setter’ written on the Parsi gentleman’s bag...

by the way, the ‘Bone-Setter’ worked his ancient craft and surprisingly for the husband, his broken leg healed quite soon...

but still on that day, while the ‘Bone-Setter’ was seeing to the husband...

the wife and the old Punjabi lady from next door got to talking about this and that and where these new Indian-looking wife and husband were from as their accents were clearly not local...

the wife told the elderly Punjabi lady that the husband worked for the African National Congress of South Africa and had left to serve the ANC from exile...

and that they had left their two children behind in South Africa and that they were now essentially political refugees...

the Punjabi lady broke down and wept uncontrollably...

she told the foreign woman that she too had had to leave her home in Lahore in 1947 and flee to India with only the clothes on her back when the partition of the subcontinent took place and Pakistan was formed and at a time when Hindus from Pakistan fled to India and vice versa...

the Punjabi lady then asked the foreign woman her name...

‘Zubeida’, but you can call me ‘Zubie’...

the Punjabi woman hugged Zubie some more, and the two women, seperated by age and geography, wept, sharing a shared pain...

the Punjabi woman told Zubie that she was her ‘sister’ from that day on, and that she felt that pain of exile and forced migration and what being a refugee felt like...

Zubie and her husband Mosie became the closest of friends with the Hindu Punjabi neighbours who were kicked out of Pakistan by Muslims...

then came the time for Mosie and Zubie to leave for Delhi where the African National Congress office was based...

the elderly Punjabi lady and Mosie and Zubie said their goodbyes...

a year or two later, the elderly Punjabi lady’s daughter Lata married Ravi Sethi and the couple moved to Delhi...

the elderly Punjabi lady called Zubie and told her that her daughter was coming to Delhi to live and that she had told Lata, her daughter that she had a ‘sister’ in Delhi...

Lata and Ravi Sethi then moved to Delhi...

This was in the mid-1970’s...

Lata and Zubie became the closest of friends and that bond stayed true, and stays true till today, though Zubie is no more, and the elderly Punjabi lady is no more...

the son and the husband still have a bond with Lata and Ravi Sethi...

a bond that was forged between Hindu and Muslim and between two continents across the barriers of creed and time...

a bond strong and resilient, forged by the pain and trauma of a shared experience...

and that is why, and I shall never stop believing this, that hope shines still, for with all the talk of this and of that, and of that and of this, there will always be a simple woman, somewhere, anywhere, who would take the ‘other’ in as a sister, a fellow human...

and that is why there will always be hope...
hope in the midst of this and of that and of that and of this...


(for Lata Sethi's late-mother, who was my mother’s ‘sister’ and who took us all into her heart, and for Lata and Ravi Sethi of Defence Colony, New Delhi)

Copyright © Scribbler Of Verses

Details | Rhyme | |


I do not long for yesterday no grief my soul can find
for everything is just in the end of our time
questions left unanswered can make you seek to find
but in the end it is our destiny that wins our mind

Life is a beautiful tragedy for goodness and glory are divine
how would we know how blessed we are if to hate we remain blind
it is only through those darkest days we truly learn to love our life
so as I lay my quill down finished with each dear line
I must instill in all love and honor will always remain firmly by your side

This is something I came to know in the last few weeks. Sometimes love has always been right beside you. It may be inside yourself. Grief makes us stronger and as they say time heals all wounds. One day you will wake happy and glad to love again. Stronger than before. It is not always easy to forgive those we love or love us, but take it from me it is worth it in the end. You will be so happy you did not break or turn to others. A new friend can not fix the problems in us only we can. When we see that we can be a friend and not just have them. I am proud to have been through hell and know I am finally free from my memories.

Copyright © Danielle Wise Baxter

Details | Bio | |

Soul Mates

Darn! The wind is back with a vengeance.
Its howling,
	making the trees and grasses become its instrument. 
Gusts to 40 mph they say; I believe it.

But the sky is so blue and the clouds are illuminated from within.
Today the wind is so strong that I can smell the pine scent from the mountains —
	from the mountains where his ashes swirl.

He lifts my hair and whirls it around my face, and in the scent on the wind
	I am awash with cleanness.
The tune he plays as he surrounds my body is one of memories, and greeting.

