Best Nostalgianight Poems
Disco dreams and disco balls
Big city,bright lights
Pub crawls and bar fights.
Mini frocks and hair dyes
Made up faces
Mascara filled eyes.
Vodka martinis and champagne
Bus trips and black cabs
Standing in the rain.
Nightclubs and deejays
Entry stamps on wrists
And tattooed fists.
Late nights and hangovers
Fast cars and kebabs
White wine spritzers
And mishaps.
One night stands and live bands
Autographs and queues
Sing-a-longs and sad songs
And over packed loos.
One line gags and handbags
Glitter and sparkling eyes
Cigarettes and suffragettes
Gossip and lies.
Brawls,another one falls
Drunks and punks
Frilly skirts and love hurts
And late rides.
Secret kisses and front row seats
Cinema aisles
Red lipped smiles
Beauties and beasts.
Flashy cars and night time stars
Takeaways and glad rags
Silly jokes and whiskey cokes
Dreams and high hopes.
Nights out and walkabouts
Cheap thrills and teenage wonder
Hitch hikes and motorbikes
Delinquent lightning and thunder.
Last night I took apart the album I made for you
the one of our family before they left
before the sorrow clung to your every breath.
I separated each memory from their plastic sheath
and piled them in categories known and before me.
Military and quick I added the ones I found
from the folders covered in dust.
Each picture memorized to me
from the years of gazing and longing
for our life that couldn’t be.
I put them in one of my families new set.
To place on the book shelf to show them
the life they chose to forget
As I lay in bed last night they wafted through my eyes
like wraiths to drain my mind.
The tears never came, years have brought a drought
that leaves my husk parched as the shells
we found and used in the first album.
I lay beside my husband waiting for slumber
to erase the days I could not live
and the nights I dreamed about them.
I waited for the dust to creep and settle
this grieving part of me to sleep
This morning the day is new and responsibility awaits.
Anxiety shadows my chest
Like the wraith of the past I try to forget.
Curlews crake against white limestone walls
Their echo shrill in the early mist
Wake those who danced the night before
As bog sighs from heat release and black water buzzes
The insects a top scoot in siderwinder display
Heather hangs over and down to the slime in purple and yellow brown
A bicycle grounded on a nettled floor and endless sting
Dance long over and handle bars long relieved
Of scent of a young lady's dress up lifted by seam.
Corn mountain awakes and crows upon the light but corncrake was there first
Mountain clicks and breathes with new sunshine and old scenes the hay the turf
The window curtain a saucer hidden with red meat a treat unseen
Oh why does father not approve
Up, out, blue pooch curtain breaks open and feet to hessian mat
Get up quick the fox was down was in and took the best Rhode Island red
Never to lay never to feed nor mend the mesh but dance dance dance
Kneading and current buttermilk bray and toss and knead away
The heat remains and cooks and pots the bread upon the air
Sweet smell and egg and Rhode Island's best.
Hush boy a sound clean collar for him upon this summer working day
Hangs on Father McHugh's nail it hangs of starch and awaits it's wrap
Before the pipe alights and hears do tell her name do tell
Is the lady of good stock and family fair or cold and just of the night and the air
Forget the bird explain no more as the pipe will choke and bang the floor
Tell me again as Sunday lasts to Mass now and pray for those who passed
IT HUNG IN THE SMOKEHOUSE FOR YEARS ON END,
JUST AN OLD BLACK COAT THAT NO ONE WOULD MEND.
THE LAST ONE TO WEAR IT WORE IT IN DEATH,
HE HAD IT ON WHEN HE BREATHED HIS LAST BREATH.
MY MEMORIES OF HIM ARE WEAK AND FEW,
BUT I HEARD MANY TALES OF THE LIFE HE KNEW.
BACK IN THE THIRTIES IN EAST TENNESSEE,
JOBS WERE SCARCE AND TIMES WERE HARD FOR A FAMILY.
IN ORDER TO SURVIVE, SOME TURNED TO THE BAD
THE DEEP MOUNTAIN HOLLOWS WERE ALL THEY HAD.
