Long Good old days Poems
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I was a classic 1957 Chevrolet Bel-Air, in mint condition, admiral and white.
My owner had other beautiful, classic cars, like stars sparkling into twilight.
My owner loved his old cars, saying 'they don't make them like they used to;'
And I enjoyed getting out upon the open road, to show him what I could do.
My fellow cars and I saw lots of sunny days, in bliss freedom of the flowers,
Traveling the length and breadth of this land, in the clasp of jeweled hours.
Flighty friends and I recalled 'good old days,' in rosy sunset times of finally,
Laughing and talking our memories in darkness, as moon shone, indefinably.
Forever friends were like feeling family, in the floral days of fuchsia's reign;
When flitting, green butterflies fanned for long, and falcons flew like a train.
I lived in the house of pleasant shadows, which didn't have many windows;
For it was one huge room without a view, like a path without the primrose.
Sparkling summer sauntered in silently, creating such scenes on my street!
Silken clouds roamed, when Sam ran his errands. Traveling was ever a treat.
Neighbors made admiring noises about me, going off on rides in neon night.
We cars were the toast of the neighborhood, nice nostalgia, in a golden light!
Clown orchids had ceased performing, in gone days of purple, beard orchids.
Now their summer relative had the holy ghost, like bliss from many sources.
Mask flowers held beautiful mystery, in alluring hues of pink, cream and red;
Like sweet secrets of moonlit shadows, and violet dreams after going to bed.
Once, Sam and I were cruising Sunset Highway, for it was my turn that day;
While dear friends waited in the cool, quiet of home, for their chance to play.
I felt a sudden impact on my left, and I knew I was hurt! There was damage;
But if not for Sam's expert driving, we might not have been able to manage!
This had happened to me times before. Such is to be expected in a long life.
As ever, friend Sam was my Superman, my mechanic in times of cruel strife.
My convalescence didn't seem so long, as I laughed about old days with pals.
When streets were not very busy, and many listened to front porch musicales.
For we were darling, daring trailblazers, quaint old paving way for all modern,
Leaving lingering feelings of fond nostalgia, like lovely fall leaves which yearn!
How am I doing
Well thanking you very much indeed
For being kind enough to ask
Because I am doing just fine
In fact I can't tell a lie i am actually
way far better than that bordering on
great
Because my business is downright
booming at the minute
To the point I have had to stop taking
bookings as I am now fully booked
up till Christmas
And the reason why you may well ask
well is due and down to this
You see what I do for and earn my living
as my proffesion and business is
I am a fully qualified certified card carrying
Clown
So much some of the very best in the
business which you may or may
not have heard of
Like for example Sideshow Bob and
Ronald McDonald who actually based
a lot of their own act and performance
on material they stole off me
But they have all but since gone to
ground so now I am all but the last
standing remaining Clown
Due to the dwindling amount of work
after COVID -19 rules etiquette and
social distancing ensued
The best excuse money can buy
when all else other's used have failed
thus far since the classic good old days
of my dog eat my homework
And left them without means to
earn a steady income to support
them in order to pay their bill's and
lifestyle they had become accustomed to
But hey at least this story has a happy
ending and they didn't want and go
without for very long
Because blessed with the particular
skillet they garnered and possessed
They simply just went joined signed
up and pledged allegiance to and
became a fully fledged member of the
Clown Union
Because as everyone full well knows
Clown's are the star's and reason why
people choose go to the Circus in the
1st place
And politics if nothing else is in all
but name the greatest Circus on earth
Only difference being although littered
with clown's these one's have or feel
no need
To slap and adorn their face in
makeup or wear a funny customized
suit
Because they are and their act and
material on which it is based upon is
in itself funnier than hell
But whereas Circus clown's wear big
shoe's for comical affect
These here clown's wear big boot's
in order so they can fill them up to
brim of their stetson hat
After the pockets of their shinny designer
bespoken suits look like they have
$100 handkerchief hanging out all
of them
"The streams are my veins."