The wind slowly becomes more gentle;
	caressing now; touching me in a more loving way.
Exploring with long cool fingers, around, reaching under my clothing,
	becoming intimate.

Forfeiting his boldness, with a sigh he leaves on soft goodbyes.

Darn, the wind is gone.

Copyright © Judith Angell Meyer

Details | Pantoum | |

Summer Memories From The Tree of Life

Summer season was  my childhood’s  greatest fun  time,
We played with toys out of a coconut tree which is a tree of life,
We  built  little houses beautifully and so high as we climbed
Like a flying trapeze  on its leaves,  we swung so high.

We played with toys made of coconut trees, the tree of life,
My playmates joined me in building  little houses using a dull knife,
Out of its leaves and midribs, we made walls, roofs and doors,
Pretended as good cooks with its coconut shells  and fruits.

My playmates joined  me in building little houses using a dull knife
Pretended  to live together as families with husband and wife,
I took the role of an elder sister in our little comfortable house
I combed the hair of a younger sibling with a coco midrib brush.

Pretended to live together as families with a husband and wife
Just like small neighborhood or community along the riverside
We chose one of the eldest playmates to be the group captain,
The leader of  unity and cooperation in building more tents.

Just like small neighborhood or community along the riverside
We helped one another as piles of coco leaves we made as rides,
We made unique toys out of leaves and roots as much as we could
Like trumpets when blown, we covered our ears for its loud sound.

We helped one another as piles of coco leaves we made as a ride
We webbed balls, insects and other toys for a surprise to hide,
When the captain signaled to show who's the most  had a reward
Then ran with our wind vanes to the beach and marched forward.

We webbed  balls, insects and other toys for a surprise to hide
We played with toys out of a coconut tree which is a tree of life,
When the captain signaled us to show  the most  had a reward
A wonderful  summer  memory  from a Tree of Life I've ever had!

Sept. 11,2012

Note: The coconut trees are considered the “Trees of Life”. They can provide almost all the things we need like shelter, clothing, foods and others. So, let us preserve coconut trees! They are very helpful but be careful because they are also  risky during typhoons, LOL.   There are many coconut trees in our backyard especially along the riverside connecting to the beach. These trees had added so much joy on summer time during my  childhood years/graders.

Copyright © Leonora Galinta

Details | Rhyme | |

Purple Heart

Lace of dreams - long time gone -
Embraces waist of maiden
An off- white whisper's subtle tone
Drops shyly pearls from Heaven

Breeze flutters holographic Me
My wounded captain has returned
I feel like floating rainbow glee
His eyes are red and face is stern

He drops his gear and runs through me
A desperate undertow of sorrow
I never felt so loved and free
He screams as there is no tomorrow

The dawn drops soundproof double door
I leave him lonely in the wild
Surrendered heart returns to war
As I find peace along with child...

for Carolyn's Contest "Ghost"

Copyright © iolanda Scripca

Details | Bio | |

The Kiss

Bed covers rustle;
He rolls close,

His warmth arriving first
with the scent of soapy freshness on his beard.

He strokes my cheek.

Lips brush lips;
scarcely touching.

Receptive to his sweet, sleepy breath
my lips move to him.

The kiss arouses, our souls 
surface, touch, smile,

Parting on the whisper,
Good night my love, good night.

Copyright © Judith Angell Meyer

Details | Free verse | |

One Day

An unlikely couple
with that rare happiness you only see in movies

her hand is cupped in his lovingly
and his smile is so genuine it could outshine a full moon

their conversation is held strictly in their blissful gazes
but what they say is obvious

for them there is no other existence
no other life but the other

and even as they grow old
gracefully, with now wrinkled smiles

there is no couple like them
as if he were Adam, and she Eve

I watch them daily
with hope of a love only to be compared
by the difference between the heat of a steaming cup of joe
and a glass of ice water dripping with condensation

