Here is a list of Nostalgia Poems ordered by Most Commented, posted by members. Read poetry, post your own poems or comments. Poems on these pages are copyrighted © by the authors who entered them. Click here to post a poem.
Penzance to Exeter
It won’t take long
Not on the 12.42
It only has one stop
But oh! The view
Make sure you have your bag
That one where I wrote on the side
“Thanks for nothing”
I know you consider that sarcasm
But oh! The view
I packed all your things
A bottle of jealousy
That big can of bitterness
Your box of greed
Oh and not forgetting
A trunk full of hatred
I know they weigh heavily
But you carry them so well
Did you take that picture?
The one where I am smiling
I think I took it tomorrow
Never mind, I will post it on
I am sure you left a stamp
Its here somewhere
Buried amongst all the scars
The geese will get there quicker
For they carry no baggage
I think you forgot your toothbrush
But I will post it on, with the picture
I took tomorrow
Whilst you think of the view
I know you are constantly checking
But it definitely says “One way only”
Make sure your seat is by the window
Don’t the geese look superb?
Maybe one day they will return
For they carry no baggage
They just enjoy the view
What care I for your ill’s
It wasn’t I
That made you board the train
I only bear the guilt
For buying the ticket
Did you enjoy the view?
Not on the 12.42
It only has one stop
But oh! The view
Make sure you have your bag
That one where I wrote on the side
“Thanks for nothing”
I know you consider that sarcasm
But oh! The view
I packed all your things
A bottle of jealousy
That big can of bitterness
Your box of greed
Oh and not forgetting
A trunk full of hatred
I know they weigh heavily
But you carry them so well
Did you take that picture?
The one where I am smiling
I think I took it tomorrow
Never mind, I will post it on
I am sure you left a stamp
Its here somewhere
Buried amongst all the scars
The geese will get there quicker
For they carry no baggage
I think you forgot your toothbrush
But I will post it on, with the picture
I took tomorrow
Whilst you think of the view
I know you are constantly checking
But it definitely says “One way only”
Make sure your seat is by the window
Don’t the geese look superb?
Maybe one day they will return
For they carry no baggage
They just enjoy the view
What care I for your ill’s
It wasn’t I
That made you board the train
I only bear the guilt
For buying the ticket
Did you enjoy the view?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Mar 2014
About this poem:
Yep its pure sarcasm, but I do it so well!!Domain
Am I not the king within my virtual domain?
My own demons have I conquered, slain
I have sat in the breeze with gentle Lions
Wrestled the consequences of my own desires
Lived with many ire’s
Do I resent or anger at the greedy beast
He has more, should I have not least
I choose my pathway for I built the walls
That secluded you gaining my entirety
I cannot give you the pleasure of completeness
I remain aloft above the rising cloud of humility
I suffer not from personal ingenuity
For I have stroked the beast of my history
Dwelt in the passages of mental blindness
Broken down the walls within my Jericho
And tamed the Tigers of solitary illusion
I closed the rent, suffered my own conclusion
I built the windows of my sight
I made the castle
I enclosed around the moat
I made myself
For this I shoulder the blame
Nobody else will hold me prisoner
I ask no more than to be allowed to be myself
My own demons have I conquered, slain
I have sat in the breeze with gentle Lions
Wrestled the consequences of my own desires
Lived with many ire’s
Do I resent or anger at the greedy beast
He has more, should I have not least
I choose my pathway for I built the walls
That secluded you gaining my entirety
I cannot give you the pleasure of completeness
I remain aloft above the rising cloud of humility
I suffer not from personal ingenuity
For I have stroked the beast of my history
Dwelt in the passages of mental blindness
Broken down the walls within my Jericho
And tamed the Tigers of solitary illusion
I closed the rent, suffered my own conclusion
I built the windows of my sight
I made the castle
I enclosed around the moat
I made myself
For this I shoulder the blame
Nobody else will hold me prisoner
I ask no more than to be allowed to be myself
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Feb 2010
About this poem:
Why is it some people want you to be what you dont want to be. I made myself and I am happy with that, despite the issues!.
