Childhood Nostalgia Poems

      Ah, the fragrant fumes of paint drying on a picket fence
        ...

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The red earth remembers my name,
whispers it in the dust that rises,
welcoming me home, not as I was,
but as I have become.

The streets hum, alive...

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I remember how 
you used to roll
your popcorn popper
across the floor grinning
and not paying attention
to where you were going—
and how happily you 
pretended to drive
the...

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They stood like rhymes
on fencepost spines
with wisdom scrawled
in shaving thymes—
a roadside gospel,
terse and sweet
that preached with
meter, grit, and heat.

Rosemary likes
a clean-shaved man,
if wooing her
is in...

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A silver clamshell or a golden hue, 
The Game & Watch, a wonder fresh and new. 
With simple screens of liquid crystal grey, 
It stole...

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A chunky plastic brick held firm in hand, 
The walkie talkie bridging o'er the land 
Or just the backyard fence, a whispered plea, 
Connecting voices...

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streams of mud


we played in shallow streams of muck
where there was no black, no white
we were all mud-packed kids
crusty-skinned little boys who knew the sludge...

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Whispers of May Rain:
Nature’s Embrace in the Hmar Hills

May rain arrives with a scented sweep,
Over the Hmar Hills, where old memories sleep.

Each droplet recalls a...

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The folded board, a map of childhood dreams,
Unfurled upon the rug in sunlit streams.
Familiar streets from Baltic to the Park,
A tiny metal shoe to leave...

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Laughter of children and the dull clatter of small feet on aged wood. The congestion of men's voices with talk of crops, rain, and "remembering...

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The pixelated maze, a vibrant square,
Where Bomberman strode without a single care.
A grid of blocks, some breakable and weak,
While others stood, a fortress we would...

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You were there
before memory.

Before voices had names,
before light had meaning
you were there.

Brown as warm bread,
soft as a breath held in sleep,
you waited.
And I held you.

You...

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The van rolled in, a rugged sight,
Across the screen in fading light.
Four figures bold, a mismatched crew,
With skills unique and spirits true.

Hannibal Smith, the master...

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The scent of rain on hot asphalt,
unearths a ghost of childhood summers,
barefoot and reckless.

A melody drifts from a passing car,
a forgotten soundtrack to teenage dreams,
suddenly...

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A pixelated egg held in my hand,
A digital life I had command.
Three buttons small, a tiny screen,
A world within so bright and keen.

The beeping sound,...

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