Long Nostalgiafamily Poems
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A family lived in a little row house in Queens.
When we saw them each week, there were numerous funny scenes.
The household head was adamantly opinionated.
This loading dock foreman was grossly undereducated.
His wife Edith was unassuming and subservient.
She and daughter Gloria witnessed many an event.
In the living room, raucous arguments we saw,
as he clashed with his educated liberal son-in-law.
Gloria’s husband was a live-in student named Mike.
This “meathead” was someone the father-in-law did not like.
For years, Archie called Mike a “dumb Polack”.
On television ratings, this family had a lock.
In the seventies, the Bunkers were a sensation.
We can still see the show’s reruns in syndication.
The old rocker reposed by the hearth longer than I can remember.
'Twas Grandma's favorite chair, she cherished it as a family member!
From it she dispensed abounding love, wisdom and wit,
Rhythmically rocking, never minding the squeaks it would emit!
What a special privilege it was to recline at her feet,
Enthralled by tales of her past, of which her repertoire was replete!
As she grew older, tho' her gnarled fingers were not as nimble,
She'd still relax in the rocker with needle, thread and thimble!
In the eventide, she'd read her Bible, glasses perched upon her nose,
Then afterwards with Tabby in her lap, take her usual doze.
Later, the family would gather around her and the chair,
To reminisce, sing, then kneel for evening prayer.
The cat invariably got his tail crushed as Grandma rocked the chair,
Creating a fit of yowling, hissing and an inscrutable glare!
But the wily old dog learned from the first day of his birth,
To give Grandma and her rocker a very cautious berth!
Tho' Grandma and her rocking chair are no longer around,
Precious memories of her holding sway in that old rocker abound.
I suspect that on the other side of that far and mysterious veil,
She presides in a rocker, as saints gather to hear her regale!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
An old man returned to the rustic cabin where he was born.
There it stood midst a grove of pines, tumble-down, forlorn.
The home he loved in his youth now stood in a shambles,
Nearly overgrown with creeping vines and thorny brambles.
The horseshoe over the door was still there, albeit a bit askew.
Rusty hinges protested as he opened the door and ventured thro'.
He was overwhelmed by emotion as he recalled his family cast,
The good times, the bad times, distant shadows of the past.
He could see his dear old Dad burdened with years of toil,
As he strove to feed his family on forty-acres of stony soil.
He never aspired to accrue any transient worldly treasure.
His love for God and his family was ever his only pleasure.
He learned at his Mother's knee to shun all evil and do good.
How he longed once again to embrace her, if he only could.
He recalled Christmases, tho' often love was all she could give,
And snuggling 'neath her cozy quilts, times he yearned to relive.
He knelt by the hearth, there he sensed his old dog, Champ,
Content, while a boy lay reading by the glow of a coal oil lamp.
The old man closed the sagging door and muttering a last goodbye,
Slowly walked away, cherishing fond memories with a pensive sigh.
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Today I made my periodic visit to the local antique store.
The place was cluttered with mostly useless stuff galore.
But what attracted me as soon as I walked in the door,
Was a pile of old photographs that people didn't want anymore.
Some from days of yore were very, very amusing,
But viewing all of them provoked in me some melancholy musing.
Those somber and scowling faces peering back at me,
Were once precious members of someone's family tree!
One showed two pretty little girls each holding the other's hand.
Others showed soldiers in uniform looking so handsome and grand.
Many showed someone's beloved old mom and dad.
Some with mama and papa posing stiffly with their little tad.
One intriguing photo showed ladies holding skirts above the knee,
Which was scandalous in Victorian times, I think you will agree!
Another curious one showed a woman behind a horse and plow!
Nowadays, about that, women's lib would surely raise a row!
'Tis regrettable that such precious memories heedlessly cast away,
Now lay upon a cluttered table for sensational display!
It might have been of special worth for ensuing generations,
To cherish those pictures of ancestors who laid family foundations!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)