Best Vintage Poems
My Grandpa was inimitable… uncommon.
He could make a story out of a passing wind
and have me crying, giggling like an imp--
this God-given knack could spin yarns of myth
that even my siblings rasp with bulging eyes ,
mouths wide as a crater, entranced from
delicate plots soaked in mystery.
Every trail was one step away from anticipation,
but a story was a story, the larger the better…
how could a pirate turn into a lizard
or a starlight emerge as a queen?
It didn’t matter what the tale was about,
for between, “And then” and “Later on,”
my gasp was sucked deep into
another world beyond my own knowing.
Oh Gramps would pull out his violin
while we both serenaded the clouds,
unmindful of Granny’s holler
from the kitchen. Somehow, no one
had the power to wheel us back to reality –
not yet: Not until he passed on in his sleep
at 68--- my young adult-heart ravaged, minced.
I wipe these vintage books he left for me,
a scent of faint cigar drifting among earmarks
which likely mesmerized, invigorated
those he entertained around his theater-stage…
and I , a dear audience, was the special one of all.
Broken Wing’s Contest: Old jewelry or Just old things,
or Old, Old Poems
10/31/2016
Vintage Retro Period
As for our periods of furniture–
not sure if Vintage Retro's one!
However, since I spanned so many years,
it seems to me this should be done!
My influence can still be seen in homes.
Some people often think it strange,
to cling to my old Vintage Retro look
and never want to make a change.
So pleased my unique period ruled well –
for thirty years I did endure!
My decades had a flavor of their own–
so powerful was my allure!
My special time was dominated by
the colors green, orange, and gold;
Formica, Lucite, vinyl, walnut, chrome –
outstanding – very sleek and bold.
My Vintage Retro period – well-loved
by most – did fade away, its true.
Still Retro-furnished homes are so enjoyed
by visitors who get a view.
My long-remembered items bring a crowd
at Vintage Retro store displays!
The prices paid are unbelievable –
so pleased I'm worth much more these days!
To prove my point, you might take time to see
the photo grouping up above!
My Vintage Retro gems still grace their home
forever more for them to love!
Sandra M. Haight
~First Place~
Contest: Punctuation Personified
Theme: Period Furniture
Sponsor: Debbie Guzzi
Judged: 10/06/2015
Note: Vintage Retro means actually made in '50s, '60s or '70s
The term Retro by itself can mean old but also newly made to look like old
Vintage Retro includes: Mid-Century, Mid-Century Modern, and Danish Modern styles
Grandmother's linen
Brief look into bygone day
Antique memories
Soft monogrammed sheets with lace
Carefully laundered.
across my bed
I drape
a vintage
handmade quilt
sewn with precision
and loving care
it keeps me warm
it keeps me safe
as if
at night
still in the arms
of my sweet grand-mother
as if
at night
she were still here
with me with us
Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~ALWAYS WITH ME~ 2020
Submitted on June 22, 2019 for contest N/A RE-RUN sponsored by JOHN HAMILTON
and April 17, 2019 for contest APRIL 2019 PREMIER 6 sponsored by BRIAN STRAND
Originally posted on March 15, 2019
vintage coin bank
dispensing
cash for tootsie rolls
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Posted on February 28, 2021
A bottle of you was not enough,
I needed the whole case
With every drop and fragrance let,
uncorking my embrace
To deeply breathe your sweet perfume
and drown in nectars dew
I try to sip but lose myself
—inside your vineyard true
(Rosemont Pennsylvania: April, 2022)
born into an aura of swirling purples
hues of violet and amethyst
a flower
given a sweet
vintage name
as written ...
a girl steadfast, faithful
dependable, reliable, trustworthy
dedicated friend
with courage no matter the obstacle
she loves anything vintage
an earth bound energy
a soul of moral strength
her words take you on a journey
her spirit a flowing river
God blessed her with a bright
shimmering light
It's inauguration day, January 20, 2021.
I could be at home, watching the TV presentation
pomp and pageantry. But old, achy, onerous and
anxious, bladder full with no toilet near, I wait
in a chilly car in a VA clinic parking lot,
entry to warmth and light prohibited by
the COVID pandemic.
Inside, my life-partner -- afflicted by
diabetic, infected purple insensate
second toe, left foot -- seeks news
of its possible fate: to be treated
or scheduled to be permanently removed
from its too snug position among
the other toes. Fidgety, I have settled
upon re-reading for the umpteenth time
selected pages among my (now) collection
of loose sheets between two crumbling
covers held together by rubber bands:
what's left of my copy of The Vintage Book
of Contemporary American Poetry, edited
by J. D. McClatchy. Many of these poems
(all perhaps?) are no longer "contemporary" --
this is a 1990 paper publication with poetry
from the preceding 40 years. I still treasure
many of the poems.
My custom, when alone, is to read out loud, and
to mark or circle poems, selected phrases, lines,
or passages that I choose, for whatever reason,
and often to think/fantasize how or whether
I might (or would) have written and then recited
in my own words, in my own voice, my own altered
poetic echoes of those lines, those thoughts, those
rhymes, those carefully or recklessly considered
pronouncements and descriptions.
