Long Nostalgiame Poems
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When I esteemed not myself, you were out there.
Living, learning, seeking, somewhere, wanting,
Each sorrow held emptiness.
We had not met; I had not loved myself.
Life was young and I was seeking, too.
No positive complement was retained within my mind.
A courteous reply and disbelief raging within said, “Thank you.”
Education, I thought, should make me important.
So, I sat out to obtain it, lots of it!
Direction-less, I studied this and that and something else.
Science. Certainly if I study that, I will be important.
So, I did; and struggled all the way.
Yet, there I was, still feeling unimportant.
I had picked my weakness as my goal.
Some degree of success was gained, a B.S. in the Sciences.
Yet, still, I esteemed not myself.
Trying to love, but not feeling loved and not loving myself.
And not really loving anyone, I guess, and life went on.
Art! If I were an artist, that would make me important.
I had always loved art, but thought that I had no talent.
My childhood neighbor, an artist, said that I did.
I believed him because I want to believe, and I began.
Painting-by-painting, mood-by-mood, I put paint on canvas.
Encouragement came from here and there, but not success.
I esteemed not myself, until one day, when I found a special church.
A church that taught me that I was a child of God,
Unique, with special talents, and loved by Heavenly Father –
I started listening; I started believing, really believing.
Success was knocking at my door; my self-esteem began budding.
I set out to study art formally at college…not for importance,
But for myself, to share my heart and to bring joy, hopefully.
Painting and creating brought me great pleasure, inadequacies and all.
My self-esteem was growing, at last.
Then you came into my life and loved everything about me.
Unconditionally, tenderly, caring, you gave strength.
My self-esteem soared; my love for God was in place.
And poetry, which had been laced within myself, spoke out!
Self-esteem, purpose in life, and love was found in one package…me.
Loving myself took a long and stormy search, but it came, at last!
Then, our wanting became joy; we esteemed and loved equally.
These empty paths have risen their names
like a flower withdrawn in the middle of a winter's storm
ready to show it's beauty to the world
again.
Missing the rain's taste on my lips
while dancing in the start of a journey
the end of the dawn.
Nostalgic melodies through the labyrinth of my mind.
I never found the creepy monster
so I gained no freedom
nor redemption
as I continued searching for the light of a lost sun.
This forgiveness I could not offer
as my hands were too carved and empty
all these feelings kept falling like sand.
Time still writes its' words of lust on my skin.
Papers are floating in the sea
naked and unprotected
like my promises.
These winds belonging to Ikarus
are now in the bottom of the ocean
close to a small boat with no treasure.
The distant orders of obligation brought fire
in our earth, in our homes.
Like Neronas I am watching my country in flames
enjoying the music of fire
the little sparks of hope that recognize existing life.
How could I forget or compare these nights of escape
to any others?
How could I use the same rope, the same effort
to leave the room I was trapped for so many years
when all I have left is a memory of a touch?
In films I watch you being so far
like you never existed
like a dialogue without meaning
somehow fragile
somehow scary.
Soul's instincts trembling as I am walking the same roads
trying to find the map for a journey
I never dared
for a country with unknown name.
Cruel decisions, unforgettable dimensions
of a reality we learn to watch with only two eyes.
Missing the rain's taste on my lips
while dancing in the middle of my dreams
to the start of a myth
I hope you love me still
as lights are passing through the windows' edges
winds I could not carry anymore
yet you gave them
to send me to the sun
and let me burn flaming my mistakes
with all secrets I kept for the place
we would meet.
Unknown nights behind their stars they hide
as I lay upon my future
as I carry the loads of a past I could not afford
Yet trembled in scenes of lasting heaven
majorities of shaken truths fallen in planet's egoism
to keep surviving the terror of continuing.
Form:
On Memorial Day I am haunted and flooded with so much grief.
My Mother lies next to my Grandmother and they next to my Great Aunt.
My Fathers name is there, too, but blessedly he’s not there yet.
Such great memories are restored as I look at each stone.
Once again I’m a rambling child with no kids of my own.
