Here is a list of Nostalgia Poems ordered by Last 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.
Don't Dilly Dally Around
Your mama sent you to a country store
She said
Don't dilly dally around
You're walking barefoot on a dusty road
And you don't hear any sound
Of an automobile don't dilly dally around
You walk by a creek the fish are jumping high
And now a big one caught your eye
This is the best chance you ever found but don't dilly dally around
As you are chewing on a piece of straw
Your old straw hat makes a good shade over the ground
But don't dilly dally around
Way back when this could have been true
Way back when this saying was new
Don't dilly dally around
She said
Don't dilly dally around
You're walking barefoot on a dusty road
And you don't hear any sound
Of an automobile don't dilly dally around
You walk by a creek the fish are jumping high
And now a big one caught your eye
This is the best chance you ever found but don't dilly dally around
As you are chewing on a piece of straw
Your old straw hat makes a good shade over the ground
But don't dilly dally around
Way back when this could have been true
Way back when this saying was new
Don't dilly dally around
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2020
Post Comment
Thoughts on a rain soaked morn.
Inclement climes set early in today
lacking mercy at dawn's soft hour,
the lake now ruffled torn and dour,
as sad the world was hard at play,
Thus to counter my abysmal gloom
and annihilate natures harsh brooding storm,
sojourned I to my favour'd cosy room,
lit the lifeless fire, then my inglenook was warm,
Thus contented I, relaxing with the blazing air,
thought I of thee soft faced and fair,
tho' dull outside, indulged I in vision's care
whilst inclined upon my rocking chair,
There, dare but I, my eager love set free
and behind the curtained wall discover
hallowed time where fond thoughts prevail,
and life's emotional knot ne'er be severed;
lacking mercy at dawn's soft hour,
the lake now ruffled torn and dour,
as sad the world was hard at play,
Thus to counter my abysmal gloom
and annihilate natures harsh brooding storm,
sojourned I to my favour'd cosy room,
lit the lifeless fire, then my inglenook was warm,
Thus contented I, relaxing with the blazing air,
thought I of thee soft faced and fair,
tho' dull outside, indulged I in vision's care
whilst inclined upon my rocking chair,
There, dare but I, my eager love set free
and behind the curtained wall discover
hallowed time where fond thoughts prevail,
and life's emotional knot ne'er be severed;
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Mar 2015
About this poem:
as the title suggests.Storrington re-visited.
How great thy vista to my eyes abound
when late of time, I viewed my Southland down,
fond childhood memories bid my heart recall,
times, when all the trees seemed so tall,
but now, the burning coals of fading day,
ignite twilight moments, where magic colours play,
and yon not forgotten village nestling lies
harmoniously, beneath its genial skies;
its people's thatch and heavens spire
are gently washed by sunsets living fire,
whilst graveyards cherished ancient Yew
reach down to kiss the coloured painted dew,
and evening primrose dwell within its shade,
sport contrasting hues with subtly displayed,
and all that sleep in hedgerows wild,
live freely, like as the spirit of a child,
whose innocence breathes the air of play,
of rapturous joy, like this ebbing edge of day,
to await morning's green mantle care,
as day dissolves, in all its wondrous flare,
such artistry each captured rainbow bring
the blushing tints of sweet remembering,
woolen clouds, there floating charms interlace
the chasing sun, warmth of time's everlasting grace.
So, when the breath of life's no more,
my spirit shall stay by the waters of the Stor.
when late of time, I viewed my Southland down,
fond childhood memories bid my heart recall,
times, when all the trees seemed so tall,
but now, the burning coals of fading day,
ignite twilight moments, where magic colours play,
and yon not forgotten village nestling lies
harmoniously, beneath its genial skies;
its people's thatch and heavens spire
are gently washed by sunsets living fire,
whilst graveyards cherished ancient Yew
reach down to kiss the coloured painted dew,
and evening primrose dwell within its shade,
sport contrasting hues with subtly displayed,
and all that sleep in hedgerows wild,
live freely, like as the spirit of a child,
whose innocence breathes the air of play,
of rapturous joy, like this ebbing edge of day,
to await morning's green mantle care,
as day dissolves, in all its wondrous flare,
such artistry each captured rainbow bring
the blushing tints of sweet remembering,
woolen clouds, there floating charms interlace
the chasing sun, warmth of time's everlasting grace.
So, when the breath of life's no more,
my spirit shall stay by the waters of the Stor.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2015
About this poem:
Storrington a village that derives its name from Saxon times, Stor being the stream running through, and ton a dwelling place. There I spent my childhood,recently I re-visited those bygone haunts, nestling still beneath the Southdowns, this my reflection.
The House.
Her features were changed for the pleasure and surveillance of man so that they would accept and desire her more.
With her renovation, pieces of her soul were cut off and fake ones were built on.The wounds created, remained unhealed as her walls began to crack open and bleed.
