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Ode Nostalgia Poems | Ode Poems About Nostalgia

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Details | Ode | |

' The Face Of Love '

Will I Recognize… The Face Of Love?
Or the Wonderful, Bedazzled Appearance of:
A Moon-kist Meadow, Hushed and Dark
A Solitary Silhouette, this Beauty Mark,
Windswept Grasses, like a Babe’s Soft Lashes
Rippling across Earth, that’s smooth as a Cheek.
In the Hushed and Flowery Scented Air…
Your Face of Love Materializes, Silvery, Full
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable.

From the Face of Love … Will I Withdraw?
The Face of Love without Any Flaw;
As a Canopy of Clouds with the Splendor of Sunbeams
Piercing past the fluffy powder of Heaven, to Radiate Gleams
A Classical Cameo-Sculpture, Perfect Profile Structure
Yea… in the Bright Beacons, I see Your Smile
In the Illumed, Clear Sky, ‘Your Face’
Can Love’s Face be Touched … Attainable?
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable.

The Face of Love … I Have Visualized,
Potent, Breathtaking, The Vision Rised;
From a Sunlit Lake, Winking as Would Diamonds.
Your Face of Love, Emerging from Far Beyond
The Depths of the Lake, as My Heart Quaked,
because of the Wavering Portrait’s Peace
because of Water-Color Caresses.
That Face of Love, was so Tangible.
The Face of Love … so Unforgettable

The Face of Love … has Gazed Upon
Dreams of Mine, the World’s Not Known
… Out of the Woodland’s Emerald Mist
With Drops of Dew, Love’s Face Kissed
The Framing Boughs; My Relaxed Brow.
Floating… Breathing out the Mist of Morn Light
That I may Sketch Your Face of Love, in Life.
The Face … More Handsome, than Sons of the Womb, is Possible…
The Face of Love … is Unforgettable

(For A Medieval-Tongued Poet, I Found Here at The Soup...
          Ismael Nieves, this one's for you Kiddo

                                 Mistress MoonBee


Details | Ode | |

Because They Play the Game

Dedicated to every young man bestowed the honor of wearing 
the glorious Oklahoma Sooners' Crimson & Cream 

--------------------------------------------------------------

Over sixty years, boy and man, I have been a Sooners fan;
And always hoped to be among the truest in the stands.
And while I don’t remember all the Players’ names,
They’re my Heroes, each and every one, because they play the game.
  
When they’re on the field of battle, my Sooners surely give their all;
And when they’re on the sidelines, just waiting for a Coach’s call;
Visions of Glory must be dancing in their heads;
The Glory of the moment and our cheers, the Glory of playing for
   the mighty Big Red.

And for those Sooners who rarely played, whose names were 
   known only by a few,
Make no mistake my friend, each of them is my Hero too.
Like Soldiers waiting in the ranks, but never called to fight,
They ‘re ready and they’re willing, their spirit and their sacrifice
   add to Big Red’s might.

I stand in awe of Sooner Magic.  No, I never doubt it.
My Sooners could have never won so many Championships without it.
But don’t misunderstand when I say Sooner Magic won those games;
It was Sooners players who, once again, rose to the occasion and
   glorified the name.

Sixty years of college football and my Sooners have won the most.
Their fierce pride and performance inspire this simple toast:
“My Sooners Team goes on and on, different faces, different names;
But my Heroes, Each and Every one, for win or lose…
                                              
                                 They play the game.


Details | Ode | |

Ode To Harmony and Serenity


From an inception lofty,
 high and above,
We were sent all,
 not a single one excepted, 
low.

We were never on earth, 
we knew then how to love,
Harmony and serenity, 
where are you? 
When to sow?

Harmony and serenity, 
where are you? 
Where to sow?

Down is the show, 
the law, 
the structure 
and road.

Down is the coward, 
the knave, 
the brigand, 
and the bad.

Down to earth, 
downtodate, 
slfish, 
all of them 
and no less;

The way is descending, 
descending. 
Where then to go?
We want ours to be ascending, 
ascending as a lark's.

