Here is a list of Nostalgia Poems ordered by Most Viewed, 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.
The Man Who Never Smiled.
Come gather round the campfire mates and listen for a while,
And I'll tell you all the story of the man who never smiled.
He was somewhat of a rover, and his friends all called him John
He hailed from southern New South Wales, a place called Wollongong.
Well he finished up in Queensland where he met this bird named Jean
And together then the pair set out to do the Brisbane scene.
But within a month she left him, stony broke, without a cent
With nothing but a memory,(and a bill for two weeks rent!)
So further North, to Anakie, John chased his silver lining
On Queensland's famous sapphire fields he tried his hand at mining.
Well he made a quid at this new lurk, became a man of means
And with his new found wealth set out to find his love it seems.
Now he got as far as Rocky where he thought he'd stop a while
And took a job as fencer (just to help to pass the time.)
But alas, he didn't last long for he clocked the overseer
And it was round about this time he started on the beer.
Then his bird wrote him a letter asking him to come and get her
Up at Tully (she was with another bloke)
In the bar there at the station getting stuck into a ration
Of Bacardi. (That's the stuff they drink with Coke.)
Well she went with him to Townsville and they found a little flat
And it seemed at last that things had turned out right
But again she up and left him while he was asleep (God rest him)
Not a single word, just vanished in the night.
Now poor old John just went to pieces and got stuck into the grog
For to him (at least) it seemed his life was over.
So he boozed up day and night, they say he looked a flamin'fright
It was a miracle if ever he was sober!
Some folk said that he was "queer"while others blamed it on the beer
And it's 20 years (they say) now since he smiled
He had made and spent a fortune on a bird who had ignored him
I tell you mates, women! Just ain't worth your while.
Well I guess I'd better leave now as I've still a ways to go
Destination? I don't really know, I'm following my nose
So I guess I'll see you round mates as I've stayed here far too long
What's my name you ask? I thought you knew, it's John..from Wollongong.
And I'll tell you all the story of the man who never smiled.
He was somewhat of a rover, and his friends all called him John
He hailed from southern New South Wales, a place called Wollongong.
Well he finished up in Queensland where he met this bird named Jean
And together then the pair set out to do the Brisbane scene.
But within a month she left him, stony broke, without a cent
With nothing but a memory,(and a bill for two weeks rent!)
So further North, to Anakie, John chased his silver lining
On Queensland's famous sapphire fields he tried his hand at mining.
Well he made a quid at this new lurk, became a man of means
And with his new found wealth set out to find his love it seems.
Now he got as far as Rocky where he thought he'd stop a while
And took a job as fencer (just to help to pass the time.)
But alas, he didn't last long for he clocked the overseer
And it was round about this time he started on the beer.
Then his bird wrote him a letter asking him to come and get her
Up at Tully (she was with another bloke)
In the bar there at the station getting stuck into a ration
Of Bacardi. (That's the stuff they drink with Coke.)
Well she went with him to Townsville and they found a little flat
And it seemed at last that things had turned out right
But again she up and left him while he was asleep (God rest him)
Not a single word, just vanished in the night.
Now poor old John just went to pieces and got stuck into the grog
For to him (at least) it seemed his life was over.
So he boozed up day and night, they say he looked a flamin'fright
It was a miracle if ever he was sober!
Some folk said that he was "queer"while others blamed it on the beer
And it's 20 years (they say) now since he smiled
He had made and spent a fortune on a bird who had ignored him
I tell you mates, women! Just ain't worth your while.
Well I guess I'd better leave now as I've still a ways to go
Destination? I don't really know, I'm following my nose
So I guess I'll see you round mates as I've stayed here far too long
What's my name you ask? I thought you knew, it's John..from Wollongong.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2016
About this poem:
True story. Happened long, long ago. Never got the bird and haven't had a beer in over 30 years. To this day I still have trust issues.Probably why I'm still single! Note: The places depicted here are real but some will be unknown to some International members.