I remember the safety they afforded me, and all the treats and their love.
All their little sacrifices they gave, when I was still too young to know.
Why did I chase after a kitten when Grandma was so close by my side?
A simple tug on her skirt and she would of hugged me and smiled with pride.
Why was I discovering butterflies, when my Great Aunt was close there too?
She made the best pies EVER from scratch while I played in another room.
Why did I take Mom for granted… when as a child she gave me so much?
What I wouldn’t give for her gentle touch… and another soothing hug…
And Grandpa lies by Grandma… he was always repairing something or by her side.
And now there are all my aunts, uncles, and cousins that are all scattered around.
They made Christmas my favorite time as their talk and laughter rang out.
They’d laugh, talk, and enjoy each other’s company, as I’m sure now they do.
I can’t imagine them in any other way, than at my Grandma’s on those wonderful
days.
We’d sit down to a holiday feast with everyone all around and it all seemed like play.
Were they then thinking of others that they knew from long ago?
As I walk around the graveyard picking out old friends, I remember their wistful
looks…
They did the same each year, as they talked about the past even back then.
Perhaps its time my stone goes there, though I’ve a few more years to go.
That will help my children when it’s also my time to go…
And surprisingly it makes me feel I’m not leaving the older family alone.
It’s like a kiss, and a tug on a skirt to leave that something behind.
It’s a promise… they’ll be remembered until it too, is my time…
Until then I’ll bring my children and tell stories from long ago…
One day a year can’t be too much since it’s memories that I bestow.
And they all simply add up to the life that I have known.
I sat at the counter in the corner coffee shop sipping a latte. It was a dark dreary
rainy day. I was lost in my own thoughts when a woman brushed my side and sat next to
me. Removing her coat she smiled and ordered a sweet tea. I could not help but notice her
striking beauty. The smell of her perfume was intoxicating. Her aura was very stimulating.
I picked up my newspaper to distract my thoughts. I prayed she would not hear my
pounding heart for surely I would be caught. But d***-it, she radiated so much sexual
energy. I felt the intense arousal surfice from deep within me.
She made casual conversation with the woman next to her. All I heard was their
murmur.Her head was facing the woman and so I took that time to look her over a bit. I felt
like a nitwit. My heart hammered in my chest. Her black turtle neck sweater snug on her
voluptuous breasts. She was surely blessed. I never knew such hunger could manifest. Her
dark raven hair was pulled back in a pony tail. I had an uncontrolible urge to lean over and
give her shiny hair a smell. I noticed the curve of her pretty ear, and the dangling diamond
that sparked like a chandelier. I then felt a sudden urge of fear. Her head turned and
looked me in the eye. I wanted to disappear. I wanted to die. I put my hand on my
shaking thigh. I averted my eyes, reached into my levi's and pulled out a five dollar bill. I
was so embarrassed and felt suddenly ill. I placed the money on the counter, grabbed my
coat and got up to leave. As I got to the entrance the woman called out to me. Smiling she
walked towards me with a seductive sway in her hips. As she was approaching me she
licked her full lucious lips. She reached out with my wallet in her hand. "In your sudden
rush to leave you dropped this funnyman." She winked and said. My face turned beet red.
I felt beads of perspiration at the top of my head. I grabbed my wallet from her and turned
and fled!