Harmony and serenity, 
where are you? 
Where are you?
Our eyes are searching for you, 
filled with tears;

Our hearts are devoid of warmth, 
fraught with layers.
Roses, 
where are they? 
Flowers, 
making prayers;

But when winter comes, 
when winter comes, 
no fears.
Harmony and serenity, 
where are you? 
Where are you?
Harmony and serenity, 
we are reaping the harvest;
Is it ripe? 
Rich? 
Is it fine? 
Fruitful? 
This harvest?

From now on, 
nothing would ever be the same.
Rise.
From now on, 
everything is truthful. 
Not a body of lies.
Harmony and serenity, 
where are you? 
Where are you?

"And if the past is passed, 
why moralize upon it?"
No one returned, 
no one ascended. 
Where is Jesus?
The Giants are gone. 
But justice, 
has it been done?
No need to weep. 
No need to sigh deep. 
Bright is the sun?
Harmony and serenity, 
where are you? 
Where are you?

From now on, 
nothing would ever be the same. 
Rise.
Nowhere are you to be found 
Harmony and serenity.
Unless you are not within, 
you are then pity?
Being your slave, 
no other way but to pray and rise.

Chokri Omri


Details | Ode | |

The River Emerald

No matter how much I try 
I always look back 
At least once a day or may be less or may be more
Oh that allure 
The river Emerald 
The intense green
Reminds me of something I have seen
No more I ask myself why
Obsessed with the infatuation
Pain in motion 
I picture your face 
I lean to kiss 
The thin air 
Melancholic grim
The river I once have seen
Emerald Green


Details | Ode | |

Ode to an acre of land and the building that stands there

Tall and pure oasis 
So much has changed
You remain constant and lovely 
Gentle, morning green grass
Breaks like waves, laps at the shores
Of white, gray, and yellow stones
Towering above me, silent and sure 
Chiseled marble, granite spires, oak
Wrought iron, your scent is old 
A familiar volume I keep close to me
The reflections in your pools
Still glass, not a leaf disturbs 
Irises cling to your walls 
The distance beyond you sways 
Spreading lazily into shade trees 
Sun-tinted pastures and weathered fences 
I walk with reverence, still, after so long
Your ground is my sanctuary
It houses my past 
I am a child forever in front of you


Details | Ode | |

Ode to a friend

Socially retarded and somewhat aloof I never knew what a true friendship was.
Not knowing how to play well with others growing into a young man.
I was 18 years old, washing dishes in that Chinese Restaurant, House of Lypan.
A dude came along, pretty tall and good looking as the girls gave chase.
Giggling and fluttering their eyes, I always wished to be as cool as you, just a taste. 
Then one day, on a visit to see the girls; you stopped in my presence and said, 
“I want to hang with you! What time do you get off work?”
I was baffled, befuddled and a little standoffish,
 for no one ever talked to me, unless to get dishes.
As I remember those many Friday nights, 
beers and tacos, everything was going to be all right.
 Lyrics of Rush and Journey, you knew every word, singing along in your V.W. bug 
like a bird. 
By summer’s end of that infamous summer, a genuine friend I had found; 
but alas, it was over what a bummer. 
I moved away, but came back that fall, our friendship flourished once more.
But as most friendships do, our ways dearly departed. Many years would pass until 
we’d cross each other’s lives again.
This chance quite by fortune, as you knocked on my door one New Year’s Eve’ it 
was ’95 I believe.
That night was a big one; deciding to end this journey called life, too much pain for 
this young man to carry; 
Two kinds of ‘candy’ to help ease the transition
 from mortal to death; a bottle of Jack, for some extra kick.
 I had a loaded 45 gun to help do the deed.
Then came your knock, was about 2 minutes to ‘celebration time’ for they 
say ‘midnight is the bewitching hour.”
I thought to myself, ‘who could this be?’ for I had no more friends, no career or 
family. And yet as if an Angel, you were knocking on my door! I hid what I had, 
ashamed and not wanting a friend to know how much pain I was in. I opened the 
door to those familiar words, ““I want to hang with you! What time you get off 
work?” I remember thinking, "how long has been since I grinned?"
If just for one moment, when you stand before God, all your sins are erased, and a 
moment of cause 
as God says with a Joyous loud voice…”Wait a minute Rick, what’s this? Well I’ll be, 
you’re better than most I can clearly see. I was just perusing over your life, you 
didn’t mention this… but you saved a life!” 
“Ah shucks it was nothin’, just a friend being a friend...I’m sure he’d of done the 
same, if the tables were turned.” And that is why I will and have always called you 
friend….


