Long Nostalgiafamily Poems
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It does my heart good thinking of childhood memories
When the only thing that was important were families.
Friends made at a young age have now become old friends.
But the family bonds that were made will never end.
With five brothers, a sister and very colorful parents
We had the ability to stand proud despite our appearance.
We lived south of town, many referred to as the boondocks
Our clothes came from catalogs and never store bought.
Father played guitar and harmonica, quite the music man
Every weekend at our home was gathered a different band.
My love for music came honestly from my dearest Dad
I would fill in playing instruments when no one else was to be had.
Mother had a heart of gold and people all around knew
If you walked in she'd ask, "Would you like a drink or some stew?"
Hobos from the train tracks would wonder to our doorstep
Knowing they'd be fed with hopes my father wouldn't catch.
Exciting were my summers spent with my Grandmother
She chose to take only me and never the others.
Her Irish ways and stern body of healthy stature
Made her a hard soul to understand but I so loved her.
Most of the friends of my parents had many children also
It was a pleasure to see them as they come and go.
My siblings were the only companions with which to play
So when company came over always one child would stay.
The Ohio River had many wondrous things to offer as a child
We would swim, fish or skip stones and then stop for awhile.
All gathered to drink Kool-Aid and eat sandwiches Mom made
Then back to the water and later begging to see who stayed.
Christmas holiday was especially joyous at our home
My parents would scurry to hide toys so not one was shown.
The many toys left by Santa underneath a fresh cut tree
All these warm memories of family are very special to me.
Note: For "Heart's Warmth" contest
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)
My memories of this dear old town will
always be with me, until day I die.
Small town life will do that to you.
This little town rests in the great State
of Iowa, where I spent the first 34 years of my life.
My dear dog Shep and I shared a lot of beautiful
memories in this wonderful place.
My poems of my Grandma took place here.
Going to double feature movies,
were seen at the Strand and Iowa theaters.
Boy hood chums and I had our summers
there, with Shep tagging along on our bike
rides to the country side and beyound.
Spending a lot of time at the Rexall Drug
at the soda fountain reading my comic books by
the hour.
Sunday afternoons were special, as sister
and I would go up town to get a six pack of
bottle Pepsi and a romance magzine for her
and a comic or two for me.
Many family members are buried there at
Hazelwood Cemetery, someday I'm going back
either to live there or be buried in the old cemetery
with my family and friends to keep
me company, so many precious and tear filled
memories and so many happy days of joy,
so Grinnell am still loving you,
and will be back someday, so until then
farewell my friend.
written 5-12-11
Lived there from 1952-1956
I was doing yard work the other day,
planting some flowers all around.
While digging in dirt, close to the fence,
I heard a clackity sound.
As if the metal of the spade was hitting some wood
and some metal, too, I heard.
To my surprise, I remembered just then,
the chirping of the birds.
See, there was a time, for memories sake,
when my family and I stored our thoughts
within a chest of metal and wood,
from the antique store, we bought.
We placed the chest out in the yard
on a bright and sunny day
and while digging the hole to place it in
the birds were just chirping away.
My sons and my daughters, my wife and I
placed pictures and such within
So, one day in the future, when we need it most,
the memories will come back to us again.
So, just knowing they’re there, is memory enough
for me to be content for now.
One day when my children have all grown up,
my wife and I will dig deep down.
So, I covered my hole with plenty of dirt,
but, first threw flower seeds in
with hopes that the memories, like seeds that they are,
will grow and flourish, again.
So, my treasure chest, there, remains in the yard
waiting for that one special day
when my family and I need to return
to those years that have gotten away
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.