Most Viewed Nostalgia Poems (1,154)

I was born and raised in the suburbs of Baltimore Maryland. My parents were hill people from West Virginia who had come east during World War II to find jobs. They were hired on at Glen L. Martin Aircraft which was later to become Martin-Marietta Corp. I grew up in a single home with about half an acre of land on a white oak lined avenue not far from a grade school. Next door to us lived a somewhat unconventional family (for the times), as they weren't a typical two parents with children scenario. No, there was my friend Tommy, his mother, her friend Mr. Knight, and an older gentleman Mr. Murphy. Well, Mr. Murphy would walk one mile each morning to Loch Raven Boulevard where the bus line ran leading in and out of the city. He would take the bus each day to his factory job downtown and then return late each afternoon or evening. As he returned each night from work, whenever he would come upon one of we children in the neighborhood, he would offer us a stick of chewing gum. Usually juicyfruit or doublemint gum. As his figure would appear up our street, someone would always remark "Here comes good old Mister Murphy." We all were very fond of Mister Murphy as he was so generous and kind to us all.
As my parents were from West Virginia, once or twice a year we would travel there for a visit (1950's, early 60's). Once away from Baltimore proper, our journey would mostly take place on winding two lane highways through valleys, up and then down mountains and so on. There were no fast food restaurants and our meals consisted of sandwiches of peanut butter and jelly, or bologna or cheese or somesuch fare either enjoyed in the car or at a roadside picnic table or fountain area of sort. Our bathroom breaks were either at places like this or at gas stations. On one such trip back to Baltimore when I was around age eight, we made a fuel stop at an Esso service station and I went and used their restroom. While inside, I discovered a package of what looked like, I don't know what, in the bottom slot of some kind of dispenser machine. Well, I put the package in my pocket and never mentioned it to anyone. We made our journey home and sometime later (I have no idea what day or when) as I sat on my front porchsteps I opened the package and discovered that they were balloons. So, I began blowing them up and tieing knots in them. As I was enjoying this, along came "good old Mr. Murphy". He told me that my balloons were dirty and that I should throw them into the street. He said that they were bad, dirty, get rid of them. I was puzzled. Huh? But, you know what I did? I threw them into the street. I didn't know why. I just did.

I can smell the wood fires burning
Lighting up the hillside with their smoke
Like so many chimneys on the ridge line
Burning bright hot with seasoned oak
Casting up spires like great castles
Cathedrals with styles most baroque
Warmth is promised in abundance
Whatever your comfort may invoke
We gather round the table for supper
And in great earnest a prayer is spoke
The candles burn throughout the night
Such peaceful purpose they evoke
A mood that burns with a soft glow
Good hearted as our mountain folk

I tried like hell to make it fit.
To push it through the hole.
I think the hole is big enough.
But pushing it through sure seems tough.
I found something stronger so.....
Thought I would try again.
I tried and tried but I needed to make this insanity end.
So I reached into the box and found.
My old embroidery needle with the eye so big and round.
Had it threaded in time.
Maybe sewing at four in the morning is not so good.
But where the empty space was a button now stood.

The time has come. I feel it as it looms outside my door.
It has my whole body standing at attention with the feeling of dread.
And I know I must face this monster once more.
I walk towards the door, with the stroll of the living dead.
I walk out into the sun lit day.
So beautiful the animals think it is time to play.
Still the heavy feeling in the pit of my soul remains.
For to get the upper hand will be hard to gain.
But I proceed. For I know what awaits me.
And yes there it is. Where I knew it would be.
All hope is all but gone.
To battle this all alone.
OK here goes. I can do this.
As the old lawn mower cranks with a hiss.

Though secrets, silent, feed the pain
holding on realizes no gain
So close, yet so far
So close, yet so far
petty in this pace, we
find ourselves, twisted
dripping tears across miles
and years, weeping, careening
driving through the willows
away from poverty’s grip
into life of self sustaining

adrift into lanes of memory
while trying to steer a
course, straight and steady,
brings either smile or frown
depending on which lines crossed
whether the incline is up or down.

Sometimes the grade requires
a shift into lower gear
to slow the mind’s engine.
At others, thoughts race ahead
to find their destination, clear.

Worn-out clutch, years
of toll-paid travel, requires
experience & a knowing touch
the differential that
allows this life to
pass inspection by
mirroring happy memories
into its reflection.

“Firing on all cylinders”
purring, chest swollen
with pride, headrest
engaged for the ride.

So you become the added poem

To reach the stilted maneuvered created crafted sway
of paths
that
can only leave a non reason to full
or drill down to your words

what crap you do
sigh light the world of task

that leaves no flex of joy
yet simmers coolness of smile

sweep your smile
dig your heart
that leaves just
more dirt

to pile upon
the leaning
sadness
of
shit

never to understand
that I too loved

You

African Skies

I hark to freer days of childhood
Life simplicity in itself
days of laughter, of playing in the sand
so so soft and fine
golden white sands from the coral reefs
sparkling, dazzling bright
Staring into coral pools at Tide's ebb
Beautiful rainbows of fish
endless darting, sea cucumbers sleepily still
a child's total delight
coconut palms wave gently in the salty breeze
scale them I tried in vain
inland to the vast savanna's teeming with life
tall grasses the lion hid
a wondrous baobab tree reaching up for the sky
look it grew upside down
for all the world to see, branches like roots
beware the croc log
hippo's snorting, noise vibrating as they plunge
then resurface amidst bubbles
all these wonders through child's eyes seen
Africa my heart you have still
I tell you what my friends, I swear to you
blindfold me, put me to sea
around twenty nautical miles or so
and I would know alone
by the vibrant scents of rich earth and spices
that I am back there
near heart's home, the East African coast

Waking up in the morning
Early now comes the light
Can’t sleep it’s too bright
Such things can’t wait
Turning on the stove
Tea kettle filling with water
Can you smell the bacon
Melting in the frying pan?
Checking messages clickity clack
Clock is going tickity tock
Throwing on some old blue jeans
Do I have a shirt that’s clean?
Okay this one will do
The barn and garden is beckoning
Out the door …..I’m gone.

These words we have learnt the tools of are trade
We make up poems with lots of words, and are point of view.
Poems we tell, stories, creative writing is are point of view
Creative writing we do best, words we brings out from are heads.

Thinking of are next words that will rhyme like magic we make are Poems and words ryhme
A ? mark a dot a dash then theres are magical full stop without These tools are poems would not make sence

Creative writting is what we do best best.

Kris Kristopherson is a wonderful musician
Talented gifted a Rhodes scholar
Interesting that he was a caretaker
at the music studios where
Johnny Cash was recording
Sunday Morning Sidewalk A beautiful tune
It is difficult to get things done
On a Sunday it is a day of peace
We see the grass in true form
The people are happy a family day
I just wonder what to do
half of the year they have the NFL
I enjoy watching football
It is fun and relaxing
The excitement fills the air
My friends wife is a Mormon
I am a Catholic
My best friend is Jewish
And several people in the apartment
are Muslims and Sekes
It is a bowl of alphabet soup
all preaching good will toward man
and of course towards woman
I just notice this particularly
On a Sunday Morning Sidewalk