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Sonnet Nostalgia Poems | Sonnet Poems About Nostalgia

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Sonnet |

A Shade From The Past

Just as days long ago, when decorum resolved, 
before composure, and poise,.. were corsages, unknown
Where propriety mattered, and was favored as gold,
high society, has gathered to flavor their tea
There's a trellis, embraced by a rose climbing vine
Places are set, for dining in jade
beneath shadows that stretch under arthritic old trees
While slivers of sunshine, squeeze through the branches
of silver leafed limbs, in magnolia bloomed shade
Tea will be served, by large knuckled hands 
at several round tables dressed with Swiss lace designs
Wearing lavender silk is our proper Grand Dame'
who fits her surroundings, as vintage as wine

Voices are lilting like the birds in the trees
Laughter and chatter, mingle with soft, summer breezes 

A bouquet of old friends, around a few scattered tables. 
Silver coifed hairdos, to make celebration
Crepe myrtle and wrinkles, beneath ashes and maples
Water cress munchies, and triangle creations

Sweet honey-suckle, tucked over the porches.…
Rose petal blossoms, are painted on china 
Bridge cards, tumble by Blue Willow dishes
Biscuits from England, crumble sublimely

Large bosoms bouncing, and big floppy hats
Gossip dished up with lemon-sliced frowns
Up in the tree is the neighbor's calico cat
who catches a glance, and a chance to crawl down

Are they ladies of leisure, from a time that is lost?
Or a painting I've seen on the wall from the past?

Inspired By the Garden Party Contest
Sponsored By Cyndi McMillan 6/6/14

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |

A Flower

I love the smell and softness
of a flower as it lay
spread in splendid color 
and sweet aroma stayed
like a virgins' kiss
with inviting touch
that gently opens
to give itself away.

Copyright © Jeff Burris | Year Posted 2006

Details | Sonnet |

No Service

Discarded cotton t-shirt shrunken and stained
on the side of a street pot-holed and veined
pants sagging low with no shoes on his feet
headphones blaring to the latest hip-hop beat

Heading down to the corner looking for a score
the old 76 filling station with the boarded up doors
how times have changed in a mere forty years
youthful exuberance gone  now nobody cares

Flash back we go to the days of my youth
hard work the requisite  as was the truth
running on empty  our roll was real slow
clean-cut attendant with bow-tie for show

Service with a smile, thank you and please
gone is simplicity and enjoying the breeze

Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |

Ghost Rider in Vegas

He caught a ride to somewhere going nowhere;
first hopped inside a slowed-down limousine.
The driver felt a chill and turned to stare
at someone seated in the back unseen.

A new car’s scent; the passenger smelled nothing.
The seat of luxury he could not feel.
The driver then off-key began to sing
to no one as he slowly tapped the wheel.

His passenger joined in and crooned unheard
that ancient tune “It was a very good year,”
his old blue eyes once clear becoming blurred,
and down his cheek there rolled a single tear.

Again compelled, the chauffeur turned his head -
then saw a small spot where the tear was shed.

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |


Released and slowly drifting to the earth,
the leaf departs her tree in mournful grace;
though both will live to see another birth,
none same will be returning in her place.
We meet as always in the space between
the branch's bud and parting leaf stem's end;
a tearful eye, a tugging force unseen
does will the laws reverse, gravity bend.
Enhanced though was the nearly naked tree
by springtime's bloom, her fallen trembling love - 
released to serve another destiny - 
in turn, will be the better than above.

Leaf falls to rest, and in her fading sigh,
she breathes to tree her final sad goodbye.

Copyright © Tracy Decker | Year Posted 2007

Details | Sonnet |

October's Crown

The gath'ring dusk draws this fall day to term.
October crowned with warmth and radiant light.
The sun in arc across the sky confirms
that these fall days be passionate and bright.

Heroic are the colors autumn wears,
yet soon their rich-hued robe will fade away.
Then comes the sting of winter's icy airs.
We wish that frozen season could delay.

The gleanings of these golden days are rich.
A cache of gifts held in our hearts, sublime.
Nostalgia is the providence with which,
we warm our spirit during winter-time.

