Nostalgia Bullying Poems

In the clutch,her gentle touch,away from slutch,outside hutch
Bereft of words
But never the eyes do lie,beneath the blue sky,she and i

a garnet ring, on her finger...

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The best of years

in a side room where things are put to be used later but never will
there is an old “brother” typewriter gathering dust,...

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Old
    fashioned
    courtesies,
    from days gone by.
    On their first date, trying hard...

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THE CUSTODIAN

The husband never forgave me
I'd given him a slim five hundred
He cashed his ticket in on a stormy day
I could not enjoy the song...

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Looking back, one thing comes clean-glass clear
you were always there for me subduing every fear.

I tried to do my duty, be a husband strong and...

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They're all in this together, some sort of (machination)
This hatred is gratuitous, or is it just my imagination?
I may not be rich, at times a...

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The Unsaved

I watch you from a distance. 
I see everything you do. 
Your life is hard, 
and the world is unkind, 
mostly, if only at...

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Bright

A tiny seed and plain dirt. 
Water, sunshine, and faith.
Then… not quickly, not slowly…
but… at the right moment.
A delight to the eyes, 
and a magnificent...

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she pips in fear for lateness like her peers,

hauteur cloaked with reticence,

her-boo-boo-vague, though walled around and palpable

official Narcissist disguised in rude affronts

Bravado of naughtiness in...

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Always high on adrenalin
Dancing to music in my head
Sexy and vivacious
Lust for life through youthful days
That was then and this is now
Disappointments through the years
Disillusioned...

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Success of self named pens in Europe 
Made the U.S. the next best niche
Marcel Bich dropped the H in his name
Afriad they would call it...

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Old dust by rusty memories
One time lace curtains in the windows
Fascinating account by a challenging life
Happiness and defeats, sunny days and freezing nights
More than an...

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I was just 11

Alone in my room

It all happened

Right after school 

Not a razor, no 

But a dull knife 

Resting in my hand 

It felt...

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Oh, where has that young child gone?
Where now is that young boy -
the one with cute and chubby cheeks,
the one with eyes of joy?

His eyes...

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Nostalgia ain't what it used to be, okay?

Whose ashtrays are they, anyway?

Your rose-coloured glasses are the way,

Gilding those dim, dark, distant days,

All this romantic foggy...

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