Last Commented Nostalgia Poems (1,154)

My earliest memories brings me back to county Clare
where I would visit my granddad in his rural hamlet of Shragh
always felt magical to me as a little lad.

I remember the strolls, we would take
on the small barren country road
following the lassie dog, leading
me on to an adventure.

Surrounded by thorn bushes,the spires of reeds
reaching into the cloudless sky
but never was the reeds in my granddads fields
lush green grass only to be seen.

I remember the river which always was full of fish
never was a doubt, we would catch a trout
egged on by the lassie dog he would hurry me
straight through the door my father goes with the fish.

Late night talks by the turf fire
I can picture the smell,
traditional music and tobacco smoke
how endless it all seemed.

The once magical land to me as a lad
has changed drastically, now that I am a man
no longer does the river give trout
no longer is the field lush of green grass
reeds have taken over.

Only the peace remains, but not the soul
The place seems empty now
lost in some mysterious void.

My thoughts keep it alive inside me
my heart yearns to experience it again.
At least it may not be lost forever
as the memories of it are still locked
inside of me.

I will always remember the rural hamlet
of which my grand dad used to live
housing the characters that once lived.

She sat huddled up in fleecy blanket
shaking and trembling, mutters to her self
it has not yet sunk in, this painful loss
that sears her breaking heart with terrible grief

A solitary teardrop falling down

She thought of the fun and love they shared
the strolls they had shared in leafy woods
the way he had snuggled up close to her
his warm breath brushing her ear as they sleep

A solitary teardrop falling down

Over in the kitchen corner his bowls
along with a comfy bed seldom used
she needed to put them away out of sight
yet devastated she had little strength

A solitary teardrop falling down

She wished the tears would flow healing her
yet though they trembled within her eye lids
she could not seem to release them but they stung
just one escaped and rolled down her face

A solitary teardrop falling down

They roam the hills and the valleys of our years these treasures of our lives and of our peers. They flow like gentle music throu our busey days,and rage like torrents of rain altering our stubborn ways. They mellow our aging,bring memories we hold dear; and wiser mold our thoughts while we are here. Treasures: yes, they are many; they are finer then gold.

I've been searching for you

While you're searching for me

Taken my time

Taken it all so easy

Hoping you don't pass by

I've been lookin in the mirror

To see what I could see

The truth staring back at me

There will be no more lies

For I am set free

It is one step backwards

Two steps forward

I am on board

Life is for the living

And that's where I will be

There will be times of happiness

And times of tears

Life don't change

Because you walk without fear

It's not in what you say

But what you do

Please don't pass me by

I am searching for you

I had to do some rearranging

A bit of a thing called changing

I'm in no hurry

Just taking my time

Might not look like I'm seeking

But I will be hoping to find

Life is for the living

I will be living mine

here we are...once again beside the fire
bitter wind whistling from outside through the eaves
an acoustic tune piping low envelops
gently cradling us in our rockers sway
snug in our old jeans and flannel shirts
I tamp my pipe as you border a blanket
oil lamps way down glimmer
outside..snow covered fields stark and naked
winter is such a damnable alien land
safe inside our shelter
we hold one another in our eyes
and in our gentle nature
later we'll cling to one another
unclothed 'neath crisp quilts
our bodies warming
but for now, in evenings glow
we breathe...and we smile
our bodies several feet apart
our hearts...
joined eternal!

A thousand fragments of broken thoughts
invade my mind
tumbled,jumbled, like sand in a glass
uncountable
grains of multi-coloured sand.
What can they tell?
of you and I, of us together
we cannot measure the treasure we found
so late in our life.
Scales could not weigh it,
nor a bank vault contain it.
It has no price.

it's early saturday morn
and the market place is worn
although the humidity will rise
a cooling breeze does surprise
it dances on my skin
jogging memories that begin
to enhance my lonely smile
about a pastime worthwhile
you'd sit and watch and wait
for the ocean to sedate
let the wind do it's thing
it's natural for it to swing
and if by magic you would see
calmer ocean and a clear blue sea
it's direction had to change
90 degrees was its range
but when it stayed within
the angle of it's whim
there lay the ocean clear
dressed in joys tear
and as you paddled out
the wind enthused your shout ...........

oh you, naked and raw,rock
you remind me a kiss of a summer night
while the waves of the sea
crashing against the purity of
our fragile feeling
feelings as illusions of a summer night
they easy come taking our hearts
then fall with the first autumn wind

John Candy
Thankyou for the laughs
You were in so many good movies
I just got Planes Trains and Automobiles on DVD for 5 bucks
You and Steve Martin were a great combination
From your motel room fight
To your wrong way drive between semis
My funny bone was filled with elation
You have such a gift
And a warm heart too
Hard to believe in 1994 you were through
From Spaceballs, National Lampoon's Vacation,
Home Alone, Cool Runnings, Spaceballs,
Brewster's Millions and Stripes
You brought a smile to millions
You will never be gone really
Weather you are eating on an airplane
Or playing polka music in the back of a van
You John Candy were and are the man

First let us take our friend the horse
a noble creature who serves us well
supplying us with a source of good compost
ferrying us here and there in fine style
pulling carts and carriages with aplume
carrying riders proudly on their backs
seldom a traffic jam and smell the pure air
enjoy the freedom to gallop with the wind

Now let us take the motor car
this guzzles fuel at an alarming rate
spewing out poisonous fumes that pollute
and if you should have a crash a tangled heap
of near useless metal is all that remains
and people torn and broken trapped inside
and the queue of traffic stretching back
maybe cars are fast but they come at a high price

In olden days the fields were much smaller
quilts against the landscape so pleasing to see
the hedgerows full of flowers giving shelter
to a host of birds, insects and small animals
the stately shires ploughing the fields
laying the lines true and straight
their leisurely pace giving dormice time
to scuttle away and find some safety

The big modern threshers and ploughs
need far bigger spaces to work so large fields
gone the pretty quilt work, gone most hedgerows
rushing over vast areas harvesting the crops
behind them lay the dead and injured bodies
of all the little creatures unable to flee the blades
now the crows move in to feast live or dead they eat
so yes more crops fast harvested but at a high price

In days gone by we dwelt in villages and small towns
where most if not all knew one another by name
you could safely leave your house unlocked
and your children played safely in the streets
neighbours helped one another in whatever way needed
and shared the little they themselves had gladly
street parties were times of great delight
but best of all you truly knew your friends

Sky scrappers looming towering up high
stinky lifts that break leaving one trapped
danger round every corner its each for themselves
rapists, burglars, murderers and plain gangsters
have a field day in the metropolis with easy pickings
here one keeps ones children safe and tucked away
concrete blocks of houses along concrete streets
everywhere you see strangers at what a high price

When one stops and really thinks about it all
are these advances really worth the price we pay
does it really matter with the vast food piles
if it takes a little longer to do the harvest
cars are all every well but where is the romance?
the quivering flesh of an excited horse galloping
does far more for me than a petrol guzzling beast
I just prefer the less complicated times of yore