Hold fast, through dormant seasons, keen and cold.
Soon warmth will grace spring light to be extolled.

                              October's Crown

Copyright © Brian Baumgarn | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |

Those Youthful Days Were Intensely Sweet

Those Youthful Days Were Intensely Sweet

In poetic words, disillusionment I often paint,
about a wild man that was never a saint.
A life that raced into darkness in such haste,
never seeing the coming misery and waste!

There were hills of thrills to happily scale
never thinking of either heaven or hell.
I grabbed the pleasures that deep lust demands
while dancing to music of rock n roll bands!

O' yes, those youthful days were intensely sweet
and every day a challenge to have a blast.
Now in my maturity I find that this I must meet
reality of my faded memories shall not last.

Time has a way of delivering its greatest hits.
Memories found false, one rarely forgets.

Robert J. Lindley 1-19-2015

Note: Memories even if bitter sweet, are still gold 
when one wants to frolic in the past and ponder
the what-ifs, the if-only's and the I should-of's...
You know you are old when you look back more than you look forward methinks. Old age, the great equalizer..

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Italian Sonnet |

All Through Tuscany

The afternoon outlined. The sunny strokes
of a samurai blade on her body
revealing things the eyes feign see.
Tempted, wounded, the virgin parchment floats
between her skin and satin cloak.
Artist; afternoon, craving company
draws her inside-out so innocently,
on purpose leaves the yolk indwelling.

The painter in the corner moans,
he jealous of the afternoons artly
sensual oration.
Improving skin, bare olive tones
of subtle pastel, the moment partly lost
to the constellations.

Copyright © Jim Marshal | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sonnet |

Birds of Youth Released

My sweetest cravings, fledglings in a nest,
were held up high; into the air released
by eager hands of mine.  A world to test
was mine before youth’s wishing time had ceased.

The birds who have come back to visit me
are well-remembered dreams that have come true.
The pleasant yellow finch; the chickadee
and skylark gave me nothing I should rue.

The cardinal would warble in my ear.
I yearned for him, but he did not stay long.
The bluebird too I hoped to always hear.
She comes and goes.  At times I hear her song.

But long forgotten wishes to grow older
are sparrows at my door as life grows colder.

For the Contest: Pen a Sonnet on It

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet |



I want to be alone where skylarks sing
Where primroses grow wild and bluebells ring
Where sweet the fragrant scent of Mountain thyme
Back in the glen that once was yours and mine

I’m wistful for the sights, the sounds, the smells
The purple evening sheen of heather bells
I miss the gloaming’s hazy mellow light
As summer’s day fades slowly into night

My heart tells me, I’m lost, I must return
To see my highland home, my woodland burn
Refresh, and set my captive spirit free
Among the hills forever calling me

This lonely pain is razor sharp and strong
Tomorrow I go back where I belong.


Copyright © Margaret Foster | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sonnet |

Some Of Them Even Came With Wicked Scars

Some Of Them Even Came With Wicked Scars

As I count my blessings among bright stars
hope and love echo to me like loud blasts.
Gave up wild life, living in the bars,
were nothing that's good or bad ever lasts!

Sad morns waking, a stranger in my bed
nights enjoyed, now shallow memories gone.
Could I have walked better path instead,
been enticed to have walked all alone?

My mind wanders back to wild days of youth,
days and nights of sweet pleasure then unbound.
Can we ever know if lost time is truth
or mystery sent to our lives confound?

As I count my blessings among bright stars
Some of them even came from wicked scars!

R.J. Lindley
May 9th, 1991

Syllables Per Line:
10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 110

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |

The Devil Deceived Me

A dreadful memory upon life’s sea
Returns to the days when life was carefree.
A spiritual youth faced the world alone.
Distracted by life and its sinful groan.

I thought that my Savior was by my side.
Whispers from Satan deceived my abide.
There is no God; it is a ruler’s toy.
To make men subservient was the ploy.

Scientists discovered we came from apes.
Questioning God, I ate bananas, grapes.
The devil deceived me with many lies.
Despite my souls whisper and needed cries.