THE WATER'S FOOTSTEPS
Idon’t know
Why some say that the horse is a noble animal, the pigeon is beautiful
And why no vulture dwells in any person’s cage
I wonder why the clover is interior to alfalfa
One must wash eyes, look differently to things words must be washed
The word must be wind itself, the word must be the rain itself
One must shut umbrellas
One must walk in the rain
One must carry the thought, the recollection in the rain
One must go walk in the rain with all the townsfolk
One must see friends in the rain
One must search love in the rain
One must sleep with a woman in the rain
One must play in the rain
One must write, talk and plant lotus flowers in the rain
Life is repeated wetting
Life is swimming in the pond of present...
Why some say that the horse is a noble animal, the pigeon is beautiful
And why no vulture dwells in any person’s cage
I wonder why the clover is interior to alfalfa
One must wash eyes, look differently to things words must be washed
The word must be wind itself, the word must be the rain itself
One must shut umbrellas
One must walk in the rain
One must carry the thought, the recollection in the rain
One must go walk in the rain with all the townsfolk
One must see friends in the rain
One must search love in the rain
One must sleep with a woman in the rain
One must play in the rain
One must write, talk and plant lotus flowers in the rain
Life is repeated wetting
Life is swimming in the pond of present...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jul 2011
About this poem:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sohrab_SepehriI'm sending you one of my favorite Persian poems that I like very much, but I know that when poetry is translated to another language, it may not transfer the feelings properly. Of course this type of poetry is very different and it has its own fans, so I hope everybody likes it. I am fond of reading this poem because it expresses everything that is around us in a very simple and understandable way. When reading it, it makes me think about the world, the creator and all creatures differently, with a better perspective.
This is a part of poem if you like to read the whole, you can read it on below link.
http://www.sohrabsepehri.com/poems.asp?status=showpoem&language=e&poemid=99
Mushy Peas
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.
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.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2010
About this poem:
A poem about mushy peas
Texas Longhorns
Born in Texas
during the American Old West;
Renegade ramparts;
Tenderfoots just read the Bible
and pray for the best.
Dusty ole saddle
coddles my blue jeans;
I ain’t made it beyond my teens.
My main focus is the Rio Grande,
rounding up feral Mexican cattle,
that are grazing on my father’s land.
They got long horns
extending a good seven feet.
Thur colors vary from blues to hues of yellows,
browns, black, red, white, speckled,
and they got STURDY feet.
Them longhorns have a strong survival instinct;
can find food and shelter during times of rough weather,
but I like them because they are easy to handle
when my buckskin mare makes them come together.
You probably think I’m silly but that’s ok.
Would rather roam the Texan range
than listen to what you have to say.
during the American Old West;
Renegade ramparts;
Tenderfoots just read the Bible
and pray for the best.
Dusty ole saddle
coddles my blue jeans;
I ain’t made it beyond my teens.
My main focus is the Rio Grande,
rounding up feral Mexican cattle,
that are grazing on my father’s land.
They got long horns
extending a good seven feet.
Thur colors vary from blues to hues of yellows,
browns, black, red, white, speckled,
and they got STURDY feet.
Them longhorns have a strong survival instinct;
can find food and shelter during times of rough weather,
but I like them because they are easy to handle
when my buckskin mare makes them come together.
You probably think I’m silly but that’s ok.
Would rather roam the Texan range
than listen to what you have to say.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jan 2012
Post Comment
online today!Rush or Crush... (in a maddening world)
Rush is the word
Brush aside left or right
Rush is next to you, all the time
All in a moment work is done ...rush rush rush!
Crush is the word
Touch a moment feel the emotion
Crush is what you feel, all the time
All in a moment everything is lost ...crush crush crush!
Rush or crush it is the same
Brush or touch a moment and feel the same
Muddled would you feel, all the time
All is gone in a moment, rush, crush, rush, crush!