Can you hear the drum beats of fear as do I?
Does the mere sound of these fears make you want to CRY?
You don't want to believe it, and hope it's all a 'Big LIE'.
Whether true or false, it's best to bid our fears GOODBYE.
Some say that the 'best is yet to come', and others say
that the good old days are gone and never will return.
Some say that the 'worst is yet to come', and others say
that the good old days are gone, but better days are yet to come.
Yesterday is HISTORY, but today does not have to be a MYSTERY,
nor does tomorrow have to be filled with gloom, sorrow, and
MISERY. You did not pour the glass; whether half empty or half
full. Even when dealt cards we don't CONTROL, we still must be BOLD.
Even when we are often TOLD that the entire deck has been RIGGED;
Or that the troubled waters that we see below have no BRIDGE above.
Although not a brave one, it does appear that we stand on the precipice
of a new world? A brave world does not self-DESTRUCT, but finds ways and means to better its COMSTRUCT.
Can we leave the world into which we were born better than we found it?
Whether or not the future is misery largely depends on our belief system.
Have we a belief system that flows like a river unclogged, free and clear?
Or like a stream of fresh living waters gushing unhindered through a creek bed? I pray that I might be a conduit; and may the streams be my veins.
By a most reliable source, the Bible, we are told that 'we spend our years as
a tale that is told'*. In a movie, the words of one actor to another were,
"There's no normal life. There's just life".
Is the tale of my life being told presently;
Or must I fly away before the tale is told of me?
Me thinks it is both, but we write the tale presently.
If history repeats itself, perhaps it's because humans won't CHANGE.
If history repeats, perhaps we thirst for control and ill-gotten GAIN.
It is said that to repeat things, hoping for change, defines INSANITY.
Me thinks that life is not a 'crapshoot' but dominated by choices we make.
On a cross, one man chose and said, "If you BE....". Another man chose and said, "...Remember ME". *
080122PSCtest, Let your Muse Be Inspired-R Form, Constance La France
Contest Theme #2: "The streams are my veins." 4P
*Luke 23:39,42; Psalm 90
We were cousins and had grown up
Close friends, living not far apart.
When I was nine and he was eight,
(His sister and my brothers were younger)
We were going to get married
Some day and have ten children,
Ten dogs, ten cats, and ten horses.
We played on the park playground
(He broke his arm falling from a swing).
We climbed trees, played card games
And board games and soldiers, and
In summer our mothers and we
Cousins took the long trek by train
And boat to swim at Nantasket Beach
One day my father found a new job,
And we moved away, far from home
As we had always known it.
My cousins also moved away,
To another, farther place, so
For years we saw each other only
On holidays or special occasions.
Although we weren’t strangers,
We were never really that close again.
We grew older, married new sweethearts,
And started families of our own.
Of course we always made promises
On Christmas cards, “We really MUST
Get our families together this year!”
But it seemed only funerals or weddings,
A 90th birthday, or a 50th anniversary
Would find us once again together,
Reminiscing about the “good old days”
When we were all children, and
We were oblivious, and time
Seemed to stretch ahead into infinity.
We have lived nearer to each other
In the last few decades, but days
And years have drifted by. Often we’ve
Put off visiting ’til “tomorrow”.
Now we are grandparents, even great
Grandparents, we and our spouses
Suddenly surprised with health issues.
And so we wake to find tomorrow
Is not always a possible option!
Finally, next week, I WILL travel -
It’s not so far - to visit with my cousin,
His sister passed on, wife in the hospital.
He is not well, and she will not,
He tells me, leave the hospital.
Why, as years go by, do we always
Assume an endless supply of time?
We toss off, “See you next week”,
Or “We’ll get together next summer!”
But can we ever be sure of that?
Forget the excuses! Do it now!
We most regret the things we didn’t do!
CODA
We had finally made new plans to travel,
At last, to see my cousin Don
And, possibly, even his wife, Ginny.
We had bought the ferry tickets.
But the night before, a storm came up
And forced us to cancel our trip.