I turned away from God for a short time.
When wisdom returned, life became sublime.

© Dane Smith-Johnsen
October 26, 2010

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sonnet |

Where Yellow Moonlight Graced Her Pretty Face

Where Yellow Moonlight Graced Her Pretty Face

When young, so damn foolish in my great pride
I rode the wind, felt like a mighty king
Looking back, find nothing I want to hide
do most of it again, complete the ring.

Days and nights flowing in sweet river songs
where yellow moonlight graced her pretty face
For such times, my soul now so deeply longs
without sad heartache, I want to erase.

Lost times, those nights disappeared into dark
sadness flows in, reminds me of my past
I was once, a vicious beast, hungry shark
the good times flew away far, far too fast.

When young, so damn foolish in my great pride
My darkness did things I can not abide!

Robert J. Lindley, 4-30-2016

Poem Syllable Counter Results
Syllables Per Line: 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10 10 10 0 10 10
Total # Syllables: 140
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically: N/A
Total # Words: 114

Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |

Stinky Or Sweet

Our memories can be aroma-based...
   at times not stoked by customary kind.
What some may find offensive, flee in haste,
   to others stirs up pleasure in the mind.

Especially when memories are formed
   in very young, they often leave imprints
of happy times instilled with smells that warm
   to trigger them again with pungent hints.

When in a barn at some country event,
   my hubby happily admits with glee,
that he enjoys the stinky barnyard scent...
   brings back the fun on farm with family.

To each his own with sweet or stinky smell...
   for either one...the memory will tell.

Sandra M. Haight

~8th Place~
Premiere Contest: Stink
Sponsor: Anthony Slausen
Judged: 10/04/2016

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |

Old School

I can turn up that street any time I wish;
I pass that post box frequently enough,
But there is no returning, that’s the twist,
Time’s poker faced, you cannot call his bluff.

The deepest yearning only meets rebuff,
These houses do not greet me, I’m not missed
And the old school where I seldom did enough
To satisfy my teachers has forgot

The bully and the joker and the swot
The cigarettes, the Three Card Brag, the fights,
The wondering how to talk to girls, and what
Might be waiting round the corner out of sight.

To come so far and barely move at all;
To not escape the gravity of things beyond recall.

Copyright © Tony Devers | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |

Fading Glory

In the spring I was a hungry scholar,
caged ambition chained to life's cold machines,
striving to grow more vigorous, taller,
prepared to succeed by most any means.

On the cusp of summer, I make amends, 
forgiving myself for lapses and loss,
pretending the actions my being spends,
are worth something more than transient dross.

I cannot fool you if I can't convince,
myself that fair destiny holds her hand,
aloof, that somehow this game will make sense,
that I can someday take pride in my stand.

O dazzling spring, I could be anything!
O summer, how humble the anthem I sing.

14 August 2016

Copyright © J. I. Thomas F. | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |

September's Winding Road

There is on a green hill, a winding road, 
Where September golden rods are blooming, 
Even the sandy path bears reflections 
A line of fence posts, lavender shadows
Twining purple morning glory faces
Reaching, desiring the cool autumn sun,
Footprints follow, one little pair, no two
Questions of wonder suspending in air. 

Gazing up that lovely road of new fall, 
One's eyes strain to peer beyond the path's rise, 
Where blue and gold mists meet the autumn sky,
With a new generation, a new school. 

And an unremembered Meadow of Dreams  
Illumines hidden caverns of the mind. 

Copyright © Sunlite Wanter | Year Posted 2017

Details | Sonnet |

Eyeful, Handful and Soulful

With stretched brows, while sitting in a corner I look up from my specs just out of love. As she lays food on table and stoops lower Snipes me from grace of her body thereof. With eyes on her I come there as if drugged Feeling tickling smell of the hot soup. Now she puts a sheaf of flowers in a jug And pours in water pressing it in group. I see how the necks and cups get entwined With the curls of her hair and points of crest. See how at each stalk her waist curves defined Budding, abloom in the shape of her breasts. Soup and food lay cold and my body warm As she swirls and whirls her skirt like a storm.
+++ December 15, 2014 Form: Sonnet (Pentameter) First Place win Best of 2014 by Carol Eastman

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |

A Garden of Memories

She so lovingly remembers her grandfather here.
Tho many years gone; his memories kept near.
This book he read to her while she sat in his lap.
Taking her on great adventures; imaginations tapped.