Unforgiven
While morning 's light creeps silently
through the ivory curtain,
She awakens to the sound
of a red winged blackbird,
singing a haunting song of promises to come.
She reaches over and entwines
her fingers through his,
and contentedly listens to him breathe.
And as she watches him sleep, so blissfully unaware,
she bites her lip and wipes a way a single
tear.,
She quickly dresses and lets her self out,
Without so much as a glance behind her,
Someday it will be different,
she tells herself through tear stained eyes.
She'd almost convinced herself..
That this time she would stay.
through the ivory curtain,
She awakens to the sound
of a red winged blackbird,
singing a haunting song of promises to come.
She reaches over and entwines
her fingers through his,
and contentedly listens to him breathe.
And as she watches him sleep, so blissfully unaware,
she bites her lip and wipes a way a single
tear.,
She quickly dresses and lets her self out,
Without so much as a glance behind her,
Someday it will be different,
she tells herself through tear stained eyes.
She'd almost convinced herself..
That this time she would stay.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2009
Post CommentLast Breath
What dreams hath man on a lonely pillow
With limbs so weak and hung like limping willow
What thoughts request to live as youth regained
To once more run with the herds of Serengeti Plain
To leap like Springbok through wooded ground
For a heart that beats with a strength of sound
To see horizons with limitless glorious sight
To once more espy the eagle in its majestic flight
To hear and touch the rushing of cool waters flow
To scale the mountains in the crispness of snow
He would sail the seas without a thought or care
With salt laden breeze caressing through he’s hair
But for him these are times lost in bygone past
He fears the breath that will come as inevitable last
He would wish to drink the waters of the eternal spring
And plead for the immortality to him it could bring
But too many hopes lie broken on shattered rocks
He must leave this life to join the lost legions flocks
Gently close the eyes, the tired body would thus implore
For he shall not awake, nor run, nor dream no more
With limbs so weak and hung like limping willow
What thoughts request to live as youth regained
To once more run with the herds of Serengeti Plain
To leap like Springbok through wooded ground
For a heart that beats with a strength of sound
To see horizons with limitless glorious sight
To once more espy the eagle in its majestic flight
To hear and touch the rushing of cool waters flow
To scale the mountains in the crispness of snow
He would sail the seas without a thought or care
With salt laden breeze caressing through he’s hair
But for him these are times lost in bygone past
He fears the breath that will come as inevitable last
He would wish to drink the waters of the eternal spring
And plead for the immortality to him it could bring
But too many hopes lie broken on shattered rocks
He must leave this life to join the lost legions flocks
Gently close the eyes, the tired body would thus implore
For he shall not awake, nor run, nor dream no more
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Mar 2010
About this poem:
Maybe melancholic, but a great friend told me that they saw it as live life for what it is today!!.Languishing With Siberia
Frozen in past, this land and I lie so bleak
The wilderness of history, yet unable to speak
From the mother’s womb, both born of maternity
My life has been short, not of your eternity
Yet I can compare, for my time now lies in the past
Where age has left us with memories so vast
Cold we are, but neither chooses to be heartless
You carved in beauty, yet my palette seems artless
But as I look upon you I can see my own soul
A swirling cold emptiness with a long forgotten goal
Bitter winds sweep across lacking care and affection
Where both our futures seem devoid of direction
Are the ghosts that haunt us such differing strangers?
For in the end do we both not court our own dangers?
Barren, barren, we would cry in our bitter solitude
Yet does our richness not deserve one single platitude
Loneliness, loneliness, can ever be our only true friend
But I will pass as you continue until the final end
Siberia, Siberia, I would embrace your cold arms
For in both our histories none has grasped our charms
Neither of us blooms, we are the forgotten spiraea
I find myself continuing to languish with Siberia
The wilderness of history, yet unable to speak
From the mother’s womb, both born of maternity
My life has been short, not of your eternity
Yet I can compare, for my time now lies in the past
Where age has left us with memories so vast
Cold we are, but neither chooses to be heartless
You carved in beauty, yet my palette seems artless
But as I look upon you I can see my own soul
A swirling cold emptiness with a long forgotten goal
Bitter winds sweep across lacking care and affection
Where both our futures seem devoid of direction
Are the ghosts that haunt us such differing strangers?
