Long Nostalgiame Poems
Long Nostalgiame Poems. Below are the most popular long Nostalgiame by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Nostalgiame poems by poem length and keyword.
The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
Green and warm, full of life, the forest's skirt, the Maid's delight,
where rabbits dwell in lovers’ dells, a dream in morning light.
Gold and bright, full of life, the forest's skirt and Knight's delight;
life lies in grasses high, where lovers sleep and passion cries.
White and fair, full of life, the forest's skirt of pearly white;
burrowers sleep in bowers deep, hearths alight on chill nights.
The meadow's breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew;
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
The men have made the meadow home, no rabbits now play there,
no deer appear so near the roads for cars bring them dispare.
The meadow was home to many things, butterflies, birds on wing,
yet, few can dwell where men reside, the forest's skirt swept aside.
The meadow’s breath a gift to all, the mist, the morning dew,
a silent sigh, a heartfelt call, a prayer to me and you.
On a rattler from Sydney
the windows push down,
rocking me gently
all the way home
Streaming the land
flashes me by,
hushing my body
wheels thump the night
Cigarette smoke
and beer on the stair,
laughing men wrestling
punching thin air
Quietly cheered at
life all around,
sitting and watching
to not utter a sound
A Child on the floor
having a fit,
wanting that lolly
and starting to spit !!
A ticket collector
half asleep,
counting the chickens
and watching the sheep
Tuning out
the world fades too,
to the clinking and clattering
of iron on blue
“ Love, love will keep us together, think of me baby whenever, some sweet talking girl
comes along, singing her song, don’t mess around you just got to be strong”
Nothing serious or deep, just music fluffy and light,
The tune and words fill me with the greatest delight,
I was just graduating nursing in 1975,
Filled with adventure, never felt so alive,
My car window down, hair blowing in the breeze,
Flirting with the boys, oh to be such a tease!
With the radio blasting, I’d drive home on the 401,
Knowing this new life of mine had just begun,
Wondering what the future had in store for me,
A job, marriage, and kids maybe two or three.
To this day, when I hear Captain and Tenille,
I go back to that time, so innocent and surreal.
Song by Captain and Tenille,
“Love will Keep Us Together”
Written July 16, 2011
Faded photographs; a sentimental knick knack;
a much loved movie from so many years ago.
The times I chance on things like these, it takes me back.
The person that I used to be, I hardly know.
A much loved movie from so many years ago -
so out of style today, not like it used to seem.
The person that I used to be, I hardly know.
Time brought me swiftly to the Now. It seems a dream.
So out of style today, not like it used to seem -
that saved old pair of jeans; that certain special song.
Time brought me swiftly to the Now. It seems a dream,
I grow unsure if in this new world I belong.
That saved old pair of jeans; that certain special song;
the times I chance on things like these, they take me back.
I grow unsure if in this new world I belong.
Faded photographs; a sentimental knick knack!
Inspired by Paula Swanson's "Back to Back" Contest
With my majority years long spent
I oft look back at life searching out what if's;
The decisions made at life's critical moments;
What if I had left, instead of staying?
I think of those I pushed from my life,
And others that I simply allowed to leave;
Some, I wanted to remain,
While some chose to stay, some chose to go,
And a few left and returned.
It is these who cause my heart to rejoice
Because it gives me a glimmer of hope
That they saw something in me worth returning for?
I understanding rehashing past decisions changes nothing;
Could I have been a difference maker in life
Had I chosen another path?
Perhaps not, but God often uses ordinary people
To accompluish unordinary things;
The path I have traveled in life
Has brought me to the spot in which I stand.
I love, and am Loved, and that my friends,
Makes me one thankful man.
Form:
The song came on my radio and it took me back to ten years ago
The second time I heard the song, I began to sing along
It sang about the cold sad day when the music died and went away
I missed those days when the songs were true
But I was a fan of the Quartet and the Jester too
James Dean and the girl who sang the blues
Were obituaries in the morning news
New music that they were putting out
Were mixed with drugs and political clout
With the Jester hurt and the Quartet gone
New bands would try to carry on
But the music couldn’t match the scene
Back to the days when the door was green
So I say Bye Bye to Miss American Pie
Sometimes the music can make me cry
I know down deep within my soul
I still believe in Rock N’ Roll
I was only twelve and walking down town
When I heard that the trio’s plane went down
I saw the music rearranged
The tune was different and the lyrics changed.