Inhaling the aroma of orange blossoms, sweet.
Hungry after each journey, this fruit they would eat.
Filled with such nostalgia it's his scent she misses;
cherry pipe tobacco, also tasted on his kisses.

This has become a tradition for her each year;
happy memories filling her with joy, never tears.
For he is on an adventure in paradise now;
another for her to join him, when she is laid in the ground.

She will read to her grandchildren from this old book one day.
Where precious memories of her in this garden will be made.

July17, 2014
Contest: A poem in Paradise
Sponsor: Isaiah Zerbst

Copyright © Arlene Smith | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |

SUNDAY DINNER A hillbilly sonnet

        SUNDAY DINNER  (Hillbilly sonnet)
Ma's cookin now, so come and set a spell
and you can bet we'll have her Sunday best
before the settin sun, and who can tell
what's on her stove--but it will meet the test.

Can't you just smell that fryin chicken now?
And you must know the gravie's fresh and hot
for pourin on them taters--I allow
a little more than I should have--so what?!?

The butter it just melts on bread so light
to compliment the vegetables we grow,
now if you know a life that's half as right
as this, you'd better make it yours to know.

   And I will say the grace, to thank God for
   what He has give--so He will give us more.
© ron wilson aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013

Details | Italian Sonnet |



Ah quanta nostalgia
Ah what memories

Mentre tutto va
When everything’s going

Oltre I limiti della mia fantasia
Beyond your wildest dreams

Dove tutto e paradise se 
Where all is paradise

Giorni di liberta di festa
A day of freedom and celebration

La musica dolce suorna 
The sweet music plays 

Io pensavo e stato giusto
I thought it was right

Questa melodia
What melody


Voli e brividi
Thrills and dreams


Copyright © evrod samuel | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sonnet |

Forgotten Music

Oh, how did I forget flecked fields of white
where fairest petals synchronized their dance,
and beauty’s cadence sung to ears romance,
as Monet’s clouds rose lilting notes to heights?
Oh, how did I forget fanned butterflies 
adrift on breezes sunned in Mexico?
Their bright-hued wings flirting with blooms below 
when silent gazes held in lover’s sighs.

Old love songs stir up voices in my mind -
sounds of our music and your windblown ways,
our soulful rhythm from forgotten days,
my lullaby on darkest nights unkind.
Come now, I long to see you at my door
for love's embrace in dance forevermore.    

written 6/23/15

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |

The Notorious Jumping Frog of Calaveras County

In a small gold rush town sipping on ale
Mark Twain once overheard a bartender
Made himself famous by penning this tale
A frog jump contest with a large wager
Decided outright when one frog didn't jump
The contest over before it could start
Obvious that the bullfrog seemed too plump
Buckshot in it's belly made jumping hard
The first County fair sixty years later
They called it The Jumping Frog Jubilee 
Just local frogs are allowed to enter
The record is over twenty one feet

Each May at Angels Camp, California
Mark Twain's tale center stages the gala

Copyright © Mitch White | Year Posted 2010

Details | Sonnet |

Still Standing

Where were you when my world fell apart?
The Sun darkened and the Moon just fled.
All had been done and all had been said.
And ripped to shreds was my beating heart.

Even the Seas began to part.
And the Mountain tops spread.
I lay there completely dead.
Even the Stars I could not chart.

If only you knew,
If only you were there,
If only you had a clue!
If only life had been fair!

I’d turn the clocks back,
Still standing dead in my track!

Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sonnet |

Age and Flow

If I had to recount a range for pure,
If would be womb to birth to sixteen years.
Aglow with vigor on a virgin shore --
Of first-love hugs and superhuman tears.

Fearless and careless of body and mind,
A known contradiction, a youthful show.
But, age spins quickly to the daily grind --
And, feelings reverse as we age and flow.

