Soft rock; smooth music filling the air.
A gentle nostalgia that makes thoughts wander more than usual.
A sweet presence flutters around the spectrum.
Not physically, just a simple spark of imagination, that one that turns ordinary moments into small echoes.
A good moment for the brain to daydream and float, defying the heavy gravity.
Couples coming and going, filling the sidewalks with muffled chatter that breaks the quiet one dives into.
A few laughs are coming from who knows where; nothing remarkable.
When all that passes, the surroundings become even quieter than before.
Mowing the lawn, folding the laundry, reading a little of something that one can’t quite remember now.
Simple tasks. Repetitive motions.
But beneath them, questions kept circling:
What if things had been different?
What if the timing, the courage, or fate had shifted just a little?
Would this day have felt less empty?
Less sad and nostalgic?
Nobody has an answer.
Only the music, the chores, and the quietness that sometimes aches recreate a scene of another version of this life.
Nostalgic memory
nerve nodules ache for blissed breathy musical beats
reverie
I hear music
for dances of slow life longing
cubic
Birdsong
in garden heats
prong
Nostalgic memory
for dances of slow life longing
prong
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The rusty chains still sing to me
of summers lost in lemon tea,
when sky was high and grass was green,
and I could touch the clouds, it seemed.
The wood is split where laughs once grew,
the empty seat now holds just the morning dew~
yet when I push with my phantom hands,
the ghosts of youthful joy sometimes refuse to land.
Oh, let me swing once more! Just once! And then
I’ll pack up my childhood once again
Until I stumble over time’s invisible gate.
Then my nostalgic feelings return, oscillate.
as time goes by, older people get nostalgic mood and memories!
pugnacious
zest
yet
quiet
rumanative
provocative
tracing
ironic
eloquence
in
slightly
prosaic
sound
&shape
oscillating
'twixt silence
&
musings
of
metaphor
implicit
&spelled out
in
an enlivened
voice
Bored with urban life,
Once I went to my hometown.
Nostalgic I have become
Recollecting the thrill
Of plucking guavas,
Of having silly fights with friends,
And adventures in fields.
I remember, oh how I remember
The days were now long gone.
Oh. How we loved to meander
Along the paths that winded
The slopes of our hill sides,
Where fragrant firs and larches
Embellished the surrounding hills.
Oh, how I remember the ambience,
The exotic finches flying from tree to tree,
Their luscious serenades echoing around,
While my love and I would stroll over cobbles
Our hands entwined in limitless love.
We’d kiss and hug as we would stop
To hear the lullabies of the finches fine.
I remember, oh how I remember
The day we went to a large store
When she suddenly fainted and fell.
The trip to hospital was long and traffic
Was congested. I held her hand while
The paramedics did their best. What was wrong?
She did not survive. Dreadfully, I could only cry.
A middling pudding on the table
flies hover in the livery stable
Mud-covered boots ascend to garrets
frowzy days London inherits
Dickensian scenes to rive your heart
by urchins, street vendors torn apart
Yankees delight in their ‘good old days’
Englishmen sniff the rot of decay
Our thoughts, like the sea with its white pebbles,
painted by its foam.
The waves come little by little, to halt them.
There, I see Greece.
Beneath the clouds that hide the sun,
its furrows moving back and forth like visitors.
They were forgotten on a pale islet at the horizon, where the gaze can reach.
In a small glass of red wine and a slice of bread,
behind the cornfields.
There, I see Greece.
In my grandparents’ house I left my memories in the yard,
in the scent of Sunday lunch.
THIS OLD HOUSE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
HOME
loving
idyllic
through open windows
time drifts by soft and slow
heartbeat of my past remains
“Lavender memories linger.”
Poem written for and submitted to “Pyramids of Clarity” Poetry Contest, Joseph May, sponsor.
vessel captivates
warm waxing finesse waning
more color less stress
glowing going with flowing
lugubrious globular!
vibrant pink guava
incandescent liquid groove~
pahoehoe lava
On dark, cold soil,
atop the soaring green turf,
lay cold, rusty, nostalgic houses.
The path that led to them
was faded and shallow,
with the feeling
it could cave in
at any moment.
Scattered along that path
were derelict vehicles
from different eras
each one different heaps of life.
Fog filled the houses.
It filled the cars too,
like a raging campfire,
too sinister
to be put out.
And yet here I am,
wandering through this old-world neighborhood,
yearning into reverie
this faded memory
feels like the perfect remedy.
A lily-white stage
once bloomed and blossomed
in rose garden plots
then time’s “green fingers”
sunk a withered root
when summer was
a caterpillar
moving at a crawl,
it became the butterfly
brightest of all
Childhood memories
come back on nostalgic track.
With naivety
I’m happy,
find the child in me.
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