continued in Pt2
The bells call to me from
My home in Tuscany
I will walk again across the bridge
and over the hill to a hundred smaller hills
Vineyards abound grapes ripe and falling
to the ground
The mornings are cool and the clouds lay
low on the top of the hills. They cover
all the Vines with heavenly droplets
When the sun rises all you can see for miles
are deep purple clusters shimmering as
if they were the pot of gold at rainbows end
The rich earth under foot comes alive with
the essence of spiced Carmenere, mushrooms
with a light scent of Ginger
The soil is so soft and inviting like a beautiful
women it beckons you to walk with her
As your walking you notice the many colors
of orange and golden hues that decorate the
Landscape
The old houses are much in the same with the
exception of the doors. You may see burgundy
to bright red, green and even purple to catch
your eye and fill your heart with remembrance
Bread, fresh bread you might smell wafting across
you along with the aroma of freshly ground coffee
so rich you can taste it when you inhale
There is a special time of the season when the
Sun flowers are in bloom. They can be seen as
far as your eyes may travel and are breathtaking
from any view
We are definitely visitors in this most beautiful
city in all the world. I can only stay a short while
because the enchantment of it touches my soul
This is a magical place and I feel that if I visit
for to long it will disappear and be gone to me
forever
As A young women I found myself there
It is the only place in all the world that I feel
welcomed and truly loved
It doesn't judge, it takes you in and you become
a part of all of it. Some time very soon I will return
once more
I want to feel the Sun and see the cloud
shadows fall over the hills in the late afternoon
I want to try to find myself again and perhaps
I will finish what life started for me so very
long ago
The bells call to me from
My home in Tuscany...
It could have been you
Hiding behind the post
Stretching out your arms
Your tiny face upturned
To the early morning sun
Waving at me softly
While swaying with the breeze
It was only wishful thinking...
But you look so much the same
that I walked a little closer
and nearly called your name
A scent so very subtle
Drifted through the air
Reminding me of the last time
I tied a ribbon in your hair
I picked the wildflower for you
But you’re much too far away
Shall wilt before you see it
This one I picked today
Against the velvet petals
You won’t get to press your face
But together we will pick the one
That grows up in its place
I’ll save this in our special book
Pressed between the pages
And hide it in our secret place
We’ve known about for ages
The next time that you come again....
You’ll know right where to look!
Grandma's Apron
In the corner I see a folded apron, brown with years of stain.
As I draw it to my searching eyes, I see the sweat and feel the pain.
All the years of toiling is over, the apron will never wrap around.
The time is past for the pressure, no more soil will there be ground.
The sweat is from the hot summers, when there was only blistering air,
The room was filled with heat, so hot it climbed the stair.
I watched her cooking from on high, quietly perched on the top step,
For I didn't dare to bother her, or Grandpa would beat me with a strap.
Grandpa was not a very nice person, he was always growling and yelling,
And on a few rare occasions, he would beat her, but I'm not telling.
He said it would be very bad for me, if I told my mother the real story.
Why grandma's arm was broken, grandma told me not to worry.
She would just turn her eyes toward heaven, and mutter a silent prayer for him.
Why she didn't pray for herself, that subject seemed so dim.
But now she isn't around anymore, to toil all day in the kitchen.
With all the pots and pans silent, her thread and needle for quick stitching.
What she said the day before she left; I will think of now and ever.
She said that she loved him still, and she would love him forever.
Now I have my own kitchen, where I go to cook a meal.
I go to that place quite often, where remembrance I do steal.
As I take a pot off the hook, I turn the air conditioner off.
I like to feel the heat on my face, so hot it makes me cough.
I try to see my grandma's face, always smiling and full of cheer.
Though her row was full of weeds, I never saw her shed one tear.
God has her now, in His kitchen, I'll bet that He appreciates her cooking.
As fine as any as He has ever had, I can tell you that without looking.
by Allen R Cleveland
06/22/98
Form:
Tonight, after winning a hard felt battle with self, I felt the joy of that blessed
excellence of knowing that through all of the confusion, you tried your best. Tonight,
after winning a hard felt battle with self, I walked through my front door and my
youngest’s eyes lit up with expectation, and I felt the light of God.
I often meditate on my ingratitude to have what some men might kill for and still want
more, but there is a hunger that is searching for a blessed light beyond my greatest
thoughts and yet still attainable.
Sometimes as the fundamentalists accuse me and mine of heresy, I am made alive with
furious anger at their presumption, yet still they make me come alive and so they must
share the scent of God on battered souls that scarcely see through the pain of this
world’s rejection, for I can respect their courage to stand in some belief, rather than
hide beneath the obscuring visage of cynicism.