---------------------------
Tomorrow I will go to his funeral.
A memory is like a rock in the river
The longer it drifts the smaller it gets
Possibly distorted by the waves
Like a memory over the course of time
It gets whittled down and fades
And eventually you wonder if you just made it up
But perhaps the idea is greater than truth
To say we need the idea is perhaps an understatement
To cling to some ancient ideals
The way a man might cling to a fading memory
Even as it drifts down the river being whittled away
Perhaps then that rock is something more
Not just a memory or something to cling to
But a living embodiment of all we stood for
Perhaps the rock drifting down the river
Slowly being whittled away by the rushing water
Is the rock we call the American Dream
And the longer it drifts down the river
The more the American Dream gets whittled away
We start to wonder if it was ever truly there
Or if it was ever what we truly stood for
Perhaps it was merely a grand illusion
A facade in memory that we repeated enough
Thinking that through repetition a lie becomes a truth
That, no, there was an American Dream
An American dream we fought desperately to save
That the consternation we suddenly felt would fade over time
And we'd all go back to holding hands
And dancing through the river with joined arms
Singing about the good old days
Because over time the memory became smaller
It faded as it traveled through the river
And we replaced the missing pieces with prettied lies
For when that rock finally settles on dry land
It's not the same pretty rock we all saw in our minds
It's an ugly and pathetic little thing ravaged by time
Ravaged by the river of people who sullied it
Though it was never righteous to begin with
The American Dream is simply that, a dream
It's something we sleep with at night to keep us cozy
To help us get through the harsh reality
That much like the ugly rock that went through the river
Our nation has become that very rock
We're painting America with pretty lies
Because the truth is ugly
Perhaps the lie is greater than truth
And eventually wonder if the truth was ever a truth
As it got whittled down over time and faded
Like a memory over the course of time
Definitely distorted by waves
The longer it drifted the smaller it got
The American Dream is a fading rock in the river
Sunday afternoon my grandmother decided to take me down with her to the memory lane.
She seemed excited like a child traveling first time on an aeroplane.
"Those were the days,
when everything was fresh and pure,
these artificial appetizers I can no longer endure."
My grandmother is seventy three,
talking about her childhood filled her with glee.
Then she told me they were five siblings,
the elders decided to not send the girls to school because what they will do by learning the table of two.
"This was the norm my dear,"
she tried to explain,
I disapproved and showed my disdain.
I know how much she loved studying .
If only she had got a chance.
Her happy memories made me go into a state of trance.
She spoke about her aunt who lost her husband when she was sixteen,
she was forced to wear white and if there was an auspicious event in the house she was never to be seen.
She spoke about all of this without any emotions,
while her talks ignited inside me an explosion.
How could I think those days were good,
when women were dependent on men for basic needs like food.
God forbid if your husband died,
you were a liability who always complied.
My grandmother told me about this one woman,
whose husband left her and her three kids to fend for themselves.
It was god's decision my grandmother told,
my thoughts I could no longer hold.
Grandma,
"It was never god's decision for those kids to have such a miserable life or that woman to strive hard to survive.
It was the decision of the society as a whole,
to cripple every women and break their soul.
No education,no hobbies only bearing kids was their duty,
if your husband is nice good luck or the biggest curse of your life will be your own beauty."
"God never told that widows were supposed to stay inside,
or to shave their head and to never walk outside at night."
She smiled at me and told me I was right,
she was glad that today girls are given opportunities and that my future looks bright.
Her talks made me rethink,
were the good old days really so good?
The time when women were denied basic rights,
women who waited and waited but were never rescued by the proverbial knight.
Date:19/10/21
Contest: Difference in Opinion poetry contest
Sponsor : Shreya LN
Memorable - "I remember the time when...." (Aah!...the good old days!)
Puzzled - "What time is it?" (Time for a watch!)
Philosophical - "Time is of the essence!" (You can smell time???)
