Nostalgia
Impressions made in the teen age
Are not erasable till the end
And recyclable with much flair.
Nostalgia bathes one's ego.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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It's the Attention Given That Sells
A showstopping mocker,
Here to dropp impressions?
No.
I'm not into recreations.
They bore!
My direction has my pace on it.
Comparisons made to others,
Is an honor that flatters.
But I've never been able,
To do impressions well.
And if my toes are stepped on,
I will yell.
With a broadcasting done,
Screaming from the painful agony inflicted.
I can not escape the flair for dramatics.
It's the attention given,
That sells a unique performance.
'Work that pout.'
It's here.
'Work that stare.'
It's here.
'Now work that brow over the eye.
Arch it up real high! '
'Work that pout.'
It's here.
'Work that stare.'
It's here.
'Now work that brow over the eye.
Arch it up real high! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Are they known for their feats?
When old songs of my teen age era played
My nostalgia brought me the taste.
Who wrote, who tuned and who sang, I don’t know.
They might think that they would live by their feats.
27.10.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Flair Of A Romance
A new environment,
A new life,
A new heaven!
The flair of a romance is what i bring to you;
Like a stair case full of hope.
The flair of a romance,
Walking up and down the stairs!
Listen to the joy of a muse that i bring to you.
Posit,
Tell me why?
love from the Blue River where,
All the fingers are not equal.
Of the romanti night with the plastic,
Of the true love that i share with you;
'Rickmer Rickmers', 'Cap San Diego' and 'James Caird I';
She gave me the apple and i ate it.
'Titanic', Santa Maria', 'Chesapeake' and 'Bulgaria';
All the days are not equal.
'Japanese Prince', Alte Liebe' and James Caird II';
love is like the waterside beauty with a romance.
Let's sail on with 'S.A. Van der Stel',
The flair of a romance with,
Impressions from the sea of love to touch you all;
Sail on the Alster and the Elbe alike to gain a view.
Love from the Blue River where,
All the fingers are not equal;
A new environment is all that you need on this love.
The flair of a romance,
Life is like the sleepless night in St. Pauli;
The flair of a romance,
Life is with its tides to touch you;
She gave me he apples and i ate it.
To the four winds i do respect like,
The flair of a romance in anew heaven!
Love and romance,
Apples ans bananas;
What a day of joy to share with you.
A water source became a river,
The river later became a lake;
She gave me the apples and i ate it!
The lake became a sea,
The sea became an ocean on this love;
For the flair of a romance,
The birds sang for joy on this love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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It's Better With The Good Eye
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,
Looking back at oh so far away.
Memory’s just another way to see.
A place to go on holiday for free,
Forty years ago if it’s a day.
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.
And was that other person really me,
What changed, why could I not stay?
Memory’s just another way to see
The way things were around us then when we
Thought all our dreams were surely on their way.
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,
The sky was always blue it seemed to me,
Every day the sun shone so they say -
Memory’s just another way to see,
But now I know that life’s not lunch for free
That bitter fruit is served on many days
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,
Memory’s just another way to see.
Martin Swords
“Prompt Poems”
Villanelle
March 2008
poem by Martin Swords
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I think I am too old to be doing teen movies. I am just kind of annoyed, because you have all these teen movies coming out with usually either Lindsay Lohan or Hilary Duff doing four of the exact teen movies over and over again.
quote by Alexa Vega
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Aggies Of Ateneo De Davao Around The World
nostalgia is the word for all these now
we have the urge to look out the window and find
who we were: the joys of the college years that will tickle us
old friends and their memories like innocent children
coming on our laps asking for our embraces
old pictures make our hearts shrink a little only to grow
bigger like a bread from the pan
fresh and fuming with the flavor of wheat
nostalgia is the word for it
and time is its mother that nourishes with its milk
the past comes to us always with something greener
and a breather of mint and rosemary
some peppers and honeyed lemonades
nostalgia is the word for it
when our wings have gone far beyond the lands of our births
dissolving in the horizons of other lands
when our chirps are gone
nostalgia is the word for it
when we come back stronger this time and lovelier
with our wounds that healed
with our pains that lost its trick
nostalgia is the word for it
such is she a beautiful woman still even though the hairs have turned gray
and the breasts sag and the bones rattling like brittle sticks
nostalgia is the word for it and no matter where the winds of this world
and its cyclones and waves have taken us
we are back looking for the glitter of each other's eyes
and then we laugh and then the world has heard us
yes, nostalgia is the word that people seldom use
as they move on with their respective lives
but we are here once again
nostalgia is the theme, it is here and soon it will leave
we are once again full even for once
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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If You Can Do Hair With Flair
If You Can Do Hair With Flair
If you can do hair
and do it with flair
Be somebody
Be yourself
Styles of an old rendition,
Adding to a new edition
Tints and dyes
For wows and oh mys
Braids
Weaves
Cuts
Trims
To the left
To the right
Curls
Swirls
If you can do hair
And do it with flair
Be Somebody
Be Yourself
by Alfreda Doyle
poem by Alfreda Doyle
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For The Defence
'This Cen-TEEN-ary,' sez 'e
Sez I, 'You'll pardon me.'
(Perlite, like that, first off, and 'arf in laughter).
'You'll pardon me, I'm sure,'
I sez: 'but, speakin' pure,
Cen-TEN-ary, I think's, the word you're after.'
'Cen-TEEN-ary!' sez 'e;
An' looks fair, bang at me
All sort of snakey-eyed an' irritated.
Sez I, 'Don't be absurd,
For the dictionary word
Is Cen-TEN-ary. It's much more edjacated.'
'Cen-TEEN-ary!!' sez 'e.
Some'ow, 'e seemed to be
The sorta bloke wot gits me back up proper.
'Aