Nostalgia Poems (1,152)

How great thy vista to my eyes abound
when late of time, I viewed my Southland down,
fond childhood memories bid my heart recall,
times, when all the trees seemed so tall,
but now, the burning coals of fading day,
ignite twilight moments, where magic colours play,
and yon not forgotten village nestling lies
harmoniously, beneath its genial skies;
its people's thatch and heavens spire
are gently washed by sunsets living fire,
whilst graveyards cherished ancient Yew
reach down to kiss the coloured painted dew,
and evening primrose dwell within its shade,
sport contrasting hues with subtly displayed,
and all that sleep in hedgerows wild,
live freely, like as the spirit of a child,
whose innocence breathes the air of play,
of rapturous joy, like this ebbing edge of day,
to await morning's green mantle care,
as day dissolves, in all its wondrous flare,
such artistry each captured rainbow bring
the blushing tints of sweet remembering,
woolen clouds, there floating charms interlace
the chasing sun, warmth of time's everlasting grace.
So, when the breath of life's no more,
my spirit shall stay by the waters of the Stor.

Black ky SILVER STARS
Aroma of wet sage
Dry whistling winds
THE silent jump of leapus paws,
PEASEFUll Desert sleep.

Do you remember yesterday's gold
A treasure of memories suddenly unfold
Where sunset was slow on an old dusty road

When anxious summertime arrived with it's glow
A car would travel through the neighborhood
And on a loud speaker you could hear
What was playing at the drive in show

And sometimes there was a little kid
Walking down that country road
With the best dog he ever had by his side
And believing God's arms were always opened wide

Ready to hold ready to hold
For a staff he had only a fishing pole
Never would he forget yesterday's gold

Continued from Part One.

The doctor, an aging geriatric, that in Charlie’s opinion should have retired at least forty years ago, was like a cat in mice heaven when he saw the state of Charlie. He fussed over him, he laughed, he prodded, and when Charlie screamed, he guffawed so loud and long that Charlie thought he must be stark raving mad.

The doc might have been quite mad, but he was also good at his job, and once he had put Charlie out for the count he did an excellent job. Charlie knew this for two reasons, the first being that the doc told him so on numerous occasions, and the second being that he was now running for this open door.

This time Charlie didn’t have any moonshine, or any food come to that, his knapsack contained little more than a bundle of rags. Although to be fair, they were the alternative to the rags he was wearing at that time.

So why was Charlie running for the open door, why was he risking his life again in this crazy manner? Well, the answer would be that Charlie had overstayed his welcome once again. He had stolen too many eggs, badgered too many people for handouts, and had answered back on too many occasions.

It was Charlie’s only option, jump a train, open door or not, and get to a new town where he could rattle a few more people of their good will.

So Charlie ran, his hand reached towards the handle, and he leapt.

Charlie missed the handle, slipped, and rolled.

Charlie rolled under the train, under the wheels, and met his end.

Nobody wept for Charlie, nobody knew he had died, nobody even knew he had existed.

The End.

The hobo ran out of the night, a lithe figure with the ungainly motion of one looking like he had no confidence in his quest. His quest was indeed a challenging one, to hop on a moving train, and not a slow one at that.

Charlie hadn’t been prepared for the task, as the train had come nearer he had thought it part of his dream, and it was only when the rumbling shook him awake that he realised what was occurring.

He rolled out of his homemade bed, a pile of dried grass with his knapsack as a pillow, and bounded towards the track. He was hoping for a flatbed carriage, but they seemed conspicuous by their absence, so an open door it was.

Normally he avoided jumping on moving trains, especially ones with open doors. The reason being two fold, it was bloody dangerous, and who knew what was behind the door.

A few years back he had attempted a similar challenge, and after nearly killing himself as he clambered aboard with feet dragging on the track side gravel, he was then set upon by two rather unfriendly youths. They relieved him of his bag, a bag which contained the little food that he had left, and worse still, his bottle of genuine 40% proof moonshine. It was a plastic bottle, and when the youths found it they whooped with joy, in fact they were so happy to have acquired such a prize that they decided to let Charlie live.

When I say allowed Charlie to live, it might be worth mentioning that they didn’t exactly make sure that he didn’t die, but they did throw him out into bushes, ensuring a possible soft landing.

Memories of that soft landing came to Charlie as he ran for the open door, memories of how he bounced through the thorn encrusted bushes onto the hard dirt road that ran along the railway. Memories how he came to a sudden halt as his body wrapped itself around the mile marker which was directing travellers to the next town en-route.

That experienced had laid him up for months, seven broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and the worst injury that can befall a hobo, a broken leg. The broken leg was a particularly bad one, it had snapped in two places. If not for the kind soul that got him to the local docs, he would have been minus one leg, and probably his life by now.

Please continue on Part 2.

love me now darlin
before time has not more time
before day turn off on the horizon
I do not want the dark night falls upon us
I do not want the cold night take you away
love me now darlin
tenderly, softly.. hopelessly
before I open my eyes
before I discover your secret, your truth
before I entrusted a tear in the wind

A golden dove
came to me
telling that you
were leaving me
Why? Don't you just tell me
from your own words
that you not happy
not anymore
Things will be fine
just face the true
that you had fallen
for a friend of yours
Im not mad at you
and I ll never be
for the things
that happen
between you and me.

Wandering through the city lights,
walking slowly watching shadows close,
recalling all those stupid fights,
now wondering who was hurt the most,

Footsteps not yours close to me,
joyous laughter seems abound,
no longer have the responsibility, am free,
but when alone, all things have a lonely sound,

Music blares songs from the past,
my feet tingle and want to move,
momentarily lost to all the good that was cast,
I feel the rythm and beat, am in the groove,

In mind am dancing along the street,
grinning foolishly like an overgrown clown,
staring eyes saying, you, we dont want to meet,
smiling softly within, they will not get me down,

The river shines full of lifes souls,
lapping waves against the sturdy banks,
the murky depths are not one of my goals,
walking with shadows, today, I give thanks.

It was dark and scary
I could not see
Just feel
I wanted to turn and run
But that was not to be

Each step I took
I took in fear
And then I felt it
I knew all to clear.

No going back
that wasn't to be
So I went bravely
Alone just me

I made it
to the other side
So sad
A piece of me
had died

In awesome wonder, bemused with naive gaze,
glanced I, upon the garden's flower'd sprays,
keen of eye, gathered there upon a wondrous spree,
enhanced by filtered shades of nearby protective tree,
exhibiting splendour by Nature's woven braid,
Zephyr kissed, where dancing breezes played
from Dawn's soft light,'til eve's fired close,
weaves coloured sweet, a bouquet of repose,

Blessed quietude, abounds my garden here,
akin to infant innocence, happy smiles spun dear,
each flowered season here I joyous spend,
ne'er to question, man's questions of why or when,
cloistered hours, its sacred aura breathing know,
humble adoration amid plants that nature sow,
mocks human society, oft, course low and rude,
thus my sanctuary, found amid this flowered solitude,

Oft have I, Summer bathed amid a velvet carpet green,
my honoured eyes, have, in silent blushing wonders seen,
Yet methinks, how brazen lovers would the oceans tame,
with profanities pomp, and for posterity carve their name
thoughtless, upon the bark of some proud tree,
weave conceited hope, the world their name to see
as loose lipped devotion, temporarily to be found,
highlight fragility, proud tree alone the world astound.