to have bliss like them
I would...No, I will be complete

One Day

Copyright © Angela Reynolds

Details | Rhyme | |

The Old Plane Graveyard

My husband drives the highway past the old plane graveyard.
Permission to visit once a dream, now his reward.
He drools, as he studies the bounty before him, to take.
First the one that comes closest, but none he will forsake.
He smiles as he watches the sun glint off the metal shapes.
He will climb around slowly with his measuring tapes.
To see in the cockpit he would give his right arm.
But needs it instead to draw the fuselage with all it’s charm.
He grunts and he groans as he crawls upon it’s length.
He’ll count the rivets later, after he takes a drink.
Then back he’ll go to examine some more.
There’re switches and gadgets, and baubles galore.
He’s never been happier as he stares at the planes.
To disturb him now would truly be a shame.
He lithely runs between each and every plane.
And he spouts about symbols and phrases hard to explain.
He imagines them flying, as only he could.
Piloting the planes would be better than good.
Occasionally his head pops up as he does research by the ton.
He looks like a gopher as he searches hither and yon.
Finally exhausted he will pack up his gear.
Now he’ll do research on the computer to make it more clear.
He’ll know each it’s history. It’s date and it’s year.
Even whoever commanded it, plus their bombardiers.
The faces he’ll research to go with the names.
And emblems he’ll find that once adorned this old plane.
His friends from his club will go oh and then ah.
Then they’ll ask him to share with modelers, one and all.
By computer the details will spread the world before dark.
It will travel to people in every terrain, no matter how stark.
And modelers will smile as they build a new plane.
With details, and beauty, and history explained.
Now officially remembered with a new life for the old.
People now made happy will remember stories so bold.
I end my refrain with a history newly rediscovered.
An old plane’s life brought back, now on a modelers’ magazine cover.

Contest: Impress Me III
Motif: Historical.  Carol Eastman and Hubby

Copyright © Carol Eastman

Details | Rhyme | |

Apple Pickin' Time

Apple pickin’ reminiscin’,
thinkin' 'bout youth's stolen kisses.
Those are the days he is missin’,
new love for him and his fair missus.    

Shiny apples ripe and ready
wait to be picked before first snow.
Sunlight streams like gold confetti. 
Their secrets on the fall winds blow.
Blue gingham dress soft, she did wear, 
and ribbons caught her silky hair.
In shade of trees, young love professed, 
then apple pie was baked to share.

Apple pickin’ reminiscin’,
thinkin' 'bout youth's stolen kisses.
Those are the days he is missin’,
new love for him and his fair missus.    

In apple orchard, young love bloomed,
and led them to their wedding day.
A favorite dish for bride and groom,
an apple pie baked each Sunday.

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders

Details | Lyric | |

The Unhappy Moth

She chose a red scarf. The most red 
of them all.
Of a dark red, a sweet and thick red color,
just as wine.

She carved from the red scarf
from the middle
to the size of a Martini glass.

Then she carved one more glass,
and she kept carving 
till she fell asleep.

she saw her Beloved Moth 
flirting with a Younger Moth, 
carving together from a sweater
while she was getting busy,
carving in the shelves.

The Unhappy Moth drank lots of wine
woolen wine, 
last night.
She drank lots, too much
for a Moth.
The Unhappy Moth got drunk
and fell asleep
on the red scarf,
with a heart filled with peace.

She was not afraid no more. 
Now she could be seen easily,
laying on the scarf
and easily crushed.

The Unhappy Moth was not 
afraid of death no more,
at least, now she knew 
how wonderful the red scarfs are
and that they taste
like red wine.

Copyright © Doina Postolachi

Details | Free verse | |

Power of Your Love

To a Bride and Groom

You have the power
over my love
to make my day rain or shine
it all began the day you asked me
"to be mine" and I wrote my name
in blood, on your hearts
dotted line
the power of my love
to fuel what feeds within me
pounce on me as a tiger
humble me as a mouse
your strength envelopes me
as if standing in an unbreakable
glass house
you have the power
over my stare, as you glare
into my inner spirits soul
those who dare to try to divide
I heed them to beware
the power you have over my love
leaves me content, without a care
floating together, we share, in
true loves enchanting bliss
what started years ago, with a friendly
hug, is reincarnated within every
new days kiss