This song was like a nursery rhyme
Bringing memories of a different time
So I listen to it every once in a while
And remember how it made me smile
February still brings me pain
But thanks for the memories Don McLean.
Poetic tribute to Don McLean
Author of “American Pie”
This dusty rocking chair hidden for, at least, two decades
in a corner of the dark attic, where a white-haired man
used to sit in and rock himself to sleep, cuddled in a wool blanket:
can tell many how and when it was made
by that cigar-smoking grandfather of yours...
It just lay there picking up much space,
silently abandoned and not needed by anyone to lay back and gaze;
so ignored were the mastery and love that took in making it;
when I heard him stump on the long stairs,
sunshine filtered through, the unwashed window, to engage his wit....
Curious boy, staring at me with awe, you should know
that I originated from a timber forest too dense;
and the hard and thick wood was cut down by a sharp saw:
bought in the quite borough of Queens,
to be worked on by very rough hands:
with the intention of creating charm and elegance...
Take a soft rag and some furniture polish from the tiny closet,
and bring me back to the previous life of my self-importance:
my luster lasted only for fifty prosperous years,
then suddenly I was put away to face darkness;
and I longed for someone who could listen with interest,
and keep me company to forget my wretchedness...
Sympathetic boy, as I speak, write down this worth-telling story,
in your brand-new composition book with an interesting essay:
to let others know that I was a jewel that dazzled from all four corners;
when Americans fall again on hard and unacceptable times,
they can look it up to be comforted and be told how to cope with their woes,
or even how to see their hardship and deprivation a momentary demise...
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
I lifted you up in your hardest times,
and made your challenge mine...
by letting you take comfort in my inspiring words!
I exchanged my smile for yours,
so that you could be very hopeful and happy;
and whichever sacrifices and strides
it demanded, I accepted them with a great joy inside,
and today I ask you to do the same for me!
Lover, lift me up now, to help me face my days so bleak and gray;
my courage is frozen into the fearful heart that can't speak,
my enthusiasm is losing its ardor and dying away
in the gestures that showed much zeal!
Who was there to listen when the need did arise,
and you laughed in sheer surprise...
to watch the purple sunset vanish into the evening's infinity,
where all that was visible and was a spectacle of beauty?
I sang you songs that my skillful fingers
strummed on my shiny guitar, which stood amid
music books and old albums of bygone eras;
remember the thrill in my vocals and lyrics:
wasn't it amazing? Never awkward or sad!
Lover, pick up that guitar and make it come alive...
as if I were playing it with a mastery that's so inimitable
to give me back what i adored and was kind of wonderful!
Lover, lift me up now...with compassion and kindness;
my charm is not only seen in my body and smile,
but in everything you touch and feel!
And how can we cross, with little effort,
the distance between us and the twinkling stars:
to feel the peace of the Heavens above us?
Lover, lift me up now...as I reached out to you yesterday;
lover, lift me up now and heal all my hurt today!
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
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.
"Hello there, forlorn old clock upon the antique store shelf!
I can't bear to leave you there reminiscing by yourself.
You'd sure look fine reposing upon the mantel in my house!
Let me fetch some bail to redeem you from my spouse!"
Now I usually don't converse with an inanimate object,
But I thought 'twould be interesting with the clock to reflect,
Upon his ancient genesis and from whence he came.
I'll call him Mister Smith since that was the maker's name.
"I see you were born in England", then, I let him take it from there.
"I think I was born in Piddlehinton but I cannot really swear.
I 'ave a pedigree you know! I graced the palace of a king,
Where I rang me chimes, kept the time and dutifully did me thing!"
"I fell from grace and to the colonies me way I did wend,
And fell in with a kind soul I thought I could befriend.
But me melodious Westminster chimes 'e couldn't abide.
'E said I kept 'is kids and dog awake, so 'e cast me aside!"
"So that's 'ow I ended up on this bleak shelf, you see.
'Til you came along" he sobbed, "no one wanted me!"
I could see he was all 'wound up' and so to ease his tension,
I bought him, oiled his wheels and adjusted his hanging suspension!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
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