The earth within and beneath her couldn’t take the change and pressure of destruction and construction, and started changing her very signature mark: her heart.
Her heart was a place where little children swam to cool down the heat of a hot Summer’s day.
Here the young teenager girl could write songs and relax next to it during all seasons of the year.
It first started with the visit of professionals asking, “Where can I make a difference on you? “
Yes, she had no option but to look better for the man who she was committed to, “Just hurt me,shape me,cut me,change me. Mould me into a desirable model!”
They broke down some of her walls,chopped down the trees which which overflowed with fruit and fury flowers in the Spring and Summer, trampled on the secret places that were memories in her heart which were built by the little children, and blocked streams which used to moisture her very soil.
Her heart started to crack and she started to bleed into the core of the earth. The memories she held were no longer admired and pleasured by man, but the one little child - now older but still pure at heart- remembered her : “Don’t worry. I still remember you. To me you will always have the beauty which you were originally made of!”
She started weeping. She realised what man had done to her. Seeing the struggle which she went through and never complained; never fought nor did she run away.
Man might have changed her externally, but they couldn’t change her within, “ If only we could burn her down! burn away her imperfections and build her up from scratch again”
They complained about her lack of conformity, but she never let them change her beliefs, love for people or the way she saw the world.
Standing at ground level, the little children in her memories could only see bushes and shrubs outside, but running up the stairs and into her mind and looking through the windows in her head, they saw the world in a different way. They saw it as beautiful and the view from up there left them in awe.
The young girl felt guilty for the wrong that man had done to her after seeing the love she had for the world. She wept. Yes, she dreamt of her. She felt happy being in her and always remembered what the house had done for her. She secured the little girl during storms and from angry and lustful wolves. She acted as a sense of comfort and rest for the young lady and allowed the best memories to take place within her belly where her and her family came together to huddle up, eat, rest and find comfort.
Man forgot what she had done for them, the love she had for them, the memories she stored for them and her willingness to forgive and have mercy on them.
With her renovation, pieces of her soul were cut off and fake ones were built on.The wounds created, remained unhealed as her walls began to crack open and bleed.
The earth within and beneath her couldn’t take the change and pressure of destruction and construction, and started changing her very signature mark: her heart.
Her heart was a place where little children swam to cool down the heat of a hot Summer’s day.
Here the young teenager girl could write songs and relax next to it during all seasons of the year.
It first started with the visit of professionals asking, “Where can I make a difference on you? “
Yes, she had no option but to look better for the man who she was committed to, “Just hurt me,shape me,cut me,change me. Mould me into a desirable model!”
They broke down some of her walls,chopped down the trees which which overflowed with fruit and fury flowers in the Spring and Summer, trampled on the secret places that were memories in her heart which were built by the little children, and blocked streams which used to moisture her very soil.
Her heart started to crack and she started to bleed into the core of the earth. The memories she held were no longer admired and pleasured by man, but the one little child - now older but still pure at heart- remembered her : “Don’t worry. I still remember you. To me you will always have the beauty which you were originally made of!”
She started weeping. She realised what man had done to her. Seeing the struggle which she went through and never complained; never fought nor did she run away.
Man might have changed her externally, but they couldn’t change her within, “ If only we could burn her down! burn away her imperfections and build her up from scratch again”
They complained about her lack of conformity, but she never let them change her beliefs, love for people or the way she saw the world.
Standing at ground level, the little children in her memories could only see bushes and shrubs outside, but running up the stairs and into her mind and looking through the windows in her head, they saw the world in a different way. They saw it as beautiful and the view from up there left them in awe.
The young girl felt guilty for the wrong that man had done to her after seeing the love she had for the world. She wept. Yes, she dreamt of her. She felt happy being in her and always remembered what the house had done for her. She secured the little girl during storms and from angry and lustful wolves. She acted as a sense of comfort and rest for the young lady and allowed the best memories to take place within her belly where her and her family came together to huddle up, eat, rest and find comfort.
Man forgot what she had done for them, the love she had for them, the memories she stored for them and her willingness to forgive and have mercy on them.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Aug 2015
About this poem:
A free verse poem (more like an extra short story) based on a dream I once had. It resembles the darkness of society's expectations of people. We are all beautiful and our bodies and personas are our houses. These are temples which we change and deconstruct according to what other people want. You are beautiful. Be you!