Details | Ode | |

Waking up is Dangerous Business

Waking up is dangerous business. 
Killing time, wash the dishes. 
Open the bottle, swallow silence, 
Brainwash the kids, quell defiance. 

Or maybe it’s just me. 
Or maybe it’s just me. 

Break them down, impose the dogmatic
Walk away, consider it emphatic. 
Instill false virtues, pass the world into the hands of the meek. 
Destroy opposition, leave the whole world weak. 

Or maybe it’s just me. 
Or maybe it’s just me. 

Waking up is dangerous business. 
Contemplative kids end up in ditches
Passive aggressive logical corruption
Chop the garbage fine, for easy consumption

Or maybe it’s just me.
Maybe it’s just me..


Details | Ode | |

The turn of progress

The bakelite disc revolved at seventy-eight
To end up in shards shattered, an inevitable fate
Heavy and brittle and full of opera
Was replaced with a vinyl at thirty-three
With covers a delight to see
Light and supple full of she loves you, yeah
And then came the cassette from nowhere
And pretty soon the Walkman walked
And less and less and less teens talked
But nodded heads as they made their beds
As Billy-Jean was not their lover
They were soon to discover
Shiny discs of digital delight
And very soon car tape decks were out of sight
But oh so quick the mp3 stick
And iPod player with iTunes click
Took over the world 
And we were lost
As the pace of progress counted the cost
And the Bakelite discs became collector’s items
And the vinyl’s came back as the nightclub dims
And eight track stereo was attracted to rims
And yet we are not done, as no-one has won
But we all seem to have lost
The times that we had
When it was still turning 
At thirty three
And seventy eight


Details | Ode | |

Remembering Belle

She was a devoted ole gal always at her best
so many days I cried hanging off her chest     
down to the lake in the hot summertime
we would cool her off and swing on a vine

Every morning at five am here came Belle, now my friend
and again at six pm there Belle was ready to work again
years passed and Belle became a part of our family
we worked, we played, and we milked twice a day

Half my life she was one of my dear friends
I greeted her in summer with warm sun burnt skin
and in winter I spent my time warming them
when Belle died I can't say things were ever the same again

Belle had become more than a cow in a pen, who gave us milk
she became a babysitter, a circus act, part of the swim team, for the neighborhood
but most of all Belle had become a lonely teen's dear friend



Details | Ode | |

Ode To the Five and Ten

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````


It was old fashioned shopping,....floors were warm planks of wood Where footsteps sounded hallow, and the walls were lined with goods A “5 and 10” cent heaven, … was the friendly Woolworth's Store One would always be surprised, what revolved behind that door How quickly flew the hours of a summer afternoon, to fritter through the clutter, that lay in waiting there Time would disappear upon a dime, with a sweeping of the eyes like the feather dusting of the racks on the shelves of all the years One could hear the clink of metal that nourished the till Where children holding a mother’s hand, could be rewarded for keeping still Little hands, restrained, would tire, leaning over a heart’s desire While a mother would conspire with the clerk of the day For there a child would stand in mute dismay, An indecisive millionaire, a fight of tooth and nail despair With fifty ways they might disburse two whole nickels in a purse A bit of this and a bit that, a stack of crayons, a pair of socks, Some satin ribbons, a new array of small barrettes, to dress the locks Cases of candy, a licorice whip, eyes embracing one after another… Laces or vases, sissors or needles, color climbing color The stacked up bolts of ginghams, worsteds, chintz and serges Trays of trinkets, and souveniers, ‘Evening in Paris’, the bottle was gorgeous All of these things, under a dollar, even a collar for all the pooches To know how it was to sit on a stool, after school Order a sandwich, and sip sodas, always cool and sublime This was how Woolworth’s….a store of the past Would build a memory to last and last….., Forever in time, for just a nickel or a dime... ....how much more could one ask? ``````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````````` In Honor of Nancy Jones' Contest: "A Toothful Ode"