Brush aside left or right
Rush is next to you, all the time
All in a moment work is done ...rush rush rush!
Crush is the word
Touch a moment feel the emotion
Crush is what you feel, all the time
All in a moment everything is lost ...crush crush crush!
Rush or crush it is the same
Brush or touch a moment and feel the same
Muddled would you feel, all the time
All is gone in a moment, rush, crush, rush, crush!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Sep 2014
About this poem:
Life in a hectic world...time and emotions (being in a whirlwind)
My very first woman in life
My very first woman in life –
I didn’t view her all at once,
I didn't see how petite she was
Until I got somewhat grown up.
She used to take me to museums,
To listen to Colonne orchestra,
Where little fellow man of hers
Pretended he was having fun.
Oh she sang, my mother,
Often sang the songs,
Songs of yesterday,
Sang the songs of past.
My very first woman in life -
One day she took me to the school.
A shiny schoolbag in my grasp,
I had a scarf wrapped all around.
Have met some good and nasty men,
Learned to dot i’s, been bruised in face.
He was sometimes a lonely one -
The second man of the mama.
Oh she sang, my mother,
Often sang the songs,
Songs of yesterday,
Sang the songs of past.
My very first woman in life -
I left her once to be a man.
It’s always morning in the fall -
A time when children leave their nest.
It’s always in a rainy morning,
It’s often for another woman …
Oh she sang, my mother,
Often sang the songs,
Songs of yesterday,
Sang the songs of past.
La première femme de ma vie
La première femme de ma vie
Je ne l'ai pas vu tout de suite
Je n'ai vu qu'elle était petite
Qu'après avoir un peu grandi
Elle m'emmenait dans les musées
Quelques fois au concert Colonne
Où son gentil petit bonhomme
Faisait semblant de s'amuser
Elle chantait ma mère
Elle chantait souvent
Des chansons d'hier
Des chansons d'avant
La première femme de ma vie
Un jour m'a conduit à l'école
Emmitouflé dans un cache-col
Armé d'un cartable verni
J'ai connu les bons, les méchants
Les points sur les i, sur la gueule
Il était quelques fois bien seul
Le deuxième homme de maman
Elle chantait ma mère
Elle chantait souvent
Des chansons d'hier
Des chansons d'avant
La première femme de ma vie
Je l'ai quittée pour être un homme
C'est toujours un matin d'automne
Que les enfants s'en vont du nid
C'est toujours un matin de pluie
C'est souvent pour une autre femme
Elle chantait ma mère
Elle chantait souvent
Des chansons d'hier
Des chansons d'avant
I didn’t view her all at once,
I didn't see how petite she was
Until I got somewhat grown up.
She used to take me to museums,
To listen to Colonne orchestra,
Where little fellow man of hers
Pretended he was having fun.
Oh she sang, my mother,
Often sang the songs,
Songs of yesterday,
Sang the songs of past.
My very first woman in life -
One day she took me to the school.
A shiny schoolbag in my grasp,
I had a scarf wrapped all around.
Have met some good and nasty men,
Learned to dot i’s, been bruised in face.
He was sometimes a lonely one -
The second man of the mama.
Oh she sang, my mother,
Often sang the songs,
Songs of yesterday,
Sang the songs of past.
My very first woman in life -
I left her once to be a man.
It’s always morning in the fall -
A time when children leave their nest.
It’s always in a rainy morning,
It’s often for another woman …
Oh she sang, my mother,
Often sang the songs,
Songs of yesterday,
Sang the songs of past.
