Last Commented Nostalgia Poems (1,154)

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.

If only I had the choice
To sing like the great Ruffi
Enchanting the hearts of millions
And getting tons of applause!
Wouldn't that be really nice?

If only I had the choice
To attend my friend's birthday,dancing
And singing the night away, and
Rejoicing in my friend's bliss!
Wouldn't that be really nice?

If only I had the choice
To visit the valley green,
Full of chirping birds and howling foxes,
With tossing fields and murmuring springs!
Wouldn't that be really nice?

If only I had the choice
To go to a school for learning
The ABC of life's course
And growing in the ways of the world!
Wouldn't that be really nice?

Yon lofty hills, dear lingering youth
when we climbed life"s sisphean slope,
amid tumbling rocks, yet, struggled on in hope,
now backward glance on labours oft uncouth,
each blind day, we green faith applied
upon the anvil of life's harsh forged sway,
each and every aching limb, relentlessly applied
the burning coals, to fire destinies unspoken play,
to climb the summits unattainable spoils,
such salad days, inspired by trackless spheres aloft,
passion filled, like as when, both lover and artist toils,
flew on wings, when life was green and soft,

yet despite the woes and destiny our present foe,
we sallied forth to Autumn's coloured glow.

I REMEMBER THE DAY I LEFT YOU , I STILL REMEMBER YOU ,I STILL DREAM ABOUT YOU ; SO MANY YEARS HAVE GONE BY ,SO MANY LOVED ONES HAVE JOURNEY IN TO THE ETERNAL SLEEP . YET MY HEART ACHES WITH GREAT PAIN PERHAPS IS BECAUSE I FEAR I NEVER SEE YOUR SHORES AGAIN , YES ; A GREAT PAIN REMEMBERING MY GRANPA AND HOW HE TOOK ME TO THE FIELDS AND SHOWED ME HOW TO WORK THE LAND ; HOW TO LOVE IT ; HOW TO RESPECT IT , THE SMELLS ,MY GRANDMA COOKING , ROASTING COFFEE ; BUT MY HEALTH IS FAILING THE YEARS ARE PILLING UP , I DON'T KNOW IF SHOULD KEEP FIGHTING OR JUST GIVE UP , YES I MISS YOU , AWAY FROM YOU I HAVE SEEING DEATH ,SORROW ,INJUSTICE , FEELINGS OF GUILT FOR THE THINGS THAT I SHOULD HAVE DONE BECAUSE YOU TAUGHT ME BETTER GRANDPA , LIVING WITH REGRET , DREAMING OF THE DAY THAT I CAN RETURN TO MY LAND AND SAY THOSE MAGICAL WORDS ; MOM I'M HOME : I MISS YOU

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;

The three most important rules of golf:
Keep your head down!
Keep you head down!
And keep you head down!
Obey the rules of golf
If you cheat, you are only cheating yourself
Clean off your club after every shot
Repair all divots
Repair all ball marks on the green
Keep carts 30 feet from the edge of the green
Let faster players play through
Make all your putts, no gimmes!
Pack some snack, you can't golf on an empty stomach
If you are a single, golf during the week, not on the busy weekends
The cheaper the course, the more elbow room you will have
Some say golf is a good walk spoiled, so take a cart
Mark your score on the next hole so the people behind you can play
Forget your bad shots
Have fun out there!

Somewhere in a wild where hunter kills
A bird cries our for it's mate
The sun is setting behind the hills
And it's never been gone so late
Somewhere in the heavens an angel sings
And unless being sent by the Lord
He may not interfere in earthly things
And raise his bow or his sword
Somewhere in my heart tender longings yet
Still endure through the pain and stress
For a sweetheart I have not met
And the one I may not posess

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Just woke up this morning time to start my day
Reaching for my coffee fighting the demons away
It's the memories rolling by, the mind just seems to follow
Robbing me of the day making me feel so hollow
I don't know what to do, it's still all about you

Going through the motions wanting it to change
Yet living here without you seems all to strange
No one sees the pain, no one looks inside
The smile upon my face keeps what I hide
I wish that you were here to wipe away my fear

There's a hand reaching out through this darken life
I want to reach back but I still feel like your wife
I think it is time to fight back and take the chance
Just reach back and leave the rest to circumstance
Or I could walk away and wait another day

The years are rolling by and yet I go on
Time to face the fact I'm tired of being alone
Time to give new memories their own place
Your memories will not be erased
Time to start my day, time to push the sadness away

Life's precious hours, its fleeting foot denounce,
like as flowing rivers run, touched but only once,
leaves us wondering, those haste filled days of yore,
when in soft repose, bloomed Springtimes scented store,
perchance, could fate again ignite those moments rare,
or we with sullen impotence, at futures dark regions stare,
thus we dream, whence earth its flowered fragrance sprung
and languish long, when we, our love songs sung;
Alas! The pen alone dare challenge with poetic guise,
to chronicle time's passage, scribe what's considered wise;
Ah! wisdom, 'tis not self conceits that we in abundance find,
more oft, in quietude and peaceful realms of mind,
a kaleidoscope of tranquility within one's being found,
when, stand we firm, on Autumn's leaf coloured ground,
new salad days, no differing from that of Spring,
as thoughts of love, like matin bells softly ring,
author of our days relate with profanities charged quill,
to find this doyen heart lives in Springtime still.

A Week at Clare College

A gentle softness of time settles on silent walls
While youth and future greatness scurries on inside your halls,
Marking a languid link with “then” and “now”
As scratchy ink from pen and thought from furrowed brow
Did prove its point and genius flowed from long-dead minds
Now move from joint liaison with “virtual” strangers’ finds.

With creaking floorboards on the curving stair
Rise up to view the greenness of your Quad out there -
Through mullioned glass you view the life walk by
A scullion ‘d pass; a few to knife and fork to buy
A meal in the café where Dons and staff and students all
Find time together, fat to chew, and ponder on the next May Ball.

The peaceful Backs from office window rear
Look over Cam and Fellows’ Garden near.
The gritted paths for centuries of shoes and wheels
Lay knitted garths around the grounds of yews and steals
Time out from study hard to offer rest and calmness from
The melee of the working day and relentless intercom.

One evening after work I strayed toward the town
At dusk; a lonely soul across the Quad , in brown
Raincoat; looked back at Chapel windows, soft-focused lit
And heard the practised evensong – and it
Was if I’d travelled back in time! To where the street
And modern city grime and Clare, were destined soon to meet.

I’ve left your hallowed halls and lofty rooms I’m sad to say ~
Some others stay behind to finish what they
Came to do and some are there for ever – well, you know
As long as our short life allows, and never want to go.
But Clare will stay and watch the changes over time
Protecting all her charges and her history, sublime.