Last Commented Nostalgia Poems (1,155)

On a frosty Winter's evening,
In a haunting moonlight glare,
I remembered perished loved ones,
With a solemn silent prayer.

There the flickers of the firelight,
Cast live shadows on the gloom,
Like the ghosts of souls departed,
Came alive within the room.

I could sence parental spirits,
Place their marble hands in mine,
As they coaxed me from the armchair,
Up to waltz with them entwined.

Yet although their steps were silent,
And they spoke with soundless air,
Their warm aura was a blessing,
Of which I was unaware.

For their lives on earth weren't easy,
In those woeful days of yore,
Yet together lived contented,
Through the suffering they bore.

Hope and gratitude they gifted,
All my worries were benign,
As the two kind hearted spectres,
Soon returned to the divine.

With the dying of the embers,
Came our parting bittersweet,
As the fading of the shadows,
Were their spirits in retreat

They bestowed a saintly message,
Scribed in smoke upon the wall,
" Always pray for fallen angels,
And no harm shall you befall."

Now it's lonesome by the fireside,
On the floor.. a teardrop stain,
And I pray my kindred guardians,
Will return to dance again.

Once a beautiful thing so free and open, the wind lifting her wings into the air.

She's curled up on a pile of sand, the space in her back for the key is empty and a hole remains.

The key forever in His hands.

Only human, that is who I am....
Lost at sea....drifting wood....swallowed by waves....crushing over me....choices was made.....wrongly accused....loved by few.....broken by millions....walls was build with bricks that turned into steel....loneliness eats away like razor sharp teeth.....dreaming and wishing for a second chance....to be truly loved & accepted with all my flaws.

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.

Golden letters swirl along, their magickal energies mingling
Dancing, twirling, pirouetting to the piper's melodies
On the breath of air that captivating one poised quill
Of the wordsmith as it stands poignantly to attention
Language clear and consicely woven to their new ability
Words weighted and whispers yearning to be heard
A sound that is half-spoken, softly sung, knowing that
What's been written has been done to the extremes of
The quill that screams as it stresses the powerful strain
Of Magic within its power, and all it needs is a finishing touch
Where the rhymes can speak for themselves, emphasizing, Hot
Too much?

As the piper concludes his Scottish tracks,
The words form a message saying 'God has got your back'
Diplomacy in the art of tact, security in knowing that
Mingling energies coinsided, work together, not trying to hide it
The words themselves know what to do, its about piecing together
Chips and part of the puzzles that fall on through
But as the feathered quill darts and trusts in the innate gift
That doesn't collect more dust, the enigmatic inspiration of
Introspection that pours through this stanza thus, has
Powered many that drink the potions of collected lust
And by the darkness of the sky itself, the piper has laid down
His pipes to respect the health of the listeners that do connect

To retain a sense of peace within the air from which,
The dead, they call, simply to encourage, uplift and help us all
The last position recalled on the listening ear,

But not everyone will hear the sound of the pipes far and wide, transported back to the days of depression, poverty and when times were hard
From the days when one could hear the music from their own
Backyard
From when one could rest easy and leave the window open for the music to drift in, and answers could be found in the silence from when spirit whispered memories bathed in love
Silent messages that came in on the wings of a white dove

That brought in the symbolism of peace and a trusted source
Of a lesson in life, not knowing the consequences of what was wrought, the pain and the hurt from that lesson was taught
And in the silence, the answers were sought, in that one memory, life was indeed, caught, but if it weren't for us listeners
Then it would've been all for naught

Sharing an appetizer and a desert with a friend
Cheesy Mozzarella Twists and Cinnamon Sugar Doh Rings
And a wish the Packers would have a good end
Where is the sugar on the donuts, should have gotten Saucy Bone-In Wings
Playing trivia and pool on the electronic device on the table
Having a Coke because there was no Mello Yello
I would have gone to a movie instead if I was able
Stuffed in like sardines next to a lonely older fellow
Got a replacement for the sugarless donuts
No extra charge for the new ones from our waiter guy
They still had about half the sugar I wanted, which was nuts
Next time I'll order the Mountain High Mud Pie!

Teach me how to fly over a stormy sea
teach me how to live my time
now I no longer have time
you little star without a sky
love me always
love me tenderly
without asking why
my heart is broken
but.. in every small part of it the memory of you lives
the perfume of you lives
teach me how to fly beyond the lines of a new beginning
the boundaries of a new hope.
Dry your tears
don't you cry,
if you love me.. your smile will be
my peace.

A moment, captured in time.

She has lines of worry and stress,
Her eyes clouded and sad.

And yet, in that moment so many years ago, the lines were of laughter and her eyes sparkled with hope, looking at the beautiful baby in her arms.

A moment, forever printed for the world to see.

His eyes show the sorrows of being alone, his hands show how hard he worked.

And yet, in that moment in print, His eyes hold the pride of being a dad, his strong arms and hands hold his son high with joy.

How precious is that moment in time, when we no longer have the subject, but only get to hold the print.

Remember to live, love, laugh and take a photo.

Mello Yello Pop
Burger King Drive Thru Waiting
Twenty Minutes Long

Poet to Poet Returns.....

Poet,
It was a great thrill
to read you today.

It's an indescribable
delight & comfort
to be in this bewildering relationship with you.

~

You are there
to give me courage
to beckon me
to the world of the living.

You are there to invite me to the
most breathtaking voyage,
there to prevent me from
slumbering in the wasteland of the mind.

Yes

You sustain my efforts to
disentangle myself
from the tentacles of dementia.


What are we but a washed out blueprint
attesting to the failure of the great architect's attempt?

(were there ever one
in establishing his great scheme)

Not human yet-
already earthlings no more.

Could the roots of our confusion stem
from our difficulty of finding a compass
to steer us safely through
between the poles of madness & grief,
to fix us upon the meridian
of unrehersable awakening?

If the real self is the driver,
subliminal you would say
then the mirror upon which we travel
reflects the afterglow of our desire.

If we are the repositories of countless exiles
soul wrung out of soul,
the wayward crossings of countless currents
in some solar neighborhood,
we are free to imagine our shells
managing the destiny of angelic entities
or in fields invisible
fostering astral bodies.

The earth we have left behind
seems still empowered,
to withhold us in some bardo
for we have failed in recognizing
the final dissolution of light
as our point of no return.

How are we to keep pace
with the increase of disease
busy as we are to upkeep
the famish of our mutable hearts?

(pause)

It truly dazzles me to be
in this fare with you,
never has storm been so welcoming,
shipwreck so soothing.

In your breaker I restore my mast
dear Poet
reef or lifebelt
what matters
you have set your metaphors afloat
to tender my sinking a hold.

In the throbbing breach of your flesh
you have ushered my homecoming.

In the agony of your loins
I cradle your moan
you unleash the floods
of your quivering flame.

Upon your breaking waters
palaver of birds,
whispers of my pollen
pangs of consumed heaves.


Write soon, Poet

SAS