Exaggerated - "If I told you once, I told you a million times!" (A million??...REALLY)
Request - "May I have more time?" (Yeah, get it out of the bucket!)
Panic - "I NEED MORE TIME!!!" (Sorry, fresh out of time!)
Procrastination - "I'll do it the next time!" (Um....Maybe!)
Encouragement - "You'll do better the next time!" (Be ready!)
Threatening - "You just wait 'til the next time!" (Uh-Oh!")
Wishful - "When I get some more time!" (It's in the mail!)
Pondering - "How much time do I have?" (Tick...Tock...Tick...Tock!)
Questioning - "When was the last time?" (Cmon, think hard now!)
Acceptance - "Time waits for no one!" (Missed that bus again!)
WHAT????? - "Time and time again!" (When was the first time???)
Admonishment - "Don't waste my time!" (The bucket's almost empty!)
Ceasing - "Time out!!!" (Whoa...stop right there!)
Foolish - "Turn back the hands of time!" (Good luck on that one!!!)
Regret - "Time is what I don't have!" (Buddy, can you spare a time?)
Boasting - "Yeah....I've got the time!" (My loan rate is 100% interest!)
???????? - "Where did the time go???" (I know it's around here somewhere!)
Advice - "Be on time!" (Don't be late again!)
Wanting - "Give me some more time!" (Gimme!...Gimme!...Gimme!)
Truth - "There is no more time!" (Come back tomorrow...if there's time!)
Reality - "I'm running out of time!" (Then pick up the pace!)
Upset - "Do you know what time it is???" (You must be crazy! Look at the time!!!)
Pleading - "Do you have any time???" (Buddy, can you spare another time?)
Realization - "I need to make the time!" (Now where did I put that recipe???)
Befuddled - "I lost track of the time!" (Where, oh where has my little time gone??)
It escaped - "Time got away from me!" (Time to get a leash!)
Falsehood - "You can make up the time!" (Counterfeit time???)
Biblical - "....and a time to every purpose under heaven:) (Don't forget this one!)
The Best One - "You have ALL the time in the world!" (BEWARE of that one!!!)
OLUPONNA: MY LAND AND TERRAIN.
Oh my mother land; wealthy in soil
To my grip held so highten; not soiled
So cultured and nurtured in legendary
To a land whose worth is never lost in form
Will I soon be so held up in apostasy ?
To forget thine beautiful terrains and slopes
The contour rich in overview than none has
Welcome to her broad-day light of sparklings
I told my mama not to let go
Cuddle me more, on the vent
To thy bossom full of blooms
Heartily warmth in thee to survive
She had her emotion to train
Let go her feelings to take over
Off the truck! Gone to the village
Then in despair of holding my heartaches
Even number to parity, a space of oddlines
Oddity easily known, hers was agility signified
Onus laid on her was to make a legacy to trail
And that she heartily did, her type' s rare in millions
Oh my memory not vague in rust
Get a sit, don't entertain a rush
So I'll paint her image on this crust
That her good deed be linked to her cross
On the furrow of the farmlands set miles away
To Olomu; the archives of the tons of products
To Odanla; the gazetters of hazels and expectants
What have you got to offer to myriads of waiters?
Oh Yeah! To the arsenal of thy strength
And the fort of thy fortress in strength!
The eulogy which is second to none
The artillery and the fighters of war
Omo olofa mojo, omo ola nlomi "abisu jooko"
Ijakadi loro offa, ija peki abe owula, biko base
Oju ebe lofa; a soju poro loko, iba soju oloko iba lawon, O soju agunmona l'Offa, o soju agbele yarara.
In the centre of thine beauty
Romance of taste in cultural reality
Oh come to ojude Oba, gladen thine heart
In the rhymes of beat on the path of gongs
Moon smiles to her heart, on a meadow
As her breast full of milk smile from window
Even if her men were waned, they'd join the lyrical
Oh a taste of memory s would never have!
God bless Nigeria to a united stand
Bless her, let my motherland blossoms
As gold flows her ways, let myrrhs and
Frankincense meet all her daily need (Amen)
Excerpt: Descriptive Poetic rendition .