For in the end do we both not court our own dangers?
Barren, barren, we would cry in our bitter solitude
Yet does our richness not deserve one single platitude
Loneliness, loneliness, can ever be our only true friend
But I will pass as you continue until the final end
Siberia, Siberia, I would embrace your cold arms
For in both our histories none has grasped our charms
Neither of us blooms, we are the forgotten spiraea
I find myself continuing to languish with Siberia
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2012
About this poem:
Ah my friends, I watch so much from the outside, yet who are we to percieve poetry. You write, I write, are we so different?, I have a love so far from the maddening crowd, let me bestow you, with thoughts, of a longing, of a past love that sees itself with Siberia, the coldness, the emptyness, the heartlessnes and the lonelyness. But it has its own beauty and it certainly has its own ghosts.Are we not but ghosts of the future, and who will recognise this ghost of one we approved and loved upon.
All I can offer you my friends is poetry, born of emotion, born of freedom but most of all born of passion. Poetry is not about metre, not the correct syllables, not precise in its manner, it is about you!! and your wants and needs, embrace me for I am poet!!. I have been missing, but to many not forgotten, may the peace of poetry be upon you all.
MOON OF MY ANCESTORS
BLESSED BE!~
Equinox moon, rise in all your glory,
and with your rising, my emotions stir.
Upon your face, there unfolds such stories,
which speak of my ancestors...things that were.
Somewhere, there must be a book of knowing,
guarding the silence of forgotten needs.
Time-worn, musty, fragile pages,
embracing ancient secrets, hopes and deeds.
The face of the moon speaks of the olds ways;
the wisdom of those found on distant shores.
They who knew the land, the forests and fields.
I see misted lakes and a boatman’s ores.
I feel their lifted hearts fiercely dancing,
gathered for Ostara’s celebration.
The returning of the light from winter’s dark;
‘tis a time of hope and expectation.
The circle of life in each tiny seed,
stirs in the womb of thawing mother earth.
Comes the loving rains and the blessed sun;
from this sacred union is spring...her birth.
I speak to the moon of my ancestors
and my beating heart that calls out to them.
I light my candle to honor what was,
as the wind shares their voices...with me...once again.
Equinox moon, rise in all your glory,
and with your rising, my emotions stir.
Upon your face, there unfolds such stories,
which speak of my ancestors...things that were.
Somewhere, there must be a book of knowing,
guarding the silence of forgotten needs.
Time-worn, musty, fragile pages,
embracing ancient secrets, hopes and deeds.
The face of the moon speaks of the olds ways;
the wisdom of those found on distant shores.
They who knew the land, the forests and fields.
I see misted lakes and a boatman’s ores.
I feel their lifted hearts fiercely dancing,
gathered for Ostara’s celebration.
The returning of the light from winter’s dark;
‘tis a time of hope and expectation.
The circle of life in each tiny seed,
stirs in the womb of thawing mother earth.
Comes the loving rains and the blessed sun;
from this sacred union is spring...her birth.
I speak to the moon of my ancestors
and my beating heart that calls out to them.
