Last Viewed Nostalgia Poems (1,154)

Verse I

Recalling prohibition days,
When he was just a kid.
Mom said, "Hide! There's bullets flyin!"
So that's just what they did.
The war waged on for three long days,
Fought o'er a moonshine still.
Gunshots heard through window screens,
As they hid neath the sill.


Chorus

It was the roaring twenties and,
The Tommy guns did roar.
The blood flowed with the whiskey as,
The Reaper kept the score.
Though long ago, the legend still,
Lives on forevermore,
Of the great St. Louis massacre,
Of nineteen twenty-four.


Verse II

When finally all the shooting stopped,
The kids just had a ball,
Through blood-stained streets they ran to dig.
The bullets from the wall.
No way of telling now or then,
How many fought and died.
Neath grandstands of the greyhound track,
The bodies they did hide.


Verse III

This tale is true, as told to me,
My father was that lad.
His childhood had this one bright spot,
Though much of it was sad.
Seems strange to think a shooting spree,
Could somehow bring such joy.
Excitement coursed right through the veins,
Of that scared little boy.

We are a continuum
mother earth
birth of the stars
shining to show the path
seemingly endless
upon immediate concept

We are a longing
time may be considered
mirrored opposites
chance and choice
change unavoidable
as doubt

We are reborn
rocks crumble into liquids
an ocean to master
through deception or respect
Neptune's Fork
shield’s its source

We are a decisive god
associative problematic
Intelligent if not of choice
driven to Columbus’ edge
death & discovery

A Continuum We Are

Mary was a sprightly gal along about age eleven
The bunkhouse hands all doted on her since she was about seven
Now Mary got a great idea for Christmas time this year
She wanted to have a Christmas play - but had no actors near
Except the bunkhouse cowpokes- the idea filled them with fright
But the boss said to do it and to plan for Christmas night.

With fear and trepidation the cowboys tried to decide
Who would play the various parts- they wanted to run and hide
But Mary had her own ideas about who would play who
So she went to the bunkhouse to tell them what to do.

"Now Rory, you're the tallest, so Joseph will be your part,
Tex and Johnny will be shepherds, but don't let it break your heart
Old Bill, Big Red and Stumpy, you three are just the right sizes
So you'll be the three wise men, bringin' Baby Jesus his prizes".

"I'm gonna go see Mary Jo, she's the foreman's wife
To have her be the angel, the acting role of her life
My pa will be the narrator and I'll be helpin' too;
We'll put this play together and show you all what to do".

"Hey, Mary", Big Red up and said, "Who's gonna be the baby?"
Mary thought a little while and said, "Maybe the Millers down the road
Could be in our little play,
They just had a baby boy, I'll ride down and see what they have to say".

So off she rode and soon came back a smilin' through and through
"Mrs. Miller and her baby boy will be Jesus and Mary too!"
With that news the bunkhouse boys got the Christmas spirit anew
And made plans and read the script from Luke, Chapter Two.

Then Stumpy scratched his head and took the time to ask
"Where are you plannin' for us to go and do this Christmas task?"
Old Bill stood up, looked at the barn, and said, "I reckon we are able
To clean up this barn and fix it up to be a Christmas stable".

At last the eve of Christmas arrived, and not a bit too soon
The hands in all their costumes, waited 'neath the Christmas moon
Mary and her pa read the Christmas story that happened so long ago
The boys and Millers played their parts with combined hearts aglow.

When it was done, they went to the house for cookies and hot cider
Then everyone knelt down, 'cept Mrs. Miller on the chair glider
And they all gave thanks to God for the gift of His precious son
Then hearts warmed with joy, they all returned to their places, one by one.

A time when the blood's up in horses and man
When hoofbeat and heartbeat thud hard as they can;
When sanity, caution, and couth fly away,
Berserker-like joys turning sober eyes fey.

The herd's into timber and not slowed a lick
We're racing full tilt where I know it's too thick;
We're taunting the Fates who will flip the next card,
But there's joy in the madness and riding this hard.

Frustration's behind and fear never rose
Elation's the spur now that's shredding my clothes;
We plunge through a gauntlet of flailing green limbs,
The forest so dense the dawning light dims.

The wind's singing by me and hat hits the string
I'm being slapped silly but don't feel the sting;
I'm high in the saddle and drunk with the speed,
At one in a union of tree, man, and steed.

It's dancing, this weaving that seeks to avoid
The lashes and lances of trees we've annoyed;
It's graceful and rhythmic as any Strauss Waltz,
And so far, we've danced it without any faults.

They're slowing, we've turned them, we all settle down
The madness is passing, I feel myself frown;
At chances we took with what's left of my hide,
But Heart, Lord, insists we thank YOU for that ride!

Leaning on the window seal,
I gaze out at the sky blue,
I listen to the music of the birds that pass,
Thinking of my time of last.

Mind like a merry go round,
Caught up in emotion,to a world no longer found.
With tears that trickle,
Perhaps from fear,for what no longer is near.

Shadows of gray leave me feeling in the dark,
No longer with a lucent spark,
Is all like a day in the park,
Been and gone,with few traces of powdered dust.

As the sun begins to set,
Birds heading back to the comfort of there nest,
I take a deep breath,blowing kisses to the days gone by,
Grasping at whatever I can,holding dear and near whats close to my heart.

CLW
11-28-09

~REFINED~

I'm crying,
its not a dream
I can't breath.
I watch,
I stare,
so tired its twisted,
crashing,
burning,
its never lasting.
Just wanna be free,
don't make me choose between
you and me,
it can't be done,
I'd rather be
on my own,
on the line
walking the wire.
Corruption
leaves my brain tattered,
with little time
to shine,
I just need to find my place,
the doors always been open,
no longer to be slammed in my face.
Don't slap my hand,
am taking a stand
I remember
what its like,
to be on my own
that little place
I call home.
No longer empty
was just in a trance.
Remember my face,
its all in good taste
I found my place
its not a case
Its a natural fact
am home,
in my heart,
ready to create art,
been given a new start.
Fresh,
and ready to move on.

CLW
02-20-10

August 29
Michael Jackson's Birthday
He was born in 1958 in Gary, Indiana
He was it back in 1983 moonwalking and exciting people
I bought his album Thriller
He has had so many good songs
His first number one single as a solo artist was Ben
He had Janet Jackson sing on his song PYT (Pretty Young Thing)
"PYT's repeat after me sing La La La (la la la)"
Man in the Mirror was my favorite off his Bad album
Black or White was the best off the Dangerous album
History had a touching song "You Are Not Alone"
They say if you want to be professional at something
It takes three hours a day
Michael was said to take around 10 hours a day
Practicing his dance moves and singing
It is a shame his music didn't play on the radio till after he died
Now he is remembered for his great work
His great love of his fans
His great spirit

“Out of my window is a rapid, blending and a dilute blur of present and a bygone past. Inside my mind is a rapid shifting blur of present and future. Practical irony in motion."

Now my heart is sore
"No pain, no gain"
Feeling my doubtful core
I think to myself:
Let´s start over again!!!
All by yourself!!!
The Death Screen covering your face
Guiding you to another place
Denying any kind of pleasure
Disliking my living treasure

A promise is a thing to behold
More precious than diamonds or gold
To have ones trust in your smile will beat wealth by a mile and keep you warm when it's colder than cold

So when you speak of your love to those near
Alway remember your promise so dear
Keep it warm in your heart so that when far apart
You can light up your night without fear

To be alone in the night with no promise for light
Will be a fate too awful to bear.