Long Nostalgiaold Poems
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My grandkids gather around my hearth and think it's so great,
To listen to tales of my youth that to them I love to relate.
They sit with mouths agape and with attentive ear,
As I tell them how it was in good old yesteryear!
"There was no such thing as television or amazing videos,
Tho' we had picture shows and mysterious radios.
The baffling computer was far beyond my generation,
Tho' we had typewriters and ciphered on fingers for calculation!"
"Cars now start with the twist of a key and are so very swank,
But we started our old jalopies with a knuckle-busting crank!
There's even a turn signal now to relay your turn intention;
We hung an arm out the window prior to this invention!"
"We had no fancy phones with touchtone, pictures and such.
Our phone hung on a wall - you turned a crank to get in touch.
Scratchy platters spun on a Victrola, playing music to please.
Today the latest and greatest is boom boxes, DVDs and CDs!"
"We had no comfortable facilitiy nowadays called a bath;
We wended our way on moonless nights down a dark and lonely path!"
My grandkids can't believe it when I tell them all this stuff!
All they can say is, "Grandpa, you sure did have it rough!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired, (© All Rights Reserved)
There it is displayed in my den, an old oaken swivel chair.
They were going to dispose of it thinking it beyond repair!
It graced the old court house for decades serving a colorful cast.
Many notions of its use crossed my mind as I mused about its past!
A judge may have used it as he sat upon the bench so just,
Dispensing justice to hapless souls at whom the book was thrust!
Perhaps a drowsy bailiff occupied it trying a yawn to suppress,
During a boring trial, praying the judge would declare a recess!
Did a juror slump in it listening to evidence with his peers,
Anxious to flee the place to enjoy a couple of beers?
Perhaps an attorney used it, evincing the usual respect,
As he leaped to his feet proclaiming, "Your Honor, I object!"
It could have been reserved to confine an arrogant desperado,
Lounging in the chair to impress with his pretense at bravado!
I suspect though, that it was put to more mundane use,
By a green eye-shaded grumpy clerk, managing to be obtuse!
The old chair squeaks a lot and if you tilt back too far, beware,
Ere it dump you on the floor, leaving your arms flailing in the air!
Though its many idiosyncrasies someday may harm my spine,
I'm glad I rescued it - its a dear old chum of mine!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
Who will come with me?
To pick the wild flowers for mother today
To chase butterflies and dance in the Sun's rays
Who will come with me?
To climb the old Elm tree and rob the Robin's nest
To swing from her branches than in her shade rest
Who will come with me?
To lie upon the clover on top of the hill
To watch the fluffy clouds against the blue still
Who will come with me?
To throw the sticks and play fetch with the ole hound dog
To the dirt road and chase the horn frogs
Who will come with me?
To the old swimming hole
To swim in waters so fresh and cold
Who will come with me?
To watch the Scissortail fly as he catches flies
To watch the honey bees return to their hive
Who will come with me?
To watch the setting Sun bow to us
To sit on the porch swing in the evening dusk
Who will come with me?
To dream dreams in slumber land
To awake and do it all again
Who will come with me?
To enjoy this gift of summer
To be a child of sweet, sweet summer
I returned to the place of my birth a few months ago.
Visiting there always gives my languid soul a glow.
The house still looks good but the old barn is showing its age.
How long it will weather the storms is difficult to gauge!
Sad to say, its once sturdy beams and doors are sagging.
Its former brilliant red paint and white trim are also lagging.
Decades of tempests and searing sun have exacted their toll.
I recall so many fond memories as about the old barn I stroll!
The old barn was our playground on snowy and rainy days.
Dad placed a hoop on a beam for our rowdy basketball plays.
Scuffling in the mow, burying ourselves in sweet-smelling hay,
We kids spent many happy hours there, whiling the time away!
All was not play for this feckless Hoosier lad.
Honest toil was proffered and expected by my Dad.
At the tender age of ten I was milking Jersey cows;
At hay-making time I was the kid sweating in the mows!
Even though the old barn is aging its hand-hewn oaken beams,
Will bind it together a few more years weathering all extremes.
'Twould be admirable if some good soul would provide the pelf,
To paint and prop it up and restore it to its former self!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Sauntering through an antique store the other day,
I chanced upon some old straight razors on display.
One struck my fancy and upon it my eyes were cast.
I couldn't help but pause and muse about its past.
A sheath of ivory encased its blade - 'twas a beauty I beheld!
I wondered by whose steady hand it had once been held.
It could've been wielded by a hobo or tycoon, I suppose,
As he deftly trimmed the mustache sprouting 'neath his nose!
Perhaps it was used by the town barber in old Cripple Creek,
To scrape the stubble from a feisty old prospector's cheek!
Or maybe Colonel Carrington used it on his perilous journey,
Leading his troops westward to foredoomed Fort Phil Kearny.
Perchance it was brandished by the impetuous Colonel Custer,
For his morning shave ere meeting his final muster!
Buffalo Bill may have used it to trim the goatee on his chin,
Carefully grooming it, so as not to nick his leathery skin!
Could it have purged the fuzz from the mug of Billy the Kid,
Before Pat Garrett cornered him and lowered on him the lid?
Whatever its storied past it now lies there in all its splendor,
For folks to admire and about its antiquity to conjecture!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)
O'er the years we've done and seen so much stuff,
And since I'm the family's self-appointed history buff,
I've collected things in many a tattered old scrap book,
Hoping future generations might enjoy taking a nostalgic look!
There are programs and photos signed by many an eminent bloke,
Recalling pleasant events and memories that such things evoke.