Gray and grown with painful inflammation.
Nothing to fear from a senior mind-prism.
Protesting every new deformation --
The paradox of youth versus wisdom.

Young, infinite, bliss, immortality --
Lost in mature, moonless normality.

August 23, 2016
Which Of The Four Would You Choose - Poetry Contest

Copyright © Tom Arnone | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |

Tomorrow the Sun Shineth!

                   "...when power corrupts, poetry cleanses."
                     --John F. Kennedy

A frat asked, will you ever forgive her?
Come! The house has a toast for you tonight!
Now forget—this is not the way you were!
Let’s walk frat, tomorrow will be alright!

Let her go and have her own way each day;
Cleanse the taint with an aromatic bath
Let done be done forever—God molds the clay;
Come! Stand with us—let Him show you the path.

When entreated with her loveliest lies
Spread your wings to the sky with open ears;
Brittle vows and fragile oaths always die
Shallow days, months, years they too disappear.

Upon the rising sun—look to the East,
A royal feast, my frat—that’s the least!

© Joseph, October 22, 2008
© All Rights Reserved

Joseph S. Spence, Sr., is the author of "The Awakened One Poetics" (2009), which is 
published in seven different languages. He invented the Epulaeryu poetry form, which 
focuses on succulent cuisines and drinks. He is published in various forums, including the 
World Haiku Association; Poetinis Druskininku, Milwaukee Area College, Phoenix Magazine; 
Möbius Poetry, and Taj Mahal Review to name a few. Joseph is a Goodwill Ambassador for 
the state of Arkansas, USA, a college faculty, and a military veteran.


Copyright © Joseph Spence Sr | Year Posted 2008

Details | Sonnet |



Dawns another early spring day:
Garden is frozen on stillness’ edge,
Door crackles open as ice strips away,
White lawn,  white branches,  white hedge.

Warm breath clouds in front of face;
Don’t want  footsteps to spoil
Cold freshness filling this tiny place
And perfection painted at night on soil.

Silent  snow swirls all around  -
Saskatchewan spring in my garden small.
Chill air nips new shoots on the ground,
Hidden behind my hedge  and wall.

        Beyond the hedge,  a  thousand miles white,
        The  prairies awaken from the night.

Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet |

Cabin by the Wood

A cabin built on the edge of the wood,
Standing alone next to a listless rill.
Near ear shot where the great white oak once stood,
Atop a hammock, some say is a hill.

Standing supreme on a warm summer's eve,
Strong gainst' storms and nature's retribution.
Time the bearer of either ruin or reprieve,
Reckoning day, the final solution.

This cabin is made of timbers of wood;
Humble reminders of man at his best.
On top the meadow where flowers once stood,
Away from the towns, humanity's nest.

A river that was once and is no more;
A bank to the stream as the coast to the shore.

Copyright © R.A. Marschall | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |

Passing Shadows

A kiss so fleeting as a fragrant scent.
From distance far, in silence lingers near.
A memory perhaps, that came and went.
A passing shadow that will disappear.
This remembrance where soft rose petals fell.
Not from sadness, rather time's unkind hand.
To leave a thought wistful an empty well,
When stillness ever quiet will demand.
A longing,  or a moment relived,  chased.
This melted candle with blackened wick cold.
Once a red flame rising when two embraced.
Now a web tangled in memories, old.

To find nostalgia on your mind's doorstep,
To open the door, a fleeting kiss kept.

Copyright © Frederic Parker | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |

Broken Wind Chimes

Dangling from the tree I can see,
Broken wind chimes that still sing.
They just hang on by a split string.
Sending a harmony of tunes to thee.
Their tones and vibrations are a bit broken for me.
I listen and I ponder for what tunes they can bring.
From the tree they will sway when they can swing.
Bits and pieces are released through the air and flee.
Caught in the wind is it’s vibrations.
Carrying signals of great magnitude.
Funneling clouds into new creations.
Bringing air into a brand new mood.
Broken wind chimes can still sing a song,
But their messages are scattered all along.
© Copyright: Ann Rich 2007

Copyright © Ann Rich | Year Posted 2010