Most Commented Nostalgia Poems (1,154)

I do not look at the clock anymore...
Neither do I take calendars
From the store.....
Why should I be reminded
Of times gone by
And how fast the years can fly...
Which months were my worst
And how the best
Flew so fast

Why should I attempt to plan
When tomorrow belongs to no man
The days are long
The nights are cold
Yes! I know that I am growing old....
Need no reminder
From a calendar
Refuse to sit and watch the clock
Measure time, I shall not....
I refuse to listen to that old tick tock

I sit and wonder,
Then return to my bed
For slumber
Feeling like I had crossed that line,
No more a young girl am I...
Wishing I could turn back the hands of time
The little ones, they call me auntie
And the not so little ones,
They say, hi tantie,
I think, how they so fresh,
Don't they see the swing of my hips...
The curl in my lips...
The spark in my eyes
That say I'm alive...
They think I've grown cold
Already they whisper
She's getting old...
I rise from my bed,
Voices urging me on
Inside my head...
Hurrying on out into the noontime sun
I look at the children having their fun
Hibiscus blooms in a nearby field
Butterflies dance across the way
As I play jump rope
1,2,3....
Oh, Dang!
There goes that knee!
And I think, ok that's it for today.
Very Good! Well done auntie!
They clap and laugh happily...
I smile and think let the games begin,
For I know in my heart....
It is still spring.

She walked with grace through grassy meadows
pausing to smell the sensual fragrance
watching the rabbits dart down their barrows
their white tails flashing creating a drama

Azure skies blazing, making perfect the day
she laid in the grass. dreaming of her lover
handsome and very tall he was her mainstay
he set her alight making everything brighter

She remembered the way they spun around
as they danced together through the night
gay garlands hanging down they were spell bound
silhouetted in the dazzling firelight

That perfect night when all the world stood still
their last dance that night was a quadrille

See Spot run!

Poor Spot ~ He died!

Full many a native flower here I've seen,
nestled beneath your Mountain's lush green
that breathes each breath of scent laden air,
to daily wash the hours, with unrivaled care,
cavorting clouds float here, without flaws,
like yon oceanic waves that constant roll,
that's fortune favoured beyond Man's vain control,
answering alone to Heaven's pious laws,
thus privileged scan sunsets rejoicing sky,
amplifying realms of proud nurtured liberty,
cherished Maple, heralded, flying high, espy
your forests deep where night birds sing
their overtures, like Angelic Harps finest string,
captures poetic harmonies, each note combine
soft Lydian Airs, perpetuating symphonic Spring,
thus with unfettered stride strolled thy haloed sod
of sculptured avenues, carved by an unseen God
that promotes national Pride, wrapt in facets Holy,
such unsullied joy, far beyond the ways of folly,
all live here amid the corridors of contented quietude,
unknown to spoils of war or its cruel feud,
nor seek cunning paths or Vixen's stealth,
riches of the heart, us but thy exclusive wealth.

It was dark and scary
I could not see
Just feel
I wanted to turn and run
But that was not to be

Each step I took
I took in fear
And then I felt it
I knew all to clear.

No going back
that wasn't to be
So I went bravely
Alone just me

I made it
to the other side
So sad
A piece of me
had died

I like mushy peas,
Mushy peas, mushy peas,
They plop on my plate,
They sit on my plate,
I do like mushy peas,

Mushy peas, mushy peas,
They're green, they're mushy,
They're warm if I'm on time,
They're cold if I'm late
I do like mushy peas,

Oh, how I like mushy peas,
They come in a can, I open the can,
Put straight into a pan, Plop,
Mushy peas, mushy peas,
I do like mushy peas,

Best ate with a spoon, mushy peas,
Or a fork, some bread?
Oh please for my peas,
Mushy peas, mushy peas,
Oh, how I like mushy peas,

Green mess on my plate,
Mushy peas all ate,
My bread wipes up,
My mushy peas, my mushy peas,
I do like my mushy peas.

smile, no shade to share
good talker, good listener
found porch, vacated

I hear the distant echo
of a song I knew before,
it hovers o'er the river
I swam in days of yore,
when enclosed me only sunshine
and all the world was mine,
'fore penury got its grip on me
in the dark'ning veil of time

I hear the distant echo
of a song I knew before,
it plays in attic treasure chests
my mind loved to explore,
when diamond chips and pirate ships
abounded on the main,
'fore my childhood dreams cried mutiny
now no mystery remains

I hear the distant echo
of a song I knew before,
it swings on oak tree pendulums
I tied before the war
'tween a young boy's dreams of flying
and an old man's hopes of dying,
and with time's speed multiplying
'til the clock tic tocs no more

I hear the distant echo
of a song I knew before,
so I'll ramble on
and sing my song
and regard not nevermore

Strong, powerful, unable to capture.
Free, flowing, caressing.
To the depth of rapture.
Passing sight unseen.
In front, behind, all around.
Loud boisterous echoing.
Sometimes silent without a sound.
Give take here there.
Fast moving air.
Gentle breeze.
Wind.