Most Liked Nostalgia Poems (1,154)

Way back in the 1900's, streets were illuminated by gaslights, many murders took place in the back streets of London; Jack the ripper was one such man who honed his skills murdering call girls at night, while in the day saving lives, all of this took place under a glowing gaslight. The gaslight was also a place were lovers had romantic entanglements while the policeman would pound the beat protecting the public from criminal activities, his only defense was his police whistle, bataan and his specially designed helmet. The gaslight will always be remembered with fond memories of a time of a distant past.

Author: John Ginesi
Written: 12 October 2018

Today we view the radio as a common item we listen to for news, sport, weather and of course music, we listen to on various media such as phones and other modern devices, but let's travel back in time to the 1920's were the radio or wireless as it was affectionately known was first created. Families would congregate around the wireless for entertainment. Once a popular program was scheduled, they would turn on the radio, as the valves inside would glow, crackle and slowly come to life. The program would start as the news could be heard by all present, following with a concert recital. In later years the radio became portable with the advent of batteries, making it possible to hear music on the move, radio was transmitted on the Broadcast Band later known as AM. The 1960s changed radio as it was slowly replaced by Television, it was later formatted for Top 40 music as 45rpm records were promoted and sold to the youth of the time, radio evolved into FM Stereo in the 1970's and by then radio we once loved was changed forever.

Author: John Ginesi
Written: 21st October 2018

Anticipation drives you on
Comes the moment, and it's gone
Left behind, wrapping-paper-mountain
Fridge of left-overs, no ones counting

Does it matter, how the day was spent
If true emotion, made a special event
Genuine smiles, pleasure of giving
Talk of the past, of loved ones missing

In homes world over, format the same
A time for children, not stock-piled-gains
Limited gifts, when thought does count
Each year allow, past memory mount

Character building, applied in varied ways
Until next year, when on that special day
Celebrated for gifts, not our saviours birth
Time for reflection, not gluttonous mirth

Whatever outcome, one rule wins through
A time for families, both old or brand new
Sadly there will be singles, eating alone
Those cold on our streets, without a home

At a time when giving, comes to the fore
Caring-sharing, not just presents galore
People make a moment, special gifts
Throughout coming years, give spiritual lift

Whether you donated, food, gift or your time
To share table and hearth, with mankind
Cherish family memories, important too
Remembered by elderly, their past shines through

A simple smile escapes, when sitting alone.....
You returning to memories, from past...private zone
Dragged to the present, to be enjoyed once more
Of family and friends, in a personal memory store......

I see, is becoming more than bored
to be around, and there
right here
Used to be a better population
something new every day, every minute
now, just wait, nothing happens
Liberation, say comes with a price
price of unique?

Images stir us alive, never forgotten
An avenue of trees, decked in blossom
You have a favourite memory you hold
Lift spirits, make you happy acting bold

Whether fragrance, adds to the pleasure
I love from my past, but I cannot measure
Against memories, retained in my heart
Drifting back in time, and miles apart

Past images so strong, special to me
Build momentum, each time I see
Nature's image, tree lined streets
Or farmland orchards, for family meets

Links carried, from strangers who cared
Designing avenues, for the future to share
Different sides of universe, a trigger too
To stir inner emotions, for those passing through

Pockets of special places, dot world's spaces
Lifting smiles, to visitors-residents faces
Little reminders, triggers of the mind
Personal video camera, to emotionally bind

Packers are out
Then I root for who?
The Bears and the Eagles are the only teams left I like
But they are playing each other
So after tomarrow night there will only be one left I like
For those I hate are the Cowboys and the Patriots
As for the rest
Saints, Chiefs, Rams, Chargers, Texans, and Colts
Not one of these do I care anything about
So will there be a team I like in the Super Bowl?
In four weeks we will find out on February 3.

As morning fog dissipates into clear thin air
the same goes one mythical, ancient isle
everyday sounds belie its entrapment
Sea birds by the thousands cry across open water
amplify distant shoreline percussions
plays upon the ears as approaching cannon fire
then quickly overtaken by thunderings overhead
Gnarling skies lowering hoist up demon waves
vibrations in the rigging wail with forebode
sailors choking in the froth and spray
severed from their sanity while pitched to and fro

Chords in C major snap in the middle
free-scaling notes reassemble themselves
into flats and sharps of the minor keys
recombined are re-imagined lyrical and vocal
Sirens song seductive seeking solace in the storm
final moments respite from this maelstrom of the mind
Regardless our hero having tied-to forward mast
his good ship's voyages, legacy and logs
entire fleet and faculty pulled in altogether
little else than bubbles fizzing top the surface
Sea birds calling across the open water

When I will come back,
I will run
Through the snow,
Not touching the ground,
Leaving
Barely a trace...
I will stop near your windows,
All my memories will return
When I come back.

When I will come back
I will go to the house,
Where the smell
Of fresh bread
Reminds me of times
Long gone
And will tear at my heart
When I come back....

When I will come back,
The nightingales will sing
That old lingering
Nearly forgotten tune.
And I will fall
Defeated
By my own return
If I will come back…

There you go again
Drifting into my thoughts
I was doing just fine: daydreaming
As the light of the TV reflected off of
My glazed eyes
Is someone speaking?
I don't hear the words of these
Real people
Pretending
I hear the sound of your guitar
I see you
In sky blue
Strumming a song out of me
Now I sit here with
Hooded eyelids
A sly grin on my
Stained lips
As thoughts of you
Become more and more
Vivid
Warm
And this four-year-old
Sauvignon
Slowly
Disappears




K_Ann_70
Copyright 2019

Late afternoon staring at a blank ,
asking myself Do I miss someone or just the IDEA of that someone.
Been awhile having No One to miss at all....hhhmmm
What should I do then?...