Copyright © Heather Hill

Details | Free verse | |

First star to your empty Night

I want a love that
fills my veins like
liquid fireworks
sweet like sugar and 
strong enough to knock
me off my feet, like a 
mighty ocean wave, yet
gentle and magic
like the forgotten lyrics
to a nursery rhyme

I want our spirits to soar
into a bright forever
like two yellow balloons
released, by the
tiny, sticky hands
of a little child
I want, my man, to know
my true self
like the words to a favorite
song on the radio
to feel me, all that is me
rhythm bound from a beaten
street drummer

I wish to be a bright guiding light
as the first star
to your empty night
A familiar love, as
traveling back to a childhood spot
your first love kiss...
first bully fight...
first playground crush lost...

I want a love
that encompasses
my senses, envelopes me
from nothing, like the
steam from my rose petal tea
filling my pores
leaving me
rejuvenated and refreshed

A love, whom steals my worries
as a thief in the night
and greets me with doe- eyed
kisses, once rounding
up a fight

I speak these words into the 
universe, to send me a love
to call my own
what path will my soul mate
travel to me, mysterious 
mystical journey unknown

Copyright © Heather Hill

Details | Rhyme | |

First Love

In the instant of a second, I just always knew.
A flickering flame I caught in the eye of you.
A feather in the wind and on my last breath,
A deeper breeze of Sunsets at night’s death,
A Star beams on the Moon and lights up the sky.
I am in a wonderland amazed at just how high.
Lo and behold, it comes to me at the end.
My first love left me His message to send.
Look up and you shall see me at night,
Look down and I am out truly of sight.
Hold on to the very end for I am near,
It’s my voice in your heart you’ll hear.
Take one breath or even two,
I am the one always with you!
®Registered: Ann Rich   2006

Copyright © Ann Rich

Details | Ballad | |

China sets

Oh, Let’s get married in a white chapel
sip coffee, listen to blues 
 and read morning’s headlines. 

Let’s get married in white chapel
Live in a brick house, build a picket fence
 and watch the good neighbors stroll by 

Cause he’s something to look at
Can pick him out from bustling restaurant
  just by his gait

Cause he’s something to look at
got a wide mouth, gaping grin 
 always fashionably late. 

When he’s nervous, 
his posture is fleeting. 
it’s unfitting, 
because he’s got the world together. 

When he’s nervous, 
his words 
string together like magnets 
across a refrigerator door. 

But then-
I’ll say something ‘bout my world views
and you’ll suddenly deliver the quickest line 
and I’m laughing
finally i’m light 

Oh, Let’s get married in a white chapel
sip coffee, listen to blues 
 and read morning’s headlines. 

Let’s get married in white chapel
Live in a brick house, build a picket fence
 and watch the good, good neighbors stroll by

Copyright © Katelyn Dobbs

Details | Quatrain | |

: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.

Copyright © Aycan Garip

Details | Etheree | |

Sex (Tasteful of an adult nature)

Men and women,
In bonds of marriage.
Holy Matrimony,
Loving each other as one.
When connected, thinking one thought.
How much longer can I enjoy this?
Then both release at the same time, OH WOW!!!!

Copyright © Marty Owens

Details | Personification | |

Step by Step

Yiddy awdy those ticks are here to stay.
Here and there but everywhere astray.
Tick tack I am going to laugh at that.
On the Moon or on the Sun I have sat.
Jump started or kick started my day has begun.
I’m holding a life of lifetimes on the go or run.
Yicky yacky just what is it that I am to do?
Run all over the galaxies in search of you?
Shucks you mucks, I’d do it all over again.
But from time to time you stop when I begin.
It’s a life of life’s bundling into one row.
Yet it is step by step in which it can grow.
© Copyright: Ann Rich   2007

Copyright © Ann Rich

Details | Light Poetry | |

Always I Miss You

When I'm home sick, sulking half the day because your not here,
 And getting sadder if I say madder because your not there,
 I remind myself in an unusual way theres worse fared,
 If you don't mind being compared,
Repeating the many ways you cared,
 The experiences fondly replayed in many ways,
 Thoughts and memories that make me gay,
 Every recipe, every taste,
 Looking back it all seems in an awkward haste,
Now it is what I use to fill my plate,
 It's what I use so I won't be late,
 Staying here learning to appreciate,
 All the miles, trucks caring freight..
For your Christmas gifts the children just can't wait,
 But if you visit my mind would quake.

