Most Viewed Nostalgia Poems (1,154)

Continued from Part One.

The doctor, an aging geriatric, that in Charlie’s opinion should have retired at least forty years ago, was like a cat in mice heaven when he saw the state of Charlie. He fussed over him, he laughed, he prodded, and when Charlie screamed, he guffawed so loud and long that Charlie thought he must be stark raving mad.

The doc might have been quite mad, but he was also good at his job, and once he had put Charlie out for the count he did an excellent job. Charlie knew this for two reasons, the first being that the doc told him so on numerous occasions, and the second being that he was now running for this open door.

This time Charlie didn’t have any moonshine, or any food come to that, his knapsack contained little more than a bundle of rags. Although to be fair, they were the alternative to the rags he was wearing at that time.

So why was Charlie running for the open door, why was he risking his life again in this crazy manner? Well, the answer would be that Charlie had overstayed his welcome once again. He had stolen too many eggs, badgered too many people for handouts, and had answered back on too many occasions.

It was Charlie’s only option, jump a train, open door or not, and get to a new town where he could rattle a few more people of their good will.

So Charlie ran, his hand reached towards the handle, and he leapt.

Charlie missed the handle, slipped, and rolled.

Charlie rolled under the train, under the wheels, and met his end.

Nobody wept for Charlie, nobody knew he had died, nobody even knew he had existed.

The End.

Can I tell you something?
It’s a secret so hold on tight.
Your soothing voice, I’ve been longing
They say this isn’t right.

And then I wonder what you would think.
If I told you what’s inside my head.
It’s scary but it’s either swim or sink.
Will my momentary bravery succeed?

Oh, can I tell you one more thing?
You have to know that in every twilight
It’s your voice I hear that sing
Of beautiful melody that calms my plight.

Wherever you may be
But through the whispers of the wind
A glorious thought of you like no any
I intend to keep with me til the end.

An Oldster rocks on the shaded porch
at that home where Seniors go.
That final stop on their journey home
where their smiles no longer show.
Their worn out frames attacked by pain
everyday from dawn 'til dusk.
Staring into nothingness,
not knowing who to trust.

A visitor comes once a week,
but they can't remember who.
The world's now filled with strangers
as they smile while passing through.
Their blurry sight diminishing,
it's hard to make things out.
It's hard to keep one train of thought
or retain one thing to care about.

A stranger helps them eat their meals
and bathe and dress for bed.
Barely hearing moving lips
or what the person said.
They close their eyes to sleep once more
and say a silent prayer.
Lord Jesus come and rescue me
and take me out of here !

There is a night made ??for drink
and your life is surfing in a glass
waiting for the dawn light
destiny follows you by the way
it leaves you for a while
but you know it will hit you again.
you do not know whether to cry or try to laugh
laugh in tears
you do not say anything, but you have a thousand things to say.
you wonder if this is the only life
talking in a strange language that ppl consider wrong
a cigarette and a cup of coffee
are the only friends who understand when you're really bad.
Imagine that tomorrow you will meet the great love
what can you do, it was all planned
imagine that the world will forget you just for a while
then you drink something..so you will not die
now imagine that happiness
is an enchanted train
that you take when you are wrong.

I look up the hill where your tree once stood...full of life, proud to flare its green penants every Spring for all to see .

Now you're gone...and so is the tree.The minutes fall into hours and the hours inevitably become days...and still your words stand the test of time...your image and voice carry on your legacy...your fans only know the pain of your words; not the pain of your Soul.

You dressed your life in eloquence...the words dancing on your tongue ....dancing like the green penants of the tree...leaves dancing all the year, until they could dance no more; like you Annie, you 'could dance no more'.

I'll stay here, in this place...this rustic old cabin; waiting for the Spring to bring the tree back to Life again; and your words to resound again from these green hills...waiting for you....here from the bottom of the Hill.

I will lie right here whilst you tickle my toes,
Prod me with instruments and shove things up my nose,
Wash me all over with cleanser, water and soap,
For me to object there is not a chance or a hope.

You can even have a go at turning me over and around,
Or changing my clothes in my own empty silent surround,
Putting up drips and bags, checking that all is well,
No matter what you do, for the moment I will not tell.

I know you understand that I am very much aware,
I can feel the warmth radiating from every smile or glare,
Everything you give and everything you do or say,
I shall always remember from now until the end of my day.

So when I recover and am walking through a crowd,
And feel or am touched without any sound,
It's the memories you all instilled in your own personal style,
So I am letting you know that whatever you do, it is all worthwhile.

Softly sweet, here the setting sun blushing stain
shimmering rivulets upon golden fields of grain,
her subsiding rays harmonize late hours dying art,
whilst we, life strolling free view its fiery heart,
oft blindfolded, pay but mute service to nature's charm,
weave vespers kaleidoscope, dulcet days soft sung balm,
focus keen our short hours, like as a sea spun wave,
she to the returning tide, we to the solitary grave,
leave our lofty schemes, wet eyed awash, a barren cry,
therefore neglect not, the hours that swiftly pass us by,
once its glory flown, e'er estranged from youth's green door,
flowerless, as the deserts, thirst stricken waterless floor,

Alas! life's fragile path, oft traversed sightless alone,
impotent to the difference twixt the neglected and the sown.

A Sea of Tears

The World is a sea full of tears

A no man’s land of troubled fears

Upon it’s roaring sea life’s journey

Striving upon tsunami waves high in the sky

To birth, to live, survive and ultimately die

Life’s adventures start at birth

The coin is tossed high up in the evolving sky

To be a no choice embryo

Developing into a amazing woman or a likewise guy

The World doth spin and we are tossed off

Makes one ponder ~ Why

Are we just one of Earth’s tears?

Created by the Pondering Poet

JimEee

Through his blindness,
In an over crowded city.
He wand's his white cane.
He shuffles in vain.

His friend,
With his
cane.
Clings to his right elbow.
A young learner (He).

The (Luas) electric tram,
Brushes his left side.
Crowds rushing,
Bang into his learner on his right.
With my full vision,
I ask my self.
Who are really the blind one's ?.

12/06/13.

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tonight :
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because of missing you
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hope, the night, will never end
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hope, a shiny moon, will appear
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then, a romantic, heart touching melody, being played, by nightly butterflies
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so, i begin dancing, on the tirsty sand of the beach
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then i dance, non stop, till end of the last beam of sunshine
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because of missing you
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