Long Nostalgia Poems
Long Nostalgia Poems. Below are the most popular long Nostalgia by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nostalgia poems by poem length and keyword.
Tonight I feel sad reflecting on years gone by
So filled with emotion….. I cry
Coming and goings, busy days
The home alive with a young family to raise
Missing the ones who have already left
Leaving me feeling totally bereft
My heart now has irreplaceable voids
Each time a loss… part of my spirit destroyed
Times of planning ,creating our destiny
Exciting hopes and dreams for our family
Holidays, occasions, special moments and all
Now just cherished memories to recall
Tonight will pass ,tomorrow a new day
For now sad memories will have been wept away
Tomorrow I will live in the here and now , I will not cry
Until next time I reflect on years gone by…..
love is the waft of perfume that gently passes by
caressing the nostril and awakening my soul
love is the memory of his smile in the middle of the night
his arms around me as i close my eyes to sleep
love is the full moon peeking through my window
when all is still and i put our wedding song on repeat
love is feeling blessed for the years we had together
that we can always cherish and no one will ever take away
love is the torment of separation that forever lingers
the reminiscence that carries on and tries to fill the void
AP: 2nd place 2022
Submitted on January 30, 2021 for contest WHAT IS LOVE sponsored by UNSEEKING SEEKER - RANKED 1ST
Pulp fiction had nothing on him. He was a man’s man. A protagonist
of his own making, self-reliant, and self-assured. Marlow kept his wisecracks
to the bare minimum when meeting a new client. Dames were not as compliant as they used to be, and they carried their own derringers now.
More dangerous than ten years ago. He leaned back in his chair, enjoying a swallow of nicotine from his favorite cigarette. He had heard this woman was stacked. Mrs. What? He reached for his paper. Mrs. Stanton. She sounded stacked, a real femme fatale. A harsh knock came on his outside door.
not a woman’s knock, and yet, there she was.
“she’s a murderess
This mattered not to him now
Private eye smitten”
Written 4-29-2019
Contest: Pick a title, volume 4 – Haibun
Prompt #2: The private eye and the femme fatale
Sponsor: Edward Ibeh
My babies have all gone,
They've grown and left the nest,
Spreading out their wings to fly,
Upon life's thrilling quest.
The years flew by so quickly.
Babies turned into little boys.
Little boys grew into manhood,
Putting away their childish toys.
I miss those little boy faces,
With their mischievous, winsome smiles.
I miss their childish chatter,
And their creative little boy wiles.
Why didn't I pay more attention?
Why didn't I play with them more?
Why didn't I realize how fleeting time was?
But I didn't and it makes my heart sore.
I miss the little boys that my sons were,
But I'm proud of the men they've grown to be.
They will always be my little boys,
And I will treasure each and every memory.
Kim Merryman 3/10/12
Ashes waft over the meadow
a jet stream of sorrow,
beckoning the widow to the
edge, down to the river.
Contented epoch, at the
creek where the wolves run,
he lived and laughed.
We watched the bright blue
stars foxtrot across the milky
way, a midnight indigo quilt
shivering with light.
Mountain men whose
toughened hands cradle their
violin and mouth harp. Music
soared amidst craggy
chiseled countenance.
We listened to the chaste
screech of a hawk, the forlorn
cry of a mountain cat,
soft snuffling of a bear,
watery splash of a fish.
You and I waltzed in the
meadow; no music needed
other than the love song that
pulsed in our hearts.
Can I have this dance for
the rest of my life?
Together it seemed so…
right,
wrong,
simple,
eternal,
joyful,
lonely,
sad…
...happily ever after?
No.
Time enough for us to love,
laugh, share, be silly, fight,
forgive, and cry?
To seethe and despair?
Yes.
Trisha Sugarek from
Butterflies and Bullets
You were the one I passed every day
across the street from the station
and never spoke to. You were the one
my thoughts left last when falling asleep
at night and first to rush to when I awoke.
You were the one I addressed my poems to,
the clumsy lines of a youth spilling out
on a page and quickly thrown away.
I could never think of what to say.
Five days a week for three months
my life centered on the precious seconds
it took to pass you in the street. Then one day
you were gone. I never saw you again.
It's silly that sometimes I still think of you
and can't even give you a name.
You will never know that I have carried
your memory through the tangled scribblings
of my life and arrived here with your lovely face
unchanged, mine, furrowed and gray,
an old man, a lifetime late but now
with something to say.
Standing at a distance friendliness seems,
The best possible way to avoid personally,
Secrets stay hidden and no ones affected,
The atmospheres foggy and no ones rejected,
A hand shake and a smile and I'm on my way,
With few words and a nod with not much to say,
You would think this is peace and it would be undisturbing,
And yet there is something so perfect about it that feels so unnerving,
The bond is surreal like dancing on clouds,
No longer does it seem normal and intimidation is found,
If you start to share your heart the people will scatter,
As if your breaking their rules or disrupting their manner,
You have just opened a door to them that looks so familiar,
But then they turn on the nostalgia for the imitation seems better.
The Long Last Summer’s Past
By David J Walker
The shrilled ring of the
School bell
Was the first call of
The last days of another
departed summer
The boys laced on new
Tennis shoes
The girls tried on
New dresses
The sleepy heads of those
Who could not sleep , who could not
Keep their eyes closed in
Anticipation of the first day of classes
The farm like crop-rows of kids
In school yards
Forming lines of covens of
Familiar faces
It was all a tradition of
The next Fall
And the comfort of
A needed belonging
And now,
So far away from that place
In a distant time
And space
There is a longing
To again line up by class
And nervously giggle
In the voices of children
Singing the anthem
Pledging allegiance
Proclaiming AMEN to
A prayer
That begins another
Day of learning
The yesterdays of
Schoolboys and schoolgirls
And daydreams of
Natural yearnings
Of the long last
Summers past
Lyrics from the heart
Captured at the start
From the first word,
You do what you do
And I cannot take
My ears off of you
An extraordinary voice
My heart had no choice
From the first note,
You do what you do
And I cannot take
My ears off of you
The wink of the eye
The charm of the guy
From the first word,
You do what you do
And I cannot take
My ears off of you
The shy, boyish smile
The clean, cool style
From the first note,
You do what you do
And I cannot take
My ears off of you
Still none greater than
That true gentle man
From the first word,
You do what you do
And I cannot take
My ears off of you.
(October 16th, 2022)
The number of us children growing up was eight.
Each Thursday night was special, for our Dad got paid,
and we would eagerly and hungrily await
his bringing Henry’s fries and burgers home. Hurray!
We weren’t allowed to pick and choose; we had to take
two burgers each with “everything” and one bag of fries.
While we grabbed our own allotment, happy to partake,
Jenny scraped off from her burgers -onions she despised!
Dori chewed so slowly, from her we all would steal.
The baby, Theadora, just sat there and played
with her food. I was strange and always made this deal:
Both my burgers for two brothers’ French fries I would trade.
And so the number of my French fries always came to three.
Even with no burgers, I loved each Thursday night.
for the Henry’s fast food and time with family.
Oh, to go back to those days with loved ones in my sight!
*Henry's Hamburgers was the name of a fast food place in my hometown
For Paula Swanson's "Traditions" Poetry Contest