La première femme de ma vie
La première femme de ma vie
Je ne l'ai pas vu tout de suite
Je n'ai vu qu'elle était petite
Qu'après avoir un peu grandi
Elle m'emmenait dans les musées
Quelques fois au concert Colonne
Où son gentil petit bonhomme
Faisait semblant de s'amuser
Elle chantait ma mère
Elle chantait souvent
Des chansons d'hier
Des chansons d'avant
La première femme de ma vie
Un jour m'a conduit à l'école
Emmitouflé dans un cache-col
Armé d'un cartable verni
J'ai connu les bons, les méchants
Les points sur les i, sur la gueule
Il était quelques fois bien seul
Le deuxième homme de maman
Elle chantait ma mère
Elle chantait souvent
Des chansons d'hier
Des chansons d'avant
La première femme de ma vie
Je l'ai quittée pour être un homme
C'est toujours un matin d'automne
Que les enfants s'en vont du nid
C'est toujours un matin de pluie
C'est souvent pour une autre femme
Elle chantait ma mère
Elle chantait souvent
Des chansons d'hier
Des chansons d'avant
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2014
About this poem:
Fabuleuse chanson!
Broken
A framed print upon your wall..
A still shot of the two of us..
Sitting close together, on a bench,
Near the falls..
And to the casual observer..
I'm sure we must have seemed the perfect pair
But if you look a little closer..
If you took the time to ponder..
The naked eye..
You'd see a picture of me without you..
A broken picture in a broken frame..
And if you look a little closer..
You'd see just a broken frame.
A still shot of the two of us..
Sitting close together, on a bench,
Near the falls..
And to the casual observer..
I'm sure we must have seemed the perfect pair
But if you look a little closer..
If you took the time to ponder..
The naked eye..
You'd see a picture of me without you..
A broken picture in a broken frame..
And if you look a little closer..
You'd see just a broken frame.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Sep 2009
Post Comment
online today!The Little House That Grew Into A Home
Pen me a future, pen me a life,
Write about cowboys, a man and a wife,
Make her a "looker" who's all "can do",
Build him rugged, with "want to".
Give me a family with lots of stay
That'll sure enough tough it- not move away
Cut out a herd for them to graze,
Manage this ranch in holistic ways.
Hang family pictures upon the wall
And sweat stained Stetsons in the hall,
Round-up boys with guns and knives
Show 'em the Lord to run their lives.
Move giggling girls in upstairs
Let them play dress-up and put on airs,
Then ride bareback in the rain
Racing up and down the lane.
Paint me white and trim me blue
Fix my roof and windows too
Ring a bell at dinner time,
Hang a rope for kids to climb.
Tend my garden, make it grow
Mount solar and watch me glow
Fence the yard and mow the grass,
Wave to neighbors as they pass.
Clutter my backroom with cowboy tack
A freezer of beef and spuds in a sack,
Add the smell of coffee perks
Line my shelves with classic works.
Fill me up with Christmas cheer
Pop a cork to start the year,
Ride a toboggan down my hill,
Drink hot cocoa to fight the chill.
Throw a party for the thrill of it
Gather friends, turn beef on a spit,
Choose pie or cake to top your plate,
Oh, such fun! I can hardly wait!
Tune a fiddle and start the dance
Then I'll have had another chance,
You'll then have your cowboy poem,
The Little House That Grew Into A Home.
Write about cowboys, a man and a wife,
Make her a "looker" who's all "can do",
Build him rugged, with "want to".
Give me a family with lots of stay
That'll sure enough tough it- not move away
Cut out a herd for them to graze,
Manage this ranch in holistic ways.
Hang family pictures upon the wall
And sweat stained Stetsons in the hall,
Round-up boys with guns and knives
Show 'em the Lord to run their lives.
Move giggling girls in upstairs
Let them play dress-up and put on airs,
Then ride bareback in the rain
Racing up and down the lane.
Paint me white and trim me blue
Fix my roof and windows too
Ring a bell at dinner time,
Hang a rope for kids to climb.
Tend my garden, make it grow
Mount solar and watch me glow
Fence the yard and mow the grass,
Wave to neighbors as they pass.
Clutter my backroom with cowboy tack
A freezer of beef and spuds in a sack,
Add the smell of coffee perks
Line my shelves with classic works.