And to wonder whether my own contrivances
would blend well with the originals that fostered
their appearance.
I conclude: my ersatz poetic products might be
somewhat like an infected toe that could be
snipped away -- or treated and tended, nurtured,
cured, made healthy, worthy enough for a place
crowded among those others.
As I have tried (fitfully) here to do.
VALENTINE – Vintage 2012 -repost
Valentine you rock!
You be a real cool tattoo
Got the hots for you
Let’s get it on damn fine soon
Sip Corona shoot the Moon
Dave Austin
Fireworks bulging from pocket decay --
Mostly the boys; but, a few girls held rockets.
Back-in-the-day, when it was still okay
To stick metallic cutlery in electric sockets.
The four corners cordoned off.
Block upon block awaiting dusk,
Impatient for that fiery cough
Of blockbuster, gunpowder musk.
And so it begins, for all ages and kin:
Tots sparkling in volcanic river lava;
Adults ignite pails of every which sin;
Eardrums assaulted, nerves of java.
Grasping hot candles and crackers in hand
We, being dumber than a dead-end,
Tear a gaping hole in the side of a friend.
It was a good day -- until the end....
Very
Inspiring and
Nothing but
True charm
And
Graceful
Expression.
Aging Vintage
Your vintage wine of yesterday
perhaps was bitter, perhaps was fine.
But then you could not know the taste
brewed as today's more robust wine.
Today's wine, dry or sweet, is based
on what was served you in the past.
But fickle future stirs the brew
That makes anticipation last.
So digest past drink up today,
hold high the glass of your tomorrow.
When all is done, you will have drunk
The wine of happiness and sorrow.
Sandra M. Haight
~5th Place~
Premier Contest: Contest No 214
Sponsor: Brian Strand
Judged: 10/01/2016
~2nd Place~
Contest: Least Views
Sponsor: Casarah Nance
Judged: 9/20/2015
Grandpa's miniature toy boat
I borrowed the vintage to float
Down the slope full of rain
Oops gone down a storm drain
Lucky Gramps didn't go for my throat
Submitted on March 3, 2019 for contest DOWN A STORM DRAIN GONE FOREVER sponsored by EVE ROPER
What i love
About Christmas time
Is a leggy bird
And a vintage wine
With succulent breasts
And a figure so tanned
When i wash my hands
She'll soon be manned
She's the type of bird
Who leaves me well fed
With a glass of wine
I'm ready for bed
But this little bird
Can sure last longer
For she double serves
And my hungry heart grows fonder
At my table she sits
In anticipation
As my hands delight
She has my admiration
This delicious bird on Christmas Day
Is natures Turkey, a delight I'll say
And just before we sit down to eat
We are incredibly thank full, for such a treat
My entry for Donna Golden's contest " Turkey Tribute "
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/poetry-soup-2.php
A loaded pistol,
With youthful courage till yesteryear;
Now lies naked and dormant,
And Is found to be lifeless and dead.
Somewhere, buried in my Junkyard,
Playfully tested till now in all arms to shame;
As it shyly, blushes and whispers to admit,
Murmuring its helplessness into my ears.
Ooh! My Childhood friend,
It feels like an impotent;
To be so bullet-less today.
My Golden days have all ended,
Life has become so ignorant now;
As I've become so bullet-less today.
As the pendulum constantly oscillates,
Time has traded fast on twenty wheels;
Looking for some good fortune in distant lands.
And a store-room in my backyard,
Has always remained the same;
And is still kept unchanged.
But never was any eye caught,
Not even mine;
To drool upon the nozzle of that Gun;
Like the way I used to do,
Used to lovingly do before.
Strolling down my kindergarten alley,
When a Gun was gifted on a bright Christmas morning;
It used to amaze me in my childhood days,
As I so excitedly unwrapped and got it out;
From the mysterious and magical White socks,
Which was hung on my bed; Hung all night,
Waiting for a snowy white beard old man;
A laughing sage in an exception;
Who lived on the mystical hill-side view,
Of my Steel city.
Today, after so many years,
A long craved sight fell upon it;
And it instantly drove me back,
To flash my childhood nostalgic days.
When infant Army camps used to settle,
To battle in the air for all day long;
Under the densely old,
Never claimed tree by anybody - 'Our Mango Tree'.
Ooh! How then this pistol fakingly killed,
So many nappie buddies of mine.
Who played and just acted,
To be dead as my enemies.
Ooh..! How strangely it feels like,
A game of now.
When today the lil' me gazing at any topic,
Sitting in my backyard;
Stumbled and pondered to find,
An old vintage Shot-gun of mine.
So curiously digging the wearily torn school bag,
Hanging since ages on the dampened wall.
Ooh..! So clueless, I fumbled upon,
An old vintage Shotgun of mine.
Dumped and buried under thousand other,
Essential antique toys of mine;
Which notoriously has got rotten in rust.
In closed walls of adolescence,
Where white parchments seeps overall;
From moist doors of yesterday,
Ooh..! How strangely it still feels like today.