I light my candle to honor what was,
as the wind shares their voices...with me...once again.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2012
About this poem:
I wrote this poem as a result of my trip to Ireland. It was actually SIX years ago that I went and May 8th was the day I returned to my front door. The connection I felt in Ireland was something so moving and deeply spiritual for me. Leaving was like being torn from my soul. I hope you enjoyed it!~Book of Life
I recall my life as an unfinished book
I gently caress the chapters that you took
It reflects on my history, what is past
But does it continually grow, when the die is cast
It is no exciting odyssey, it tells a pathetic story
It twists and turns, but has no glory
Many pages are written, some lie half full
Awaiting completion from the fool
I am no mystery, I am no enigma
I wrote the words, created my stigma
Some are dark, and some rest blank
Many are inane in empty space they sank
There are no pictures, I possess no palette
Some tell your dreams, crushed by my selfish mallet
Some pages to forget, some perhaps to remember
Telling of my existence from birth to ember
Some tell of great sadness and past sorrow,
Wishing at times there be no tomorrow
Would that I could erase the pages of pain
But I wrote the script, the hopes I have slain
My book of self justice, my meaningless account
Can only be measured by me, for myself is all I flout
My book has changed me, I am no longer unbending
But somebody else will have to write the ending
I gently caress the chapters that you took
It reflects on my history, what is past
But does it continually grow, when the die is cast
It is no exciting odyssey, it tells a pathetic story
It twists and turns, but has no glory
Many pages are written, some lie half full
Awaiting completion from the fool
I am no mystery, I am no enigma
I wrote the words, created my stigma
Some are dark, and some rest blank
Many are inane in empty space they sank
There are no pictures, I possess no palette
Some tell your dreams, crushed by my selfish mallet
Some pages to forget, some perhaps to remember
Telling of my existence from birth to ember
Some tell of great sadness and past sorrow,
Wishing at times there be no tomorrow
Would that I could erase the pages of pain
But I wrote the script, the hopes I have slain
My book of self justice, my meaningless account
Can only be measured by me, for myself is all I flout
My book has changed me, I am no longer unbending
But somebody else will have to write the ending
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jan 2010
About this poem:
sometimes reflection is not a good thing, but hey! we all have our stories to tell!!Dear Poets in our Poetry Corner,,,
Amidst the sadness and the strife..
And all of the harsh realites that have become my life..
I've a place that I can go...
To contemplate and rejuvinate my soul
Oh ,Hot rod Larry how you do lift my soul,
reminding me of what it is I already know...
Passionatepoet, well it's been awhile.. but I do wish you'd come back and share your amazing style..
Sophiasummer how you light my way.. with the words of wisdom that you display..
Goodguytoknow, if you only knew... how many sleepless nights your sweet poetry had seen me thru...
And Jeddah12 you are new to me... but your poetry, well it is Heavenly..
and trurorob well I just shake my head...
I can't belive I am lucky enough to read your amazing words.. that linger constantly in my head..
And then that rascall Bentlee..
Who prefers to write in a style all his own,
Sometimes I get it.. but most often I do not,.
But his talent is here so very well known...
Freeatlast you make me think..
Amazing things..here's a glass of wine.. *clink*
And Hedistuff... you're amazing poems.......
sometimes can give me a chill.... It's almost aS if I'm standing there.. With you up on the same hill..
Then of course there is Andrew..
Whose poems are like a book...I suppose..
Oh how many endless nights have I fallen asleep to his amazing prose.
And let us not forget Boyscharme.. although he has momentarily strayed it would seem...
How many times, did his awesome words...
Cradle me in my dreams...
And then there is my Gypsy friend,
who has departed and yet her words still remain..
Her sytle her text, her phenomonal words
always will in my heart reign..
And Pinkpoetress..how you've made me smile..
when everything was grey...
Kudos to you sweetheart.....
For all the times you've made my day...
To Poetengineer, well words cannot express,the way your words
have cleaved to my soul,
And dear Paloma, what a way with words you have, they've made me laugh and sometimes cry,.but always a pleasure it is to read from you, sometimes I welcome a good cry.
And to all the rest here in the corner...
Who through your written word have made me smile..
I'm sorry if I did not include your name..
But keep posting what you do here....
You rock!Cheers to all of our beautiful poets here,
Who make our corner, so lovely and worthwhile!
And all of the harsh realites that have become my life..
I've a place that I can go...
To contemplate and rejuvinate my soul
Oh ,Hot rod Larry how you do lift my soul,
reminding me of what it is I already know...
Passionatepoet, well it's been awhile.. but I do wish you'd come back and share your amazing style..
Sophiasummer how you light my way.. with the words of wisdom that you display..
Goodguytoknow, if you only knew... how many sleepless nights your sweet poetry had seen me thru...
And Jeddah12 you are new to me... but your poetry, well it is Heavenly..
and trurorob well I just shake my head...
I can't belive I am lucky enough to read your amazing words.. that linger constantly in my head..
And then that rascall Bentlee..
Who prefers to write in a style all his own,
Sometimes I get it.. but most often I do not,.
But his talent is here so very well known...
Freeatlast you make me think..
