Nostalgically Poems | Examples

Ashes

The cafe burnt alive as soon as you
Set your patent leather boot inside
And walked right into this unknown,
Mysterious yet familiar world 
Of witty writers and pious poets
With their poetic pens.
My tantalizing timid eyes 
Met your musically amused eyes,
And I heard a symphony unsung,
Strange, how can you be just a stranger,
When your eyes can speak so much danger,
Then how much your heart would want to say, stranger. 
Strangers don't sing symphonies, 
Nor do they linger nostalgically 
Like a locket on an ashen neck. 
They don't even say hello,
And there I sat with my cold heart,
Wondering like a bashful bard,
What were the chances,
Those burning glances,
And you left aloofly 
With your latte
Leaving the ashes behind. 
Soot everywhere,
Here and there,
On my lips where
Your eyes lingered,
On my fingertips,
Wanting to write 
The desires of the
Waltzing, woozy heart.

Raindrops

The days when I played in them
Not listening to any words from mom.
Cherishing each drop falling on me
Feeling as though a sparrow is free
Sloshing, sploshing, and splashing
Amidst lightning flashing
Puzzling over the bubbles
Formed over the puddles
The tentative rainbows on them
Shining like the Kohinoor gem
Counting them as though stars
Or scattered pearls of Mars
Trying to collect them gladly
Seeing them break, sadly
Going on, thus, till the drops
Each last one, finally stops.
I nostalgically think of those days.
My heart beams with romantic rays.
Will they come back anymore?
This question quakes my heart's core...

Scenes of Childhood

Running fancy free into a field,
Chasing butterflies my path revealed,
My arms outstretched into the sky,
I am so happy--not caring why.
Cooled by a fragrant soft Spring breeze,
I trip and fall down to my knees,
Then wistfully gaze into the sky,
To watch the clouds drift slowly by.
Slowly my youthful mind escapes,
Into their billowy pillowy shapes,
As my youthful imagination rages,
Onto life’s unwritten pages.

I reminisce about these scenes so well,
But to them I’ve had to say farewell,
To blend with the accepted propriety
Of my adult world’s fast society.
Though I mostly do what people expect,
I sometimes upon my youth reflect,
And dream nostalgically of my life then,
Knowing I can never be that person again.

New year's echoes

Bidding adieu to a year now past,
Cherishing new dreams and hopes cast . 

From memories, you gently fade,
In echoes, where you've  stayed. 


Resolutions anew, with a  fresh start,
 Rekindling  the  spirit from the heart. 

Celebrations abound with musical delight,
In parties, under the starry night .

Left behind, bitter memories  of yesteryear's find, 
In minds ,nostalgically,
lovely moments bind.

With smiles  on the    face,
Greeting all ,a warm embrace .

Invoking God's grace, in prayers we sway, 
The New year dawns,
with peace and prosperity to convey.

Heaps of  gratitude for the year gone by, 
Solicit  divine blessings as the stars fill the sky.

Do Souls Dream?

Is death a dimension of misplaced minds
That we, as humans, cannot fathom?
When our bodies die, will we find
An existence entirely unimagined?
Are souls of the dead elated in eternity?
Do they bask in Heaven’s warmth and mirth?
Or do they look back nostalgically,
And ponder their former stay(s) on earth?
As souls drift down eternity’s stream,
Do they remain pious and devout?
When people die, do their souls dream?
And, if souls do, what do they dream about?

Soul Psychology

Souls are assigned an agenda of purposeful worth
People meander meaning as a purpose of birth

Souls are here to experience emotional exchange
Our confluence with drama deceives us estrange

Souls are magically magnetized by a soul mate 
We are nostalgically normalized by a sense of fate 

Souls originate the love of unconditional designs
We preference the path of traditional blood lines 

Souls are altruistically giving without reciprocity
We are unforgivingly taking without virtuosity 

Souls live eternally in crossroads of evolving time
People live once in the genes of diminishing prime

Turning Usa Upside Downward

Gleeful happy joyful jubilantly wonderful exciting times
Unknowing about pandemics, upbeat feeling climbs.
Two-thousand-twenty sobering, history unprecedented.
Wishing China bat-eating fetish never invented.

Family laughter disappeared suddenly January weekend.
Hugging, kissing, contacting, unacceptable, distance recommend. 
Turning USA upside downward, Covid-19 virus, dreadfully awful. 
Society unbelievably vulnerable, saving family ultimate waffle. 

Willingly educated medically, socially emotionally, mostly ready.
Epidemiologists attempt delivering materials timely, steady.
Many seeking antiquated untimely methods, yearning nostalgically.
Brilliant refreshingly, newfangled ideas prancing forward magically. 

Answers forthcoming furiously, quickly, distrust poisoning recipe. 
Many wishing timekeeper resetting calendar daybreak hippie. 
Gleeful happy joyful jubilant wonderful exciting times
Unknowing about pandemic, upbeat feeling climbs.

Your Face Is Like a Playground

Your face is like a playground
with curved edges inviting
energetic laughter all around,
nostalgically exciting.

Your eyes are like a swing set,
lashes flapping with each blink.
Sometimes puddles below stay wet,
but your tears I'd love to drink.