Details | Ode | |

An Ode To Youth


I remember when I was young and fair
Slim long legs and soft black hair
My winsome smile and dark green eyes
Caused many a suitor to agonize
When turned away…rejected….forlorn
Wishing he had never been born!
I was always the Queen at any ball
Captivating one and all!

But youth is fleeting…beauty a sham
Just a façade…not who I am
The years fly by…beauty fades
Gone are suitors and accolades
Long in the tooth now…wrinkles persist
This is the world in which I exist
Winter is here…my Springs have flown
I sit here lonely and on my own

In life’s twilight before the sun has set
My thoughts turn to youth and the little coquette
I used to be when youth was King
Anticipating what each day would bring
Dark hair flowing… dancing the night away
Thinking life would always be that way
Oh bird of youth…I miss your song
But in the hush at evensong
I sense that I can hear it still
And in my heart…I always will!

Copyright2011 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)


Details | Ode | |

Pyramid-Maker

From a three-sided angle
Astrological purpose is unmangled
Triangle on top
Square on the bottom
Bright halo around God
Our tears fill His bottle
A Pyramid is a monument to death
A Tabernacle of wealth
Which comes into effect
When there's no longer breath
Is it mourning or celebration in stealth
Beyond Technology
Architectural prophecy
Geometrical philosophy
The place where Kings and Queens lay
Buried on a sun-disk
Dedicated to Day
The final form to decay
Hands form this shape
When they're positioned to pray.


Details | Ode | |

The hunter has been hunted

The nation is thrown into grief.
Our national flag is flying at half mast.
Everyone is wearing a sack cloth.
The dangling axe fell on us.
And the mighty has fallen.
Our hearts are filled with dread,
And our eyes as heavy as lead.
Nigeria, Africa’s number one soccer nation, 
Has been given a run for their money by the Ghanaians.
Culminating our early exit from the African nations cup.
The green and white jersey that we adore,
Have been dragged in the mud.
These are not the Eagles we have been celebrating.
Or are these Eagles suffering from bird flu,
That they cannot glide.
Their spirit  was willing but their  flesh were weak.
When we were young, we were strong,
Now we’ve grown but we are weak.
The reputation that took us  years to build,
Have been destroyed over night.
Because we went to fetch water with a basket.
The baby has been thrown away with the baby water.
The Midas touch we used to have have been used on us,
Because we could not strike while the iron was hot.
The hunter has been hunted.
And we have fallen from  frying pan to fire.
Football has kept us together as a nation for many years.
The Ghanaians has put a knife on what kept us together.
And we have fallen apart.
Once beaten, twice shy.
We hide our faces in shame.
No one is to be blamed.
What is sauce for the goose is also sauce for the gander.
Every dog has its own day and it was not our day.
A soldier lives to fight another day.
And never says never because quitters are losers.
The big question is,
Shall our bones rise again?
Or have we withered like the cursed fig tree.
Only the bowel of time will Tell.


Details | Ode | |

Revisit

Revisit.

I would like to revisit those days,

Of mine younghood,

When I hoped for the best in life,

 

I would like to think of the innocence within,

The hopes of things unknown,

The face held up high,

Onto the mountain above me

 

I saw and heard them,

Saw them leading lives,

I envied I had,

I heard them say those words,

Of how great they were,

Enjoyed every bit of it

 

I wondered when I would hold the mantle,

And run for the battle ,

Of killing pessimism,

Inside my young heart,

 

'Tis on that rainy morning,

When my teeth hurt, 
My head ached,

Like pangs of fire in my soul,

That I entered the hose of solace,

With men dressed in white,

Stethoscopes in hand,

That I made an about-turn,

To save both friend and foe,

 

