Best Nostalgiaclothes Poems
I remember so well the calico aprons that my Mother wore.
She made them from feed sacks that Father needed no more.
She wore them mainly to keep her pretty dresses pristine,
But she found so many other uses for them in her daily routine.
She used them to gather eggs from the henhouse nests,
And to shoo from her garden, crows and other such pests.
Toted in an apron were apples plucked fresh from the trees.
They were used for collecting pods after shelling peas.
Flowers from her garden filled the apron for pretty bouquets.
It held clothes pins to hang clothes for drying on laundry days.
Aprons were used as a receptacle when snapping green beans,
And to gather a batch of lettuce for a salad of tasty greens.
Many times her apron wiped tears from a little boy's eyes,
And wiped her furrowed brow when baking cakes and pies.
They were dandy for last-minute dusting before company arrived.
Without her apron, I don't know how Mom would've survived!
It seems that ladies no longer need an apron to wear themselves,
Since food can be readily snatched from nearby grocery shelves.
An apron is seldom worn by domestic engineers nowadays,
Since tossing supper in a microwave to heat is now the craze!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
Time Warp to 1973
Beam me back: nineteen, seventy-three.
I sleeping alone, too dark to see.
Something suddenly awakened me.
There, at the foot of my bed, stood three.
Side by side glowing figures stayed still.
Who were those spirits that caused my chill?
Together, silent, against my will
Sightings like this did great fear instill.
Garments of light donned different designs.
One kingly figure wore clothes refined.
Another one armored...ancient times.
The peasant was third; simple clothes shined.
Perplexed by the vision; fearing more.
Too frozen to speak, thoughts rushed galore.
Bolstered up courage; words stayed their track.
“Go! Go away; and never come back!”
This was not the first vision for me.
As a child, I saw more than just three.
Never, like this, did fear capture me.
Unexplained nigh in seventy-three—
© Name withheld for contest
January 6, 2010
Written for Danielle White’s Poetry Soup member contest: Time Warp