Nostalgia Poems (1,152)

Arms that hold me close nestling safely

Sunshine pouring strength into my bones

All gathered, it is time for the bell to ring

Progressing seems quicker than telephone




Reaching out to touch you but you are gone

Flowers essence that seems to linger on

Rain drops wash away all my cares today

As I trace the lines, the etching of life




Rocking chair holding dreams of once was there

Days and nights go on, no longer matter

Smile upon the lips and eyes glazed over

Is it dementia or mad hatter




Life has taken my youth it is now gone

My memories are mine leave them alone





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Arms in cold embrace
Salty tears warm down my face
A smile in my heart

AS FEET OF A PANTHER
SHE GRACES THE WOODEN STAGE
WITH FIRE LIGHT AGLOW
HER LONG CELESTIAL LEGS DO PEEK
FROM UNDERNEATH
SCARLET SILK TURKISH DRESS
HER BLACK RAVEN HAIR ALL WILD
EYES OF SPARKLING DIAMONDS
SHE DOETH TEMPT
SHE MOVES WITH A SOFT SEDUCTION
SWAYING TO THE BEAT
VOLUMPTOUS HIPS BEGIN TO
ROLL LIKE UNTAMED LOVERS
DELICATE ARMS MOVING
BELLY ASHINE WITH FIERY LATHER
SHE STEPS TO EACH BEAT
LIKE A TEMPEST OF STORM
FIERY FRENZY
SIDE TO SIDE
THE GATHERING CAUGHT UP
FOR HER MOVES BEWITCHING
EACH MAN ALIKE
AS SHE SLOWS
WOLVES DO HOWL
A SINGLE CRIMSON ROSE
FALLS TO HER FEET..

brunette hair intoxicates
Sexy eyes she dances for him
her gourges curves dance

She girates her heavenly curves
Intoxicating her heavenly charms she performs
Her intoxicating charm
Her belly dance

Under her spell in the moment
She rolls her hips sways her txts
He gazes as she dances for him

silky soft skin intoxicating amour
For she the dancer captivates him

We are the many the broken hearted and the lost. We enter our thoughts on these bios like tender flowers.Will we meet someone who will fulfill the empty spaces?Are we expecting too much from ourselves and who ever reaches out to answer our quest? The days of white knights and dainty madiens trapped in high bell towers are over.Its a myth too often told and yet many times believed.We need to take our masks off and feel the air of honesty and acceptance.It would be a silly sweet world if it were that simple! By Bess Mahoney

SOMETIMES I SIT AND PONDER
'BOUT MOST THINGS IN MY LIFE
LIKE GROWING UP ...AND CHILDREN
A HAPPY HOME ..A WIFE
THEN... JOY..AT LAST IT HAPPENS
EACH DAY SHARED IS BLISS
EACH MORNING UPON WAKENING
IS STARTED WITH A KISS

AS TIME MOVES ON WE WONDER
WHERE....IF IT EVER ENDS
DEEP DOWN INSIDE WE HOPE NOT
BUT THEN IT JUST DEPENDS
ON WHAT OUR DESTINY UNFOLDS
WHATEVER'S MEANT TO BE
OF WHERE OUR JOURNEY TAKES US
LIFE'S PLANS FOR YOU OR ME

A THOUGHT BEFORE WE THINK IT
IDEA YET TO PERCEIVE
IS SET FOR US BY GOD HIMSELF
THAT'S WHAT I BELIEVE
SO AS EACH NEW DAY PASSES
AND NEW THOUGHTS FILL MY MIND
I WISH THAT YOU COULD SHARE WITH ME
A JOY FOR ALL MANKIND

NO TEARS ..NO PAIN ..BUT LAUGHTER
MEET AND LOVE AND LEARN
SHARE A LIFE OF RAPTURE
IS THAT NOT WHAT WE YEARN
BE HAPPY ... BE CONTENTED
WALK HAND IN HAND AND ON
UNTIL THAT LAST GREAT MEETING
IN A PLACE SO FAR BEYOND

M.B. POEMS... 2014

I am a true Old-Fashioned Gentleman
which means I'm just a Simple Man
Without question a dying breed
selfless and manners my creed

Being the good guy can be cumbersome too
"Nice Guys Finish Last" doesn't have to be true
I'm chivalrous to a fault I can honestly say
couldn't imagine being any other way

Bliss for me is being reason behind others joy
my personality is synonymous with 'coy'
Yes I am owner of a heart as big as any
the times it's been broken surpassed many

When it comes to woman I have an insatiable appetite
assuring their satisfaction first always felt right
Tooting my own horn I have never been about
staying A Simple Man in these days deserves a shout