My dream had began,

I was meant to run,

For the future so bright,

Whether it took a fight

 

Poor I was,

with no pence to mine name,

Rugged regalia under corrugated iron roof,

Shaky desks and whitewashed tin wall,

But I had to make it after all,

 

Days of tears and days of mild happiness,

Seasons of scarce and seasons of plenty,

Moments of pain and moments of gain,

followed the tender heart that was me,

For that future I had to see

 

I stand tall among giants,

Praying to grow one day,

And reach for them moons,

I still have to stay,

awake and alert,

Till that day wilt become my stay

 

Read mine lips the blind,

Sing my song the voiceless,

Walk to the mountaintops , ye the crippled,

Hear my chant ye the deaf,

For your day is here!


Details | Ode | |

as quiet as he ever was

tightrope typography; 
the arbitrary doyens of 
fallacious complexion… 
perpetually soaked 
in gin perked rum… 
inelegantly smeared 
across glass bled eyes… 
purely out of interest… 

the bluish flaccid
moonlit regatta;
whistled and sold…
whistled and cleansed…
privy to atonal acronyms 
and consummated progress…
as quiet as he ever was…
purely out of interest… 
 


Details | Ode | |

It is time to go

The room is small,an unpleasant odour fills the air
She lays motionless.

Deathly pale, covered in a sheet of cotton
A lock of golden hair strays from a linament bandage.

I clasped her hand, blew on the tiny fingers
breathing life into them.

silence all around, an aspiration offered
I said my goodbye, it is time to go.


Details | Ode | |

Nostalgia

Stillness filled the place
Only the muted shuffle of my slippers
interupted the heavy silence.
The sights, the sounds and the home
battered at my memory, echoed in my mind.
Their faces and smiles 
reflected in the mirror of my brain.
As I stood at the window,
the sight of the pastel blooming flower
in the park made me open the pane.
I heard chirping birds-
that pleasantly stilled my inner turmoil
And disrupted the silence.
An urge hit me to go out
And absorb the blessings that were beginning
to melt my loneliness...
I missed my family back home.
Indeed, there's no place like home.


Details | Ode | |

Ode to an Occasion

On this morn of this day
Though we may be far away
A thought travels across these seas
Carried upon a summer breeze
 
It sings to the birds and angels above
As it takes the form of an ‘immaculate’ dove
 
Fast and swift the wind bears it
To a place with reminiscence lit
 
It lands in the hands of an angel borne
Far from her home yet not forlorn
 
She unfolds a note from off its wings
And reads the news that it now brings:

Happy Birthday My Dearest Mandy. 


Details | Ode | |

NIGHT TERRORS

THE BOOGEYMAN WILL GET YOU-LOOK OUT!!
They have said that to me ever since I was a wee boy
Lurking under the sheets,in the closet,behind one's back
Especially at night when we are susceptible to  the vivid
imaginations of our peers' taunting ravings of Unmentionable
crawlers of the dark and fright
I would not sleep with the closet door half open to fill these
frightened pupils of what may hide behind
It would scare me out of my adolescent mind,to know that something
SINISTER would come from the shadows and SCARE me to death from behind
Every little boy or girl would be so sensitive to the Boogeymen stories that their 
elders or friends would tell them,how green and deathly evil their eyes can be 
when they look back at you.Is it purely imagination or something of a twisted and 
macabre sense of humor that our brothers and sisters would like to throw back 
at us..for kicks and thrills,Halloween night terrors of unimaginable thrills
When I was younger,the Man with a Forever Grin,would like to ridicule and 
terrorize me with his Devil-may-bite smile and assistant ghosties who would play 
along for the HELL of it.
I may be a grown man now,my friend,but whenever I pop a HALLOWEEN dvd in 
my player,the mind cannot help but recollect the pictures of Night Terrors that 
forever go bump in the night where I live..
I hope the same can be said of those same Vile screamers that terrorize us in 
the first place..give them a taste of their own WICKED medicine


Details | Ode | |

Ode Homestead

Visiting with memories 
Childhood days, thoughts remembered, 
Things of me that used to be. 

