Long Nostalgiadad Poems
Long Nostalgiadad Poems. Below are the most popular long Nostalgiadad by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nostalgiadad poems by poem length and keyword.
The cigar box reposed upon the closet shelf for nigh on fifty years.
Oft his family wondered what it held. Perhaps some treasured souvenirs?
The old man, a veteran, had fought in the European Theater of Operations.
He never talked about that nor did he ever boast of any special decorations.
Alas, he mustered for that final call of the roll to begin his eternal bourne.
His passing left behind a loving family and a grateful nation to mourn.
Rifle shots echoed o'er the hills - the clarion sound of "Taps" was played.
The Chaplain rendered words of hope and in hallowed clay he was laid.
His son sorted through his Dad's things learning facts he never knew.
Neatly folded in a trunk was his army uniform looking almost new.
He found hundreds of ribbon-bound V-mail letters to his beloved wife,
Expressing his love and hope for their life together beyond the terrible strife.
He was curious about the cigar box and pulled it down from the shelf.
There he found treasured things that his Dad had kept to himself.
His dog tags on a chain, faded snapshots of his wife and old army pals,
Staff sergeant chevrons, his honorable discharge and some old decals.
He choked back tears of pride as he discovered the coveted Silver Star,
And the citation that read of his bravery for heroic actions on the Saar!
There was also a Purple Heart and two Bronze Star Medals he had earned.
He was in awe of his humble but heroic Dad and the things he had learned!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
There are so many memories of Hoosier farm life that I remember,
But one in particular I recall occured each cold and drear November.
Dad would proclaim, "The old boar has reached his maximum weight!"
That meant the lumberin' old feller was about to meet his fate!
After Dad had done him in, puttin' an end to his squeals,
He was hoisted by block and tackle and strung up by his heels.
Dad wouldn't abide us kids standin' around unoccupied,
So we were put to work scrapin' the bristles off its hide!
Mom had a tradition we always looked forward to with delight.
She always fixed fresh tenderloins for supper that first night!
Late into the night Dad ground meat to stuff for the sausage,
That he had seasoned liberally with red peppers and pungent sage!
Only Dad handled the curin' of the savory hams and bacon;
He had a knack for smokin' and tenderizin' 'em - expert care was taken!
A concoction called souse was made from leftover scraps of meat.
I don't know which I loathed the most - that or the pickled pigs feet!
I'm told folks don't render their own pork much any more.
Its more convenient to buy it neatly packaged at the local store.
But for my money there ain't no better ham, bacon or sausage to be had,
Than that prepared and cured on the farm by my dear old Dad!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)