THE MOONSHINE STILL GAVE HOPE FOR MEN WHO WERE DOWN
THEY MADE AND SOLD CORN WHISKEY ‘TIL OFFICERS CAME AROUND.
HE WAS CAUGHT AND PUT UNDER A PRISON GUARD BOSS
SENTENCED TO BRUSHY MOUNTAIN, IN THE HILLS OF PETROS.
HE’D ALWAYS PLAYED TUNES ON HIS OLD GUITARS
SO, DURING HIS CONFINEMENT, HE PICKED BEHIND BARS.
IN HIS TIME OF INCARCERATION, AND AWAY FROM THE ROCK-PILE
SOME AFRICAN-AMERICANS SHOWED HIM A NEW PICKING STYLE.
THEY FINGER-PICKED THE BLUES WITH A BROKEN BOTTLENECK
HE LEARNED THESE SOUNDS AS EACH TUNE HE’D COLLECT.
WHEN HE’D SERVED HIS TIME AND CAME BACK TO HIS HOME
HE HAD NO OTHER DESIRE TO RAMBLE OR ROAM.
HE MET MY WIDOWED GRANDMOTHER, THEY CHOSE TO WED
ALL HIS MISTAKES AND EARLY WRONGS, SHE HELPED HIM SHED.
FOR A FEW SHORT YEARS, THEY LABORED TOGETHER
IT WAS THEIR INTENTION TO BE FAITHFUL FOREVER.
BUT THERE CAME A NIGHT AT OUR COMMUNITY SCHOOL
WHEN AN OFFICER OF THE LAW THOUGHT HE’D BROKEN A RULE.
THOUGH THE DEPUTY WAS MISTAKEN, THE TRUTH HE REFUSED
HE RESISTED HIS DEMANDS, HE WOULD NOT BE ABUSED.
THEY STRUGGLED, A GUN WAS FIRED, THE BULLET ENTERED HIS CHEST
AN INNOCENT MAN LAY DEAD, IN HIS BLACK COAT DRESSED.
I REMEMBER THE OLD BLACK COAT WITH ITS LARGE GAPING HOLE
TO MY YOUNG AND FERTILE MIND, IT SPOKE OF A STORY TOLD.
MY GRANDMA WAS A WIDOW FOR THE SECOND TIME
AND THIS TIME IT WAS BECAUSE OF A LEGALIZED CRIME.
HE DIED IN THIRTY-NINE, WHEN I WAS ONLY FOUR
BUT I RECALL THAT NIGHT OF SORROW, IT’S A MEMORY I KEEP IN STORE.
I WOULD LIKE TO HAVE KNOWN HIM IN MY YOUNG DAYS
I WOULD LIKE TO KNOW MORE OF HOW HE CHANGED HIS WAYS.
Every morning I wake up,
worse off then the night before.
Every afternoon I deal with the pain of life,
with no guidance from those closest to me.
Every evening the tears fall,
with nothing but my pillow to catch them.
Every night I think of him,
when I know there is no use hoping.
Form:
July 13, 2008.
Never will I forget that day,
Well, night.
What a night?!
One text was all it took,
And my whole world was shook,
Rocked, flipped upside down,
But it was worth what I found.
I found a love that I had always dreamed of.
I found it right there, in the Meijer parking lot,
Somewhere between those two parking spots.
Perhaps it was the stars,
Or the cars,
Or maybe, it was just love
That finally showed its face to us.
There I was,
Looking into the eyes of my first crush,
Remembering how you used to joke about us,
How you said you would marry me one day,
Remembering the smile on my face as I said, "Okay!"
Who would have ever thought that marriage was for us?
At the time, we would joke. It wasn't serious.
Now it is or could be.
You would really marry me?!
How exciting!
Perhaps that's why I couldn't breathe...
All I know is I'll never forget,
And most definately never regret,
Standing in the Meijer parking lot,
In between those two parking spots,
Looking into your eyes as you say to me,
"I love you, Stephanie Ann Whitley".
July 13, 2008,
A Sunday,
A night I'll never forget,
And I never ever will regret.
Dedicated to a friend of mine, and to the night that changed everything.