House that's aged, weathered and grayed -  
I feel its splintering pain; 
Watching me as we all played. 

Elements she held at bay; 
Her walls hold cherished secrets; 
Creaky floors gave me away. 

Love has gone, home lost it's shine. 
Here I sit, this last recall, 
Earth to earth, dust to dust, pine. 

Once I left she lost her spring. 
Her heartbeat beat its last breath 
No more a home but a thing. 

Memories stand strong as she 
Reigned her years; everyone's gone 
Moving on as it should be. 

Thanks to you my ode homestead, 
I grew up secure and loved 
And trips to the wood shed. 

My heartfelt tears have a smile; 
Emotions, both joy and sad; 
New owners, life's worthwhile.


Details | Ode | |

the leaves of fall

red, gold, yellow, green  
and a warm brown
the colors of the fall leaves 
laying upon the ground
one Saturday morning, 
I worked very hard
raking up all those leaves 
in my backyard
and once I finally got a big pile 
looking nice and neat
a devilish grin came over my face 
before I decided to leap
and with the jubilation 
of an innocent little child
I ran full speed and jumped onto 
that big leafy pile
laughing and thrashing about
I had me a ball
rolling around in my backyard
in the colorful leaves of fall


Details | Ode | |

If

22 years ago when i was 22 and you were 44
       could we have had the same dream
                      the same  heart
        the same feelings on a dance floor

        could not Cyrano teach me to score
              me,the man in the iron mask
              on the other side of the door

  could not Shakespere live just once more
 and render a sonnet that would open that door

      then i would beacon Orpheous to sing
    of the love he lost in Hades forever more

              it is to hear a song so sweet
               a short verse so compleat
                  with a feeling so neat
        that i would sweep you off your feet
          then we would dine at loves feast


Details | Ode | |

Ode to his reality---

With a sigh
She stops
She stares...

In her minds eye
She escapes to another place
Travels to another time

Remembering with a smile...

Never in her wildest dreams
Did she ever imagine
That the dream that is him
Would become a reality

She breathes...

The haze of her dream world slowly fades
Bringing her back to reality
The reality that is him

No longer does she have to imagine
Her dream has come true


Details | Ode | |

Nicole

 I don't know where you are, but I hope you're near
 Hope you know the times I seem to feel you here
 Sometimes I think of the friendship taken away 
 And wonder if there was ever really such a day
 When the presence in the room was real
 And you could take away anything bad I'd feel
 I will always remember when our hearts were free
 And remember the girl who was so much like me
 I will always wonder why you had to leave this world
 But never will I forget that happy, lively girl
 When I see butterflies floating side by side
 I will pray one is you, still free in your new life
                      Julie Stephenson


Details | Ode | |

Painted Over Graffiti

It's more than painted over graffiti,
The trouble with our world today.
The problem's mass is sweeping
More like a paint brush,
Used to wash wanton layers,
Time worn colours, away.

Strategic historical scholars, studied to rote,
Besmirch budding Buddhists babies,
Learning to vote by thinking.
What a novel concept!
If people would just pay attention,
The entire world could get smart.

The youth keep shouting louder,
Falling fast, far, and as hard,
As earlier generations did.
They are THE hope of our nation.
Shouting in codes their passions,
Spouting a shiznit with voices hid.

There's something wrong in this country.
It's been simmering in a brew quite a while.
The hippies got old and face graying,
While the youth now do their own thing
With a new fashioned font style.

No lessons learned,
Old leaves not even turned
To compost for human renewal.
Few values passed along the trail
Because values, then,
Weren't the popular thing,
To be in, with it, man.
Can you dig it?

There are 50-odd million Americans
Staying, saying, and swaying,
"We won't let you whitewash us away,
Like grains of sand in a rip tidal bay."

So I'll face every day on my own terms.
The representatives stand for me, too.
One must be true to his conscience
As the rest pigeonhole patriotically
Into immigrant shades of red, white, and blue.


Details | Ode | |

Cold Wind

I hear it coming
And it freezes to the bone.
Even when it is running
It is completely alone.