I relish the fact that in good ways I differ from the rest
early on I realized being the opposite of others was best
by doing much more listening than talking I gained prudence
I also ascertained many love to speak but few make sense

Being Irish in America

What’s it like being in America
When your heritage is Irish
This country’s a poor replica
Of the far off land you cherish
Grandfather arrived here at eleven
Sorely missing his land of heaven
His parents clung to Irish ways
Living them out all of their days
To keep from deep depression
And their aching hearts to lessen
They needed their Irish expression

Its ironic this experience in the land of many
How each generation tells the stories of old
Filled with rainbows and gold, lovingly told
Oh the stories I heard of Ireland were plenty
So us children growing up would be aware
And we’d agree to live here with utmost care

“We may be in America, but no one’s going native”
Resonated through my life like a battle cry
However, my Father dutifully handed it down
There was no “why Dad?”, you just comply
Or, little lassie you’ll be wearing a frown
To lay all this on us in a land we conquered
Certainly did form me, giving much to ponder
Like making sure I had the “the gift of gab”
So no one could ever call me drab
That was a good one, yup
Now I can barely shut up!

Thank you Grandfather, Father and Mother
For helping me feel like a complete alien here
Sprinkling love with just the right amount of fear
As if the Irish didn’t have enough superstitions
Like the Moon, wee leprechauns and the Devil
That I really never understood on a spiritual level
Irish superstitions, don’t you think, can be overdone

Like “lucky” four leaf clovers, “I’m looking over”
That darn little four leaf was surely my good luck
And as I feverishly looked for that fleeting clover
You know the four leafs I could never find or pluck
Spending literally hours trying to find in the yard
I would think about the Irish stories really hard
Letting them sink in, God forbid I would run amok
I’m naming a few superstitions that stuck like glue,
As you laughed with glee because I believed you!

You just live your life in the Celtic way
From your Irish roots you never stray
Your Grandfather was a mighty Irishman
In this new country he had a fierce plan
To live as if he never ever left his Ireland home
I’m sure he never sang “where the buffalo roam”

Grandfather, I think that was just a little crazy
Very emotional, traditional and a bit lazy
‘Cause now your granddaughter is losing her grip
And needs to catch the next space ship!

Mr. Keats,

"I find that I cannot exist without poetry....."

"What the imagination seizes as Beauty must be truth....."

"We hate poetry that has a design upon us......"

"Poetry should be great and unobtrusive, a thing which enters into one's soul."

"Why should we kick against the Pricks when we can walk on Roses?"

"Axioms in philosophy are not axioms until they are proved upon our pulses....."

"Until we are sick, we understand not....."

"Sorrow is Wisdom......"

"Wisdom is folly......."

Too wise
& yet not wise enough
as 25.
Sick, you understood
& understanding
were too weak to write.

Proved on the pulse: poetry.

If sorrow is wisdom
& wisdom is folly
then too much sorrow
is folly

I find that I cannot exist without sorrow
& I find that sorrow
cannot exist without poetry.....

What the imagination seizes as beauty
must be poetry....

What the imagination seizes must be.....

You claimed no lust for fame
& yet you burned.

"The faint conceptions I have of poems to come brings
the blood frequently into my head."

I burn like you
until it often seems
my blood will break
the boundaries of my brain
& issue forth in one tall fountain
from my skull.

A spume of blood from the forehead: poetry.

A plume of blood from the heart: poetry.

Blood from the lungs: alizarin crimson words.

"I will not spoil my love of gloom
by writing an Ode to Darkness......."

The blood turns dark;
it stiffens on the sheet.
At night the childhood walls
are streaked with blood-
until the darkness seems awash with red
& children sleep behind two blood-branched lids.

"My imagination is a monastery
& I am its monk......"

At five & twenty,
very far from home,
death picked you up
& sorted to a pip.
& 15 decades later,
your words breathe:
syllables of blood.

A strange transfusion
for my feverish verse.

I suck your breath,
your rhythms & your blood,
& all my fiercest dreams are sighed away.

I send you love,
dear Keats,
I send you peace.
Since flesh can't stay
we keep the breath aloft.

Since flesh can't stay,
we pass the words along.


SAS

You hold on to your possesions
You hold them dear
They belong to you
You throw nothing away

house becomes fuller
No more space is left
There they gather your dust
Your dust

You cannot move
From all your collectioning
Every nook and cranny they gather and hide
Forgotton that you put them there to hide

You mind is now clutterd from all your memories and possesions
that hide
Hidden in your mind and now outside
All gathererd together
Your memories

Now live outside