Even a yellowing copy of my old school grades report;
My less than stellar accomplishments will surely induce some sport!
Birthday, anniversary and valentine cards by the dozens,
From my spouse, children and legions of long-forgotten cousins.
Also, there are certificates and other awards the kids have won,
Honored for their fortitude and the hard work they had done!
Pages and pages almost too numerous to mention,
Contain memorabilia from many a boring convention.
Included are newspaper accounts of many a family episode,
Births, deaths, weddings and for a myriad of accolades bestowed!
There are reminders of trips thro' many foreign lands,
But the most precious are the things made by my kids' tiny hands;
Simple valentine and birthday cards for Mom and Dad,
Proudly presented with glowing faces and all the love they had!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(© All Rights Reserved)
What I’d give to wake in the morning and hear those church bells ring
To turn on my old black and white and hear Gene Autry sing
Turn back the time to simpler days with Roy and Dale too
Wait for the Late Show and watch the antics of Bud and Lou
All the girls thought Kookie Byrnes was really hip
Driving a convertible on Seventy Seven Sunset Strip
Kryptonite was the only thing that could make Superman falter
Ramar’s friend Charlie talked to a parrot named Walter
I watched Kitty and Chester on Gunsmoke and listened to Ricky sing
There was Circus Boy, My Friend Flicka and don’t forget Sky King
There was Jeff and Lassie, Davy Crockett and the Wild Frontier
I’d watch Robin Hood and Marian in the days of Queen Guinevere
Remember The Thin Man, The Whistler and The Shadow Knows
Alfred Hitchcock and Inner Sanctum were two of my favorite shows
I remember Milton Berle, Red Skelton, Perry Como would croon
What’s my Line, Beat the Clock and Name That Tune
The Life of Riley, Leave it to Beaver and Father Knows Best
Palladin, Sugarfoot, and Cheyenne in the Old West
Boxing from Madison Square Garden on Friday Night
I saw it all on my old black and white.
Paint was peeling off the banister
Grass needed cutting in the old back yard
Some weeds curling up around the fence
Neighbors sitting, times were hard
Burgers, dogs, pretzels and chips
Kids playing ball out front in the street
Quarter barrel on tap in the old metal tub
Back porch get together, plenty to eat
Mom had some shirts hanging on the line
Little income but no one cared
Laugher, smiles were spread around
Food and soda and beer were shared
Memorial Day would be the first
Then the Fourth of July and Labor Day
Neighbors were family way back then
We wouldn’t have it any other way
Good time would last until late at night
Just neighbors getting together sitting around
Laughing, joking, good old day stories
On the back porch is where they’d be found.
Lying in my Grandmother's old brass bed
I watch the blades of her ceiling fan slowing turning
Around and around and around again...
From the heat of this steamy July
There is no end to my yearning.
The old vintage rosebuds on this wallpaper
Speak of its long gone days now no longer new
The paper's soft faded colors
Cast a feminine pinkish haze that mix into a golden hue
On my tan rural arms and long toned legs.
Somewhere in this old farmhouse
A fly is trapped... I can hear its incessant buzzing
Making its last ditch effort
For any type of escape
I had done that same thing so long ago.
But now I am back here in this familiar room
Lying on one of my Grandmother's quilts
Pieced with love of more than hundreds of pieces squared
Each stitch handcrafted perfection,
An ancestral prize to be loved and cherished.
Softened by the decades of delicate washings
I can smell the breezes from its last airing
I can feel my Grandmother's loving embrace
In this quilt that was so intricately made
With so much love and caring.
Each piece of the hundreds of fabrics
Each of the thousands of tiny knots
That were cut by hand and tied
Were executed with the surgical precision
Of a lifelong Quilter's eye.
Love radiates from this heirloom blanket
Created by my Grandmother's gorgeous vision.
Each block and stitch
That were placed by hand
A kaleidoscope of patterns was her mission.
It will be my lifelong reminder
Of a life that was well lived
Of my Grandmother's love and caring
A wonderful remembrance of her talents and gifts
That I too, can share someday.
And so back in her room I find myself
Lying on my Grandmother's quilt
Watching the fan blades go around and around
Reflecting on my Grandmother's past
Wondering if she ever thought about me
What it would have been like
To have left this strong old farmhouse
To have left these safe ancestral lands
For the biggest of the big cities...
And then to have decided to come back.
(January 27, 2011 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2011 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
I saw a buggy at the antique store today, its beauty unsurpassed!
I couldn't help but sit and muse awhile about its esoteric past.
It was shiny black with roll-up curtains to fend the stormy weather.
Its lone seat was hand-tooled in the finest of cowhide leather!
I pictured it being pulled by a svelte, fine-blooded horse,
Clad in silver embossed harness, the finest to be had of course!
Seated inside was a young swain with a beauty at his side,
Awaiting the right moment to ask her to be his bride!
Or maybe an old country doctor used it to visit the lame and sick,
Or to deliver a babe, tho' the roads were blocked by snow and slick!
Could a veterinarian have owned it, visiting far-flung farms,
Attending to the maladies of animals, easing farmer's alarms?
Perhaps a revered old pastor once used it to visit his fold,
To nurture languid souls and bring solace to the old.
Then there was the usual huckster prowling from town to town,
Selling snake oil and other elixirs, he of nefarious renown!
Who knows, it could have been used by such as Carrie Nation,
Wielding her axe, creating havoc while preaching God's salvation!
Whatever its past it now reposes in regal grandeur,
For folks to admire and about its past to conjecture!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired (© All Rights Reserved)