I have heard so many different truths, all told with conviction, that I am convinced of a
light that burns brighter than any system of opinion or façade of knowing faith. And when
I tell this light that I am a coward, she smiles and grabs me, she grabs me and shakes me
until I am over run with laughter and fully free from the memory of my shortcomings.
Yes, indeed, the world is in an uproar as our light shines from the silliness of self
importance to the serious foreboding of laughter. For some days, I care little about my
neighbor’s stance on the public option, and instead lay empty in dire thirst for a smile.
For I am coming to believe that surrounding the tumult of this spinning rock, is a smile
just large enough to hold us steady. For I am come to believe that at our core, we long
to share a smile across the lines of division, and when we’ve won the battle for our soul,
that tears would soon to follow.
Mothballs and Lavender
There’s a rug on the hearth and a fire in the grate
and Grandma and Grandad sit with me to wait
while the black-leaded oven is cooking our tea
of ‘tatty-ash’ stew made especially for me.
We’re red hot on our fronts, but cold on our backs,
with drafts round our feet as the fire draws air back.
But we’re warm in our hearts and as cosy as toast,
for dinner we’d all shared Gran’s tasty beef roast.
I can stay for the weekend and will sleep here you see,
on my own in the spare room, when I’ve had my tea.
There’s real flannel sheets and a big comfy bed
with soft feather pillows to lay down my head.
When I’ve eaten my tea Gran will take me upstairs
and stay by my side while I’m saying my prayers.
She’ll tuck in my blankets and kiss me goodnight,
then wish me ‘God Bless’ as she bids me sleep tight.
The sweet smell of lavender rests on the air
from the bunches my Grandma has hung everywhere.
But I know if I open the drawers by the walls,
I’ll wrinkle my nose from the smell of mothballs.
I lay there and think of good things while I rest,
at home my own bedroom is one of the best.
A computer and tele’, and my own phone as well,
why is it Gran’s house then can cast such a spell?
I know everyone loves me, both here and at home,
but staying at Grandma’s makes me feel quite grown.
I find when I’m here, then I do not run wild,
and they never treat me like I was a child.
The thing I’ve decided that I like most here
is the feeling I’m safe and have nothing to fear.
The way they both speak in a soft gentle tone,
it’s much quieter here than it is back at home.
But the thing I love best when I’m lying in bed
is the smell of the room that floats all round my head.
Yes, the smell of the lavender Gran hangs on the walls
and the smell from the drawers of my Grandad’s mothballs!
Ivor G Davies
Good Examples Made My Life…
WHEN I WAS A CHILD…
Father made a living providing a nice life.
Mother, was homemaker, caregiver, and wife.
Throughout the years, I watched those two.
Trying to find a pleasant life’s view.
I went to church when I was young.
My faith upon grown-up examples was hung.
When reality struck, it hit very hard,
For several years, my heart felt charred.
WHEN I WAS DISTROUGHT…
God sent two young men, clean cut, alert
Dressed in dark suits; wearing white shirts
Tap tap tapping on my front door.
They changed my for life evermore—
They brought me back into God’s groove.
But never knew it because I moved.
They said the words that sparked my heart.
Words once lost before a fresh start.
WHEN I NEEDED HELP…
There once was that man, long ago
That helped me even though I said, “No”
I was changing my own flat tire; avoiding ire.
Just like always, shunning manly desires.
Gently jumping I bounced on my stuck lug wrench.
So, like many times before moving inch by inch.
He spoke of his family and his love for his wife.
I let him help; as promised he gave me no strife.
LIFE WENT ON…
I reached in my heart,
Opened up and let God take part.
I read His word; went back to church.
Sat each Sunday on pews of birch.
As I grew old, life’s thoughts reran.
My daughters were married, my son a man.
Now, I thank the Lord that is up above.
For the blessings of love He sent to me.
MANY YEARS PAST and I still remember …
God sent two young men, clean cut, alert
Dressed in dark suits; wearing white shirts
Tap tap tapping on my front door.
© Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen
March 16, 2010
Poetic form: Rhyme