Copyright © Courtney Courtney

Details | Rhyme | |

My dream wedding day

Looking at the first blush of the morning,
I know its the perfect day for a wedding.
The big fat white wedding, the dream,
To which every little girl clings.
I tell myself as I watch the clouds turn white,
That this is the happiest day of a woman's life,
And that nothing should come in between,
The perfect bride and her groom.
I remember those young moments when I used to dream,
Of how our wedding would seem.
It was just like I had imagined,
A pretty day like today.
Slipping into my white dress and stilettos,
I think of the way you had proposed.
The way I had always wished for,
A dazzling ring in sparkling champagne.
I switch to happier thoughts from our past,
Holding hands, watching stars, laying on the grass.
We were high school sweethearts,
The perfect couple was what they called us.
We spent our days sneaking in a few kisses,
We used to pretend to be Mister and Mistress.
We were in love,
The crazy, eternal and rare kind.
Memories are shoved as mother comes into the room,
Holding a few red roses in full bloom.
Her eyes are teary and her voice is shaky,
As she whispers that she is proud of me.
Tears spill but I smile as I slide into the car,
Remembering the times you'd sing to me with your guitar.
The times you'd reach over and,
Tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
I laugh silently as I remember on the way to the chapel,
You saying once you were the beast and I, the belle.
You  always bring little candles and gifts,
And laugh as I make my birthday wish.
I wonder if you'd be laughing today,
As you cut the wedding cake with the sugar bouquet.
If you'd remember our old ceremonies,
In the event of your new one.
I walk through the gates smiling at our old friends,
And take your brother's hand as his arm extends.
He takes me in but lets me go,
As we reach the door to the flowery hall.
I peek through the crack to see you there,
At the altar smiling, running a hand through your hair.
I slip in and move to the side,
As the wedding march starts to play.
In came the blushing bride, walking gracefully down the aisle,
At her friends and family, she nods and smiles.
As I hold my breath and wipe my eyes,
Our high school love story plays in my head. 
I remember the day we promised we'd never part,
Because I would always be the one in your heart.
But your bride and you exchange your vows,
And I find myself repeating them inside.
The priest asks you to kiss your bride,
And I quickly slip outside.
Because no matter how alright I say I am,
Letting you go was the hardest thing I had ever done.
- Miliya Parveen

Copyright © Miliya Parveen

Details | Tanka | |

The View Backyard

57577 tanka

Contest:The  View (of my yard)
Sponsor:  Francine Roberts

Written by Doris Culverhouse

Nature's view changes
Familiarity seen
Birds and deer tasting
All of my precious flowers
Attacked like the evil one

Dad's barn and garden
Wayne's great carved flower beds
The tractor and shed 
Always steady, strong present
Workers, lovers of the land

Dedicated to my Dad and Hubby!!

Copyright © Doris Culverhouse

Details | Free verse | |


Woke up again this morning
afraid to open my eyes
As you prepare for an early
departure a piece of me silently
dies; I want  to say I love you
but from hurt only raw emotion
abides ; another day wasted
and as always love gets

knowing that very instant
what lies ahead for me
in these already dark and sullen skies.

Everyday is similar you are
distant so am I but that happens
with us almost every time.

It's easy to make me happy
if you were  willing to try but instead
of caring for me you rebuke
poke and pry making me resent
and hate myself for perpetuating
this lie.

Can't imagine a conversation
where we could ever see eye to eye
in a perfect world we'd embrace one
another but instead our worlds collide.

Tragic and never ending days turn into
nights where a cold sudden distance
is what traps us inside.

You go your way I go mine never
finding a common ground to let the error
of our ways and pain subside.

Copyright © Madelin Barton

Details | Blank verse | |

What Would He Have Me Do

If he were still here - What would he have me do - Not just clean and pick up after him. Not just cook and smile at him. Not just do all that a wife needs to, but just be all through and through. This is what he'd have me do.

Copyright © Marilyn Williams