This cold wind howls with pain
This shrieking gust heard over all.
Whose love will it claim?
Who will it make to fall?
Crying out cold and alone
This cold wind wants to go home.

I hear it coming
And it freezes to the bone.
Even when it is running
It is completely alone.

The wind cries out for fear
It has seen its lonely end.
This poor wind is silent but only to hear
Possible other winds to appear.
Patiently streaming out its own sepulchral sound
Searching for others whom are homeward bound.

This wind, this wind
I've known and loved him.
I've finally let go
And I have moved on.

This wind, this wind
I'm now above him.
I've finally let go
And the pain is now gone.

I hear him coming
And he freezes to the bone.
Even when he is running 
He is completely alone.

I hear you coming
And you freeze me to the bone.
Even when you are running  
 You are completely alone.


Details | Ode | |

BAIANO

In the lovely Campanian countryside, amid
verdant hills and mountains...where Virgil
stopped to rest,while jeourneying to visit Cybele's temple, 
lie a fertile valley where chestnut and walnut trees
abound...there is hidden the bustling town of my birth!
Narrow streets overlooked by bell towers,
and whenever the sturdy bronze bells ring 
in the fragrant air of early spring:
young and old from windows and balconies, 
in the twelfth hour, engage
in the sweet thanksgiving prayer...
while the tricolor flags sway in the warmest breeze!   

The town's friendly people will welcome you with song,
untill you feel wonderful and touched by all;  
this town has seen invasion, pestilences and a dire year... 
an almost fatal hurricane that prevented a fierce battle
from being fought during World War II;
was Divine Intervention a factor to be acknowledged?
It spared this town being bombarded by air,
and it saved my mother's life to tell this truth!

God blessed this unknown place,
and sent Mary with the infant  Jesus,
four days after He was born,
on a long jeourney through that valley
filled with peace and beauty:
to find a revered and holy mountain...
much closer to Heaven!
And She shed many tears
to give all the dull flowers
a brilliance of their own!

Deep in the hills there was a very special place I choose,
where I would rever the magnificence of the valley...
revealing a superb panorama with the Vesuvius in sight,
was there another creation as magnificent as that ?
And that owesome view perked up my inspiration inside,
teaching my  tiny fingers to write with a human heart!
O Baiano, don't strip this name from your walls and stones:
I am a forgotten native who will return before he'll die!





Details | Ode | |

stoney mae

children threw stones
at the steel-gated doors
and ran
laughing at eyes
peeking from tattered shades
the white picket fence
seemed odd in this sub-division

ivy encircled the weather-worn frame
wrapping around the smokeless chimney
covering the dirty window panes
on the house at the corner
of sycamore and elm

her only company
was a cat named puddin
a dog named mr. krum
a parrot she tried to teach
without success
to say
"stoney mae"

dry leaves left from last year's fall
cluttered the yard
along with bottles, cans
and bits of paper
tossed absent-mindedly
by an uncaring society

she shopped early in the morning
mostly for her pets
hiding behind a large straw hat
a black wool shawl
and ragged gloves
she plucked from a neighbor's 
unwanted garbage

some called her crazy
others whispered "mad"
as they passed the shade drawn 
darkened house
that made a sunny day sad
which seemed odd
in this tiny sub-division

it was on one of these bright sunny days
the neighbors made a decision
that had had enough of stoney mae
and wanted her out 
of their quiet sub-division
standing outside of her steel-gated door
they knocked and banged
there was no answer
no sad eyes peeking from the tattered shades
someone turned the knob
pushed opened the door 
which was never locked
a foul, rancid odor escaped to the outside
neighbors pushed to see inside
holding their noses

the shade was pulled up
sunshine filled the room
mouths stjood gaped
faces filled with dismay
just underneath the window 
lay puddin and mr. krum
the parrot was perched
on the body of a woman
chanting
stoney mae! stoney mae! stoney mae!