Fill me up with Christmas cheer
Pop a cork to start the year,
Ride a toboggan down my hill,
Drink hot cocoa to fight the chill.
Throw a party for the thrill of it
Gather friends, turn beef on a spit,
Choose pie or cake to top your plate,
Oh, such fun! I can hardly wait!
Tune a fiddle and start the dance
Then I'll have had another chance,
You'll then have your cowboy poem,
The Little House That Grew Into A Home.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Feb 2011
About this poem:
What fills a home. Mary asked me to post this for her.
My Coat
Put away my basket and sewing thread
Whilst memories of how you use to be
Decidedly were better left unsaid
Each repair sewed lovingly yet still see
The scars that have changed how you once appeared
There's nothing more that I can do for you
I will don you for what you are, no more tears
There's nothing left for me to really do
Memories of colors that showed so bright
Faded replaced by a different hue
I could think of what once was or what might
Or just except you for what you've been thru
Sometimes life has a way of changing course
To move on you must let go of remorse
Whilst memories of how you use to be
Decidedly were better left unsaid
Each repair sewed lovingly yet still see
The scars that have changed how you once appeared
There's nothing more that I can do for you
I will don you for what you are, no more tears
There's nothing left for me to really do
Memories of colors that showed so bright
Faded replaced by a different hue
I could think of what once was or what might
Or just except you for what you've been thru
Sometimes life has a way of changing course
To move on you must let go of remorse
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jun 2014
Post Comment
Carnac
Menhirs here, stand erect like obelisks of fire,
evoking immortality of man's prehistoric desire,
rising proud conveying faith's silent devotion,
in stately awe, everlasting as the ocean,
Thus, amid Carnac's antique landscape's scene,
listened I, to time's long forgotten paean
relate ancient stories, its well spun tale
of captive lyrics, e'er weave woven magical,
lilting soft the voice, its powered store
ply, hypnotic mists that floating soar
in graceful waves to kiss high elysian heaven,
lingering long as twilight's embroidered even'
of star freckled fire erupting sky,
captures sweet the faith by ear and eye,
rising here in all its historic scenery,
nestle the lowland plains of noble Brittany,
time etched, secluded in unfathomable antiquity,
wave vapourous washed by climate changing sea,
yet, still honoured bright, erect and still,
breathes immortal breath's unmolested thrill,
a monument of time in stone unquivering line
through proud radiant centuries, here recline,
'gainst winds, rains, winter's flood e'er rude,
conquer time's harsh odds, stands man's tribute.
evoking immortality of man's prehistoric desire,
rising proud conveying faith's silent devotion,
in stately awe, everlasting as the ocean,
Thus, amid Carnac's antique landscape's scene,
listened I, to time's long forgotten paean
relate ancient stories, its well spun tale
of captive lyrics, e'er weave woven magical,
lilting soft the voice, its powered store
ply, hypnotic mists that floating soar
in graceful waves to kiss high elysian heaven,
lingering long as twilight's embroidered even'
of star freckled fire erupting sky,
captures sweet the faith by ear and eye,
rising here in all its historic scenery,
nestle the lowland plains of noble Brittany,
time etched, secluded in unfathomable antiquity,
wave vapourous washed by climate changing sea,
yet, still honoured bright, erect and still,
breathes immortal breath's unmolested thrill,
a monument of time in stone unquivering line
through proud radiant centuries, here recline,
'gainst winds, rains, winter's flood e'er rude,
conquer time's harsh odds, stands man's tribute.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Oct 2015
About this poem:
Recently, I had Phyllis from America and Tess from Switzerland both contributers to this poetic corner,stay with me, I took them to visit the Carnac Alinement, some 4000 standing stones in lines and circles, believed to be in excess of 4,000 years old, this poem written to remind them of a happy occasion, it will be difficult to relate this poem unless one made a visit in person or via the internet.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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