A loving memory of good old days, from farm to School. Tis so beautiful to relive good memories.
(In happy memory of my mother; Aderinola Taiwo)
Naked trees whose dilapidated bodies have outgrown the test of time
shoot unseemly into the unaccommodating sky flustering as they walk by
Nude trees laden with deceptive shadows waiting for the morrow
Echoing a somber tune with superficial topsoil eroding from the mad earth
I sat on the top of the exalted mount watching brittle trees swaying doubtfully in the motionless wind and one force would have done them in
Fragile branches stick delicately form their wounded side reaching out
and cracking slowly with a forceful smile while angels lament by their sides
I recall the good old days when there was laughter everywhere
smoke rushing out the chimneys and grandpa with his wooden axe
piling up woods on the side of the stream and dragging them into the fireplace
Drunken men sitting on the side of the street infuriated with exuberant laughter knocking dominoes and shouting at terrified girls parading the streets in short mini skirts.
strong women in tall long skirts knocking their tambourines as the minstrel marched around in circles and unruly men with loud music sticking out their feet in fancy jeeps shouting
Dry grass lay flat on the reproachable ground howling as if winter is still around
As far as the naked eyes could behold green trees are floating in the horizon way beyond me
but close beside me green leaves are barely sprouting on the topless trees
The earth is still casting doubts as it sinks deeper into its devouring throat
drenched by its painful self-inflicted wound spreading misery throughout
I kept sobbing at nature's frequent disruptions and mankind useless inventions
cars sliding and young men gallivanting and swearing under the dark bridge
Shameful faces hang in despair holding onto to a cloud that is not there
And Noah whom they say was a religious freak took one hundred and twenty years to build a ship that spared daylight out of darkness and give rise to a new moon
And what of the black plague that torment millions of bones in their sorrowful graves
And the Spanish flu had its impact too who knows what really brought it about
Nature has sucked the life out of the earth waiting for a miraculous rebirth
while death pounds heavily on fragile doors.
I grew up with Phillip Jones who was our doctor’s son.
We built huts amongst the ti-tree and fired the odd slug gun.
We went through school together and we hung out up the street;
played footy and played cricket, and there’s girls we used to meet.
But that was many years ago when we were in our teens,
when life was free and easy and we were full of beans.
Circumstances ripped our time apart as circumstances can …
I took on the factory life and Phillip followed his old man.
Doctor Jones our family doctor continued in his trade;
he kept our little town alive with choices that he made.
Babes were born and people died, and there were heart attacks.
He tended those who don’t feel pain and hypochondriacs.
But now our doctor is retiring for he’s turning sixty-five,
sending shock waves through the sick on how they will survive,
But Doctor Jones destroyed the rumours that affected everyone,
by reassuring all his patients, their new doctor is his son.
So Phillip Jones is coming home, my good old school day mate,
and he’s going to be our doctor which really should be great.
I’ll make sure we catch up and of course that’s what we did,
to talk about the good old days when we were just a kid.
I tell you I’m excited when invited to Doctor Jones’ place,
he’d put on a dinner party asking me to show me face.
Doctor Jones has put his feet up now since Phillip stole the show,
and is treating all the patients that his father got to know.
But Phillip’s changed an awful lot; he’s inherited a plum.
All he spoke about is college and he made me feel like scum.
He’s turned into a ‘know all’; a pompous haughty cad,
and he even claimed with disregard; he’s smarter than his Dad.
Doctor Jones took on the challenge “Why do you say that Son?”
And Phillip said “My father dear, for example here is one.
Mrs. Wenn the wealthy spinster took heed of my suggestion,
and after all her troubled years, I have rid her indigestion.”
Doctor Jones picked up his napkin and patted both his lips,
“Son, I’m very proud of you but you’re still needing tips.
Sometimes I think it doesn’t pay to overload with knowledge …
indigestion suffered in this case - is what put you through college.”