Nostalgia Innocence Poems

Born December 5, 1961,
blonde cherubic, lips of rose buds,
eyes of the bluest baby innocence.
Remember the 1960's brother,
Massapequa proud, Long Island.
Our Cedar Street,
lined once with what...

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I have done everything.
I have survived the harshest winters, braved the fiercest jungles, and fought the most heroic battles.
You have too.
You looked to your friend,...

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Remember when we used to play
In our backyards every day
We built castles in the sand
And chased each other hand in hand

Remember when we used to...

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Who doesn’t dream of escape?
A return to an innocent state 
A journey on the beams of grace —
The Lord is with thee

Who doesn’t yearn for...

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I hear a nostalgic refrain
taking me back to my childhood again. 
Memories flow.
Scenes are elusively set.
I relive innocent time of butterflies and days with no...

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I miss the days of mine
I miss the old me which used to shine
Like a star with unrelenting light
But now I love the darkness of...

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Dreams make up our society
Giving us anxiety
When the last hope becomes a lie
Children are told to believe they can fly
But in the end, what wins...

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Don’t you remember? That one time
When we were young and adventurous 
We settled on shared breath between
Pine trees and our neighbors oak
Tugging on leaves like...

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In my dreams
I am small
Flowers budding
Behind deaf ears
When I leave you
Inevitable in its longing
I wish to be
A grain of sand
In your hurricane
A leaf in your...

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Corn stalks dance
In abandoned fields
          Like wispy ghosts
    Without their husks
As children revel...

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I let you cut my hair.
Whether you were doing well
Or about to make a fool
Of your only daughter
Completely irrelevant
As I focused on your
Darting nervous eyes
The...

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2.

Once,
we picked
blackberries
under the shade
of bay trees fragrant with the kiss of sun,
not yet knowing the things that would break us;
just sweet fruit on
pregnant vines,
childish
joy.


3.

Once,
we picked
blackberries
under...

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Of all the senses, 
they say that smell 
is most closely tied 
to memory;
like Proust with 
his madeleines;
like blackberries 
in July,
in the park where 
my...

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Today,
there are no rubber ducks
or mother's marigold skirts
to hide behind
as we once did.

In their place,
lurking dark and hoary,
a bathtub mist
updrafts thick with loose spores,
and mildew...

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Her head tips up,
Cocks to the side.
A smile graces her features
As she listens to the rumble of the sky.

The clouds start to drizzle, 
The sun...

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