Last Commented Nostalgia Poems (1,154)

~yet~

letters are random afloat on the page
making them stick with meaning of sense
tolerant bright
segmented thoughts
collaborative keystrokes
dead pillow fought

them times when the paper the mind and the pen
will lead one a-stray from no start to no end

~Bentlee~

How will it be
What will we say
Will we go around in circles filling up the day

Life was so good with cotton candy and clowns
And a ferris wheel was the only place
Where we noticed the ups and downs

A black and white tv sat on a stand
And three networks were enough
To entertain the mind of man

A neighbor would wave or reach to shake your hand
Movies were mostly decent
And there was one where Elvis sang about cotton candy land

Optimisticme has overtaken me
need to write 2 poems to stay ahead
it may not be a competition
but it gets me out of bed.

It is evening now.
And the cold wind blows away
The words from my lips
I cannot distract my mind
From thinking.
Once upon a time
In my old house
There lived a man,
Who was a part of me .
He lived as many summers
As many winters I did .
And we were called WE...
WE cannot be found now
In the crowd
Anymore.
When winter comes
All that happened before
Is happening again.
As if the calendar has all the numbers
Backwards,
The watch stops
And the time do not run at all .
Have you heard how time sounds?
How does it sing?
And how silent it can be
For centuries?
He lived as many summers
As many winters I did. .
And we were called We...

split like smoke
and orange peel
confessions to Mary
river delta woman
chained x chained
celluloid reels
blue field lines
victory under flag

deep water whiskey
running with ice
funnel me back Jack
time and tapestry
to the gunslinger age
pearl handled
vigilantes
comes the preacher
with the good book
read me a passage padre
one for all the fools
the world suffers
all this bullet and bounty
dead in the county
count them, count them
until the dark raven circles
surround your eyes
turning the pages
slowly, slowly
fold, fold
for the night

Rubber and tin
tonic and gin
deep in Malaya
Wallace rose
to the sight
of Atkins
parading
like the Sultan's emissary
towards his hut
No finer man
could he have procured
for such a mission
he determined,
resolutely confident
amongst his peers.
"A day for the cool of the hills Wallace"
"Indeed Sir" he responded, "'tis destiny that finds us at the mercy of this wretched jungle but we shall overcome the odds my good man"
He drank from the rainwater vessel before they set off for the interior.
On a rise they took view of the valley plateau that ran from the river to the distant mountains, green with wild fruit trees and rice paddies.
"The objective Atkins is to wrestle a lease from these inhabitants, should they be disposed to entreat us so, we must give the impression that the Sultan has allied with us in spirit my man, that these lands are bound for greater duty to humanity"
Atkins stared at the hills, the prospect amused him as it had when presented by Wallace's predecessors.
"A vision it is Wallace" he replied somewhat unctuously
"A vision it is"

The riverboat eased downstream Wallace resting
on sacks of fruit, he cursed his boots as his feet swelled.
Two laconic barefoot fishermen squinting in the evening light
ran lines into the opaque waters.
He could observe the jungle expanse from his post,
verdant and vined, primitive noises and life, it seemed neither friend nor foe.
At least he had met Atkins, who he trusted with jungle lore, and despite his
apparent predilection for opium, he knew Atkins had sway with the village elders, and could muster men to a cause. Tomorrow they would set out across the flats towards the hills, with rifles, supplies, water and quinine.

I idly moved the curtain
and through the screen
I watched
Wallace's rigid frame
retreating stoically
midship
along the village road.
Making haste for the water
he glanced disdainfully
at the unkempt girl
corralling chickens
while the clove drawing
cigarette man
eyed him suspiciously
from a hut doorway
above the river.
Is it not God's will
he murmured to himself
that I should bring
a civilizing influence
to this damned outpost
of heat and destitution.
All three before him
had yielded to the mission
all missing in action
yet the company still
believed in rubber
believed in Wallace
and the empire
upon which the sun
never sets.

In the shadow of the Raj
the afternoon delight
smoking opium
reclined in the hills
with Wallace
from the company
who through the haze
winked at me
as the Thai girl
brought in the tea

Wallace knew rubber
as I knew the jungle
we had fashioned
an alliance of sorts
as men do
in arduous conditions
"My good man"
as he was wont to declare
bristling with Etonian accent
downplayed his intentions
a disingenuous disguise
his virtues being few
"there is much to be done,
the world awaits Sir"

I took the hot tea
and considered the prospect
of rubber, men and machetes