Most Commented Nostalgia Poems (1,154)

A spring sun rises
O’er ancient hills
Painted green and yellow
Down in the hollow fills
Up over the rills
Opens buddin' leaves
Awaken singing birds
Stirring folded petals
Of sleeping tulips anew
Still dripping fresh dew
Invites me to my garden
To drink a breakfast tea
Thinking of nothin' such
I love so much

Nobody saw, he came and lingered
a pencil held between the fingers
that wrote the diary of days
Don't dot the t or cross the I;
and think, before you ask why
should it be thus for some

A vapour wearing casual clothes,
they are disdained by someone's nose
But at the start with cry of birth,
a celebration held with thirst,
and quenched that moment
when he was born to this.

Like shadows, mist, upon the land
he seeks if some would understand.
Surrounded in that moody state
while at the fair, or on the gate;
the inner yearning long to see
that someone notices, someone..

But what to do is ours alone,
at birth the celebration there
it wanes when older we become
until success alone or kin
marks company for us
for poor, and failed, forsaken

So life its page and book
by tear, and sigh, and prayer
with hope and strife
like seeds into the air
a man of years and seasons
ponders out the reason

Eyes cast downward.
Head bent, hiding face.
Wanting not to be seen.
Feeling so out of place.
Everyone so clean and crisp.
He wished he could be.
As they were.
So happy, so carefree.
The little boy who talked with a lisp.
The bell rang all headed to the door.
No hurry for him.
No home not anymore.
Years go by.
He never asked why.
But always he felt so out of place.
For the memories could never be erased.

I’m through with life – no sweet desires,
I’ve ceased to love my happy dreams;
All’s left to me is pain and anguish dire
The fruits of emptiness that dwells in me.

In storms and tempests of this cruel fate
Alas, my blooming crown has faded thus –
And living now alone, disconsolate I am,
And wait: when end to suffering will come.

Thus hit with cold so slow to come
In piercing squeal of wintry storm,
Clinging alone to bare branch
A quivering leaf will soon be gone!

1821

Searching for the child within
From many years gone by
Been so caught up in life
The child passed with a sigh

Forgot to satisfy the things that i yearn
To nourish my soul deep
Time is flowing oh so fast
The days i can not keep

I lived my life for others
In loves ironic twist of fate
Having no regrets
Early joy i do relate

Its time to find myself
In a journey i must partake
Discover who i am to me
Settling i will forsake

I feel the sea calling
Come sail upon me
I hear the music inside my head
Let your song be free

Mountains they reach for me
From a far away land
Come come home boy
There is history that does demand

Searching for the child within
From many years gone by
Been so caught up with life
The child passed with a sigh

the snow melts

no longer I sleep at night
I'm waiting

Springtime

gives me one last chance
to live to die to be

the snow melts

I turn my eyes from the window
I know
I will go.

What is wrong with poingnant?
Poingnacy touches the heart and soul
and a good cry can sometimes make you whole

To sit and reminisce
with coming tears but no remorce
The washing comes so easy withot force
or maudling sadness

I keep her portrait on my wall
and wink and talk to her every morn
and sometimes she winks back

Poingnant yes
Who wants to forget?

Deep waters hiding a mystery from long ago;
the remains of a mostly intact aircraft
upside down on the ocean floor with a green glow.

The craft identified as a WWII-era Curtiss Helldiver SB2C
and is now available for all to see...

I remember a sermon
about good intention paving
the priest raving
soul saving
money craving

I remember words that fell
from my fathers mouth
wasted on youth
obviously truth
all gone south

I remember my first love
a new way to see life
so I got me a wife
and tried to survive
but it was too much strife

So there are many memories
abiding in my head
friends long dead
children fed
relationships dry bled

Glancing back now I see
the mistakes I made
in the plans I laid
but now they fade
they never really stayed

When February's tapping at the window pane,
When distance is obscure from raging snow,
I so regret that miracle won’t happen then,
That neither joy, nor sorrow is to ever fly
In through my window like a freezing bird.

And it is snowing. Snowstorm's ripping wild.
And time is creeping on. The night's so dark ...
I am so sorry, truly so, my faithful wife,
For such a thirst in me to fall again in love!