Your brows, like two seesaws aligned
befittingly side by side
are fun to watch when I find
emotions take them for a ride.

Your smile, like a magic bridge,
connects distant friends together,
lifting high upon each ridge
as softly as a feather.

Your nose is like a double slide
architecturally created,
reflecting a warm, sun-kissed glide,
ideally located.

Your ears are like a talk tube,
hearing every whispered word
next to the tic-tac-toe cube,
to which your earrings are referred.

Your mind, like a merry-go-round
spins lively thoughts to adore.
Your face is like a playground,
with plenty to explore.

12-9-19

Just Old Scraps

In my treasures like all of us hold,
I have a bedspread, a fad of old.
My mother cut millions of circles of scraps,
From our little outgrown dresses she’d hold.

She’d sew each circle into a little puff
And lay it out on a sheet of pale green,

Then make circles of that same pale green
To design squares of printed circles between.
(Now if that is confusing, don’t mind what I mean
Heirlooms are hard to explain, it seems).

I still have that bedspread so fragile now,
Many connecting threads broken and rot,

When I drape that yoyo bedspread on my lap,
And touch and feel the so many scraps,
Then recall when I wore this dress or that,
And my sister and I played in floppy scrap sun hats

I remember nostalgically those evenings when
My little mother’s needle punched out and in.

Haiku

sleep comes to those who
dwell nostalgically...
the nightingale sings

Inspired by Moon Flower

Loss

Melancholy 
Nostalgia 
A homage to the past 
That encompasses bored Sunday's 
We spent together 
Looking out the bay windows 
In inclement weather 
Beside a log fire
After lunch 
Every bit the family squabbling 
My Dad would say
Familiarity breads contempt 
How right he was
How we fought and never thought
Of what he was speaking of
When the fog finally cleared
And reality settled 
The **** had truly hit the fan
And all that was left
Was everybody looking back
Melancholic nostalgically 
Fractured protracted 
Reminiscent of missing 
We pay the cost of loss

Stop, Look, Listen, Smile

I can’t bear that rock in my shoe,

As I sit, I glance up mesmerized by the sunset’s view.

Seven deep in a grocery line,

The wonderful innocent stare of a baby and mine align.

Two minutes ‘til the microwave dings.

I’m lifted on wings while the voice above nostalgically sings.

Dropping my change all over the ground,

It’s a wonder these tiny ants can amass such a mound.

Traffic slowed to a halted gridlock,

Listen to the honks leading that swaying vee of a flock.

Keys locked inside my car,

The horizon is so clear today, I can see so far.

Coffee dripped upon my shirt,

I’ll go in and change giving my darling a romantic flirt.

My dog drops a load on their lawn,

To their magnificent flower garden my eyes are drawn,

Drive thru with limited crew,

I don’t think I’ve ever seen that particular sunrise hue.

If only I could stop on my own accord,

I would readily see creation’s beauty gifted from my Lord.

Then and Now

I’m a little older now, ’tis true
The colours on the canvas
Now all in autumn hue
Moons ago
It seemed as though
The past would never be
Sweet scents of spring
Would bring
Summer sun
And childhood fun
Endless days a dream come true
Until
Fading light welcomed the night

Another day has dawned
And I’ve over slept
Cheeks creased with linen folds
And hair like a haystack
I lift lazy eyes lethargically
And reminisce nostalgically
The past is painted well

In the present now
My eyes adjust
I’ve learned the skill
Of standing still
The moments
Won’t be born again you know
They’re silhouettes on stepping stones
Against a new horizon
I’d love to linger here a little longer

What was and is
Must step aside without delay
The future has to come
Days are short in winter months
Old Comfort Zone will caution me
Of challenge chance and risk
But move I must
For should I stay
The future will for sure
Very soon be spent

The Final Frontier

Space ... the final frontier ...
We all have heard that, but the frontier may be not even There ...
...
The waters on a lake are smooth
When noisy day is out.
When nature's vanity away
Is gone with wind around.
.
When all the lights are turning off.
Sweet silence coming down soft
And calmly whispers that a star
Just dived in lake to light from far.
.
And Universe for just a moment
Reflects in lake, so deep and whole.
Eternity, untill first ripples,
Comes so close to your soul.
.
Full chest of breath seems not enough.
And heart at awe will skip a beat.
Nostalgically, voice from far
Will magically call to stars.
.
Forgetting we will try to touch
And try to hug that silent depth.
But all the dreams will fly in splash
And wise reality hits us.
.
The wisdom often is so harsh,
But always gives us lessons:
Before we conquer space,
We better heal This place.

The Best Times

When I think nostalgically on my life
the period that is most blessed to me
is my first five years after my birth
before school and adulthood I was free

Having been adopted at six weeks
being left alone by my natural mother
so my adoptive parents took me as their own
giving to me my home not to any other

It soon was discovered I had stammer
although mild then but later showed severe
lived quietly in those days keep to myself
these special times remain so very dear

These days were filled with enjoyment
having my own bedroom to sleep and play
living in the countryside grren surroundings
loved the scenery playing around every day

These are lovely memories to look back on
how these formative years shaped my mind
for all the future would bring upon me
giving God thanks for being so kind

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