Amazing things..here's a glass of wine.. *clink*
And Hedistuff... you're amazing poems.......
sometimes can give me a chill.... It's almost aS if I'm standing there.. With you up on the same hill..
Then of course there is Andrew..
Whose poems are like a book...I suppose..
Oh how many endless nights have I fallen asleep to his amazing prose.
And let us not forget Boyscharme.. although he has momentarily strayed it would seem...
How many times, did his awesome words...
Cradle me in my dreams...
And then there is my Gypsy friend,
who has departed and yet her words still remain..
Her sytle her text, her phenomonal words
always will in my heart reign..
And Pinkpoetress..how you've made me smile..
when everything was grey...
Kudos to you sweetheart.....
For all the times you've made my day...
To Poetengineer, well words cannot express,the way your words
have cleaved to my soul,
And dear Paloma, what a way with words you have, they've made me laugh and sometimes cry,.but always a pleasure it is to read from you, sometimes I welcome a good cry.
And to all the rest here in the corner...
Who through your written word have made me smile..
I'm sorry if I did not include your name..
But keep posting what you do here....
You rock!Cheers to all of our beautiful poets here,
Who make our corner, so lovely and worthwhile!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Oct 2010
About this poem:
Just to say thanks to all who contribute here in the poetry corner, for sharing your thoughts and hearts with us here!
online today!MEMORIES
The sun shown on the lone grave
As she stood gazing at the stone
Distance memories flowing in waves
Lapping at her mind like foam
How yellow was Mom's favorite color
Especially little flowers like buttercups
Continued memories of her Mother
Starting to cry until she hiccuped
Suddenly a yellow butterfly gently flew by
Right to the stone briefly touching it
Like saying to the stone a brief hi
On to the shoulder of the woman it lit
Staying only briefly there as though to say
Do not cry for your Mom for she is not here
She is looking down and not far away
Watching over you she will always be near
Away the yellow butterfly gently flew
In the graveyard to another stone
Looking to spread comfort to those too
Reminiscing their memories and feeling alone
As she stood gazing at the stone
Distance memories flowing in waves
Lapping at her mind like foam
How yellow was Mom's favorite color
Especially little flowers like buttercups
Continued memories of her Mother
Starting to cry until she hiccuped
Suddenly a yellow butterfly gently flew by
Right to the stone briefly touching it
Like saying to the stone a brief hi
On to the shoulder of the woman it lit
Staying only briefly there as though to say
Do not cry for your Mom for she is not here
She is looking down and not far away
Watching over you she will always be near
Away the yellow butterfly gently flew
In the graveyard to another stone
Looking to spread comfort to those too
Reminiscing their memories and feeling alone
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2015
About this poem:
My Mom loved tiny yellow flowers and butterflies. The anniversary of her death will be Aug. 5th - 10 years ago.My Ode To Summer...
---- IMAGE REMOVED because photobucket.com no longer allows embedded images ----
Sullen leaves fall steadily
Whispering good-bye
As though in a trance...
They seem to know,
The time has come to die.
Wafting drearily,
And weightlessly,
Across a crimson sky...
Even strong old Mr. Willow,
Seems to hang his head and cry.
Cotton candy clouds, seem to wave,
And then to frown...
As summer reluctantly relinqueshes
Her sunny vibrant crown.
The scent of mothballs overpowers me
As I wipe away a single tear,
My heart is heavy even as I sigh,
Till we meet again next year.
Sullen leaves fall steadily
Whispering good-bye
As though in a trance...
They seem to know,
The time has come to die.
Wafting drearily,
And weightlessly,
Across a crimson sky...
Even strong old Mr. Willow,
Seems to hang his head and cry.
Cotton candy clouds, seem to wave,
And then to frown...
As summer reluctantly relinqueshes
Her sunny vibrant crown.
The scent of mothballs overpowers me
As I wipe away a single tear,
My heart is heavy even as I sigh,
Till we meet again next year.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2009
About this poem:
Summer always seems the shortest season to me.Poems entered on these pages are copyrighted by the authors who entered them. They cannot be reproduced without the author's written consent. © Copyright 2001-2024. All rights reserved.
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