Most Viewed Nostalgia Poems (1,152)

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Beautiful dove
perhaps it is
your midnight hair
shadow eyes
the song of your voice
that draws me to you
like a river to the sea...

What do you dream
in your dreams?
I dream to know
of your desires that sleep
within your deep well...

Impaled in my chest
a thorn of passion for you
I would pluck it out
but my heart would go numb...

In my endless sky
there is a space for you
you the gypsy moon
a moon for my eyes to linger
I dream to see
moonlight trickle down
caressing the curves of your body...

Tonight mi cielo
I seek your moonlight face
the soft tender touch
of your flower bud hands
I thirst to drink
from your nectar voice
and gently kiss
your rose red lips...

I will savor
the fragrant breeze
coming from the dark forest
of your silken hair
and climb the two mountains
that are your breasts...

Two breasts
two conquerors
that battle for control
of the sphere of your bosom...

My Spanish dove
you need not
utter a word
we are lovers
I the sun
you the lunar
we are alone
one the other
so naked
wrapping ourselves
in the unsayable...

she excites the life out of me
vibrant and sexy, she moves like lightning
flashes of energy, jolting my eyes
dancing in moonlight, lighting the skies

she ignites the world around me
arousing and lively, she shines like sunrises
glowing with grace, beaming with passion
heart full of light, her energies flashin'

she uplifts the soul within me
inspiring movement, she breathes like the wind
fully inhaling, filling her core
receiving this love, yet giving much more

she inflames the ground beneath me
fiery noonday, she's hot like the desert
magnetic hips, lips drawing me near
while funky drum fire does burn in my ear

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

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.

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

Follow that winding stream
Around three great bends
Up into the old forest
And watch for the waterfall
Careful where you step
And beware what defends
In a cave behind the falls
Joining two stone walls
Legend has when you can
Hear a mountain lion yawl
And all down the valley
Its wounded cry extends
Been nearly three generations
Some good folks recall
When the mighty great cat
Was trapped by flood godsends
For every night a couple weeks
Terrible noises would befall
And every year after year
Whenever stream water ascends
On stormy nights the ghostly beast
Of Witch Cat Cave still calls

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?

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

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

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