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)Night Time
I found peace amongst the darkening skies
Soon stars will whisper night times lullabies
The worries the stress the everyday mess
Making a way for nights gentle caress
A moment a minute in time who knows
Time to relax and just let it all go
Just me breathing in the fresh night air
Done worrying about everyday cares
The body relaxes the mind lets go
Time to forget all life's little woes
Shadows playing in moon lights swaying dance
Holding me fixed in the gentlest trance
Sleep will come and tomorrow will be here
The futures not mine but always seems near
---- IMAGE REMOVED because photobucket.com no longer allows embedded images ----
Soon stars will whisper night times lullabies
The worries the stress the everyday mess
Making a way for nights gentle caress
A moment a minute in time who knows
Time to relax and just let it all go
Just me breathing in the fresh night air
Done worrying about everyday cares
The body relaxes the mind lets go
Time to forget all life's little woes
Shadows playing in moon lights swaying dance
Holding me fixed in the gentlest trance
Sleep will come and tomorrow will be here
The futures not mine but always seems near
---- IMAGE REMOVED because photobucket.com no longer allows embedded images ----
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2015
Post Comment
Morel Hunting
I used to go out with my Dad
In May you could find them around old elm trees
We usually had a couple meals of them
The rest were sold
The last morel I found was in 2016 with my Dad
We only found one
The rest of the years since I have bought them
A few years ago I spent 35 bucks for a pound of them
Now I am seeing 70 bucks a pound
I went today and only found a golf ball and a quarter
The morel festival is in two weeks
We'll see if I want to pony up the dough for a pound of morels
At least the kettle corn is still cheap!
In May you could find them around old elm trees
We usually had a couple meals of them
The rest were sold
The last morel I found was in 2016 with my Dad
We only found one
The rest of the years since I have bought them
A few years ago I spent 35 bucks for a pound of them
Now I am seeing 70 bucks a pound
I went today and only found a golf ball and a quarter
The morel festival is in two weeks
We'll see if I want to pony up the dough for a pound of morels
At least the kettle corn is still cheap!
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2023
About this poem:
I love morels, a lot!
Waste Of Space
There are many things
As I look around my apartment
That are old, decrepit, dusty and worn
I shall hire myself a skip
And throw them all into yesterday
Where they all belong
As relics of the past
Myself included
As I look around my apartment
That are old, decrepit, dusty and worn
I shall hire myself a skip
And throw them all into yesterday
Where they all belong
As relics of the past
Myself included
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: May 2022
Post CommentLines written in a my country garden
Heaven's here in my fond garden fair,
nature's love lit spirit's everywhere,
each flower packed with artistic bliss,
blessed by Sun and Moon's opaque kiss,
oft we gaze on them, wide eyes address
those subtle tones if sheer loveliness,
such is the beauty of love laid bare
by continuous waves of scent woven care,
that dance amongst the flowering trees
where lowly blooms reach to kissing please
coloured Spring"s sweet smelling perfumery,
how here, simplistic and cascading hung,
sweet the honeysuckle has proudly sprung,
whilst nearby Jasmine's purity of hue
issues forth her star like flower'ts to view,
such earth 'Elysian Fields' rich and rare
as the dew kissed lawn refresh the air,
whilst Laburnum's pendent branches flair
exhibit her yellow'd profussion lacy lair,
o'er the pavillions of lush soft green,
as wide our haloed eyes, much is seen
amid the coloured garden beauty drest,
as white the rose, breathes her noble breast,
Thus by destiny's unseen fond embrace
breathes my garden, full fair of face.
nature's love lit spirit's everywhere,
each flower packed with artistic bliss,
blessed by Sun and Moon's opaque kiss,
oft we gaze on them, wide eyes address
those subtle tones if sheer loveliness,
such is the beauty of love laid bare
by continuous waves of scent woven care,
that dance amongst the flowering trees
where lowly blooms reach to kissing please
coloured Spring"s sweet smelling perfumery,
how here, simplistic and cascading hung,
sweet the honeysuckle has proudly sprung,
whilst nearby Jasmine's purity of hue
issues forth her star like flower'ts to view,
such earth 'Elysian Fields' rich and rare
as the dew kissed lawn refresh the air,
whilst Laburnum's pendent branches flair
exhibit her yellow'd profussion lacy lair,
o'er the pavillions of lush soft green,
as wide our haloed eyes, much is seen
amid the coloured garden beauty drest,
as white the rose, breathes her noble breast,
Thus by destiny's unseen fond embrace
breathes my garden, full fair of face.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jun 2016
About this poem:
Written in the month of May when the awakening year was saying farewell the Winters chill
I Remember
Every day one minute is a memory
of seconds gone by
Tho bright the stars,
willful damage can
serpentine to a lie
On arms of carnage
yet deeper
wrapping of the
soul
One new bell
shall always toll
Slipping silently
through
the newest day
my memories
crept up
dug in
pebbled
to always lay
Washed with streams
of hidden treasure
Love has
no soldered
leisure
It shall be
and leave
to caress
streams too fast
for any I guess
of seconds gone by
Tho bright the stars,
willful damage can
serpentine to a lie
On arms of carnage
yet deeper
wrapping of the
soul
One new bell
shall always toll
Slipping silently
through
the newest day
my memories
crept up
dug in
pebbled
to always lay
Washed with streams
of hidden treasure
Love has
no soldered
leisure
It shall be
and leave
to caress
streams too fast
for any I guess
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Dec 2013
About this poem:
Need I explain, this is not about sadnessHappy New Year to all!
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