Details | Ode | |

VERONICA VOSS

You are old I am young
You have love I have none.
"Look. Look at those flocks of birds emigrating south! 
They’re escaping with regular wing beats, crying farewell."
Tomorrow would be a good day to die 
Today a good tomorrow
Dying must be strange, nonsense life is strange
We wait for nothing yet nothing will come
I never hoped you would accept an invitation to my farewell party 
We wait for nothing yet nothing will come
Yes, like Fassbinder
Yes, like Veronica Voss

I owe my soul to the company store  





Finishing Line Press.  Book FAREWELL TO THE DUST, by C. S. Leaf avalible March 2008
www.FinishingLinePress.com


Details | Ode | |

Herman Ruff

having not known 
when he meet death
i find myself the last mourner
none the less
i have grief to shoulder
hidden tears 
that have become bolder
as history becomes older
a time in my past
and often remembered moments
that made me what i am
my teacher, my master
words he would not understand
but Herman Ruff 
was more than just a man
i was just a teenager
when God put me in his hand
with gospel music
he molded my past
i never let go of what he gave me
it still last
i take that talent and use it
where ever i am
that part of him still lives because
I Am
he put something inside of me
that said "I can"
i can make music 
more beautiful than before
i can use my voice 
to open hidden doors
i can make people 
stand to the floor
with tenors harmony
that makes them beg for more
all this came from a man
i now adore
with words of tribute
that say i could have done more
some where up in Heaven 
on the grandest of grand pianos
he sings
giving God the Glory
the way he taught me


Details | Ode | |

A Painted Prose


Robin, 
like last leaf 
of autumn,

clings 
to a velvet 
rose.  Ah, 

such a lovely 
scene, from painted 
prose of God, 

the Unseen- 
of which thru his artwork 
reminded me of 

a child 
holding sweet mama, 
‘til he was being 

breezed away 
into manhood, by the thrilling 
wings of her olden days.


Details | Ode | |

LAMENTATION FOR ITALY

O adored Italy,this lamentation
for an impossible longing,never repressed,
will echo throughout centuries yet to unfold!
Will I be forgotten for my prediction?

A revocation of tiepid nights,intently
spent staring at the twinkling firmament,
confirmed beliefs which have guided me
in days of bitter regrets and discontent!

America enabled me, to land on its wealthy
and productive soil; and her generosity
spilled over an enormous ocean and sea,
and offered me the infallible promise of security!

Now, like two protective and fearless soldiers,
defending her from intruders and envious alike,
my visible rainbow draws its colorful arch
with foundations resting on each side;
with joy,gratefulness and endless pride,
I owe them both:   life,dignity,and happiness!     

O adored Italy,this lamentation
springs forth with fervent words of affection;
I regret that my sixsteenth year was
was an unexpected and sorrowful farewell!
O adored Italy,your distant son...
still has that memorable recall
of your motherly tenderness and loveliness,
beside your unchangeable principle of justice!


Details | Ode | |

Old Warrior

Old warrior, in the bar...
Sips on his small, warm beer...
It's still 1943 to him...
And inside he still holds fear...
The world hanging on the edge,
Of uncertainty....
What the future held,
No one could see....

Served his country,
Of that he's proud....
Seems no one any longer cares...
And his fellow warriors are now,
Above the cloud...
Soon he'll climb those stairs...

Vanishing like dinosaurs,
This American-Spartan hero...
Has little left to do...
Ask him about World War II,
He'd be glad he met you...

To show interest
In his sacrifices...
His wounded memories...
His changed life...
His long dead buddies,
His long dead wife...

His mate long gone,
He stares blindly at the TV,
Dressed in the poverty he lives
No one can get inside his head,
Save those so long dead...

He has nothing else to do
Be home alone, with old address books,
Of all his long dead friends,
Photos meaningless,
Except to him,
Time has cheated him,
By leaving him here
In the lonely bar, so dim...

Struggling to make ends,
Six dollars on the bar,
The past in the air,
At home he never cooks,
He just no longer seems to care....

Cigarette smoke in the air,
A forbidden pleasure now,
No one seems dare...
Used to be normal,
Things have changed so,
But not our old warrior,
He'll be the last of his kind
To go...

If today is his last,
That's just fine with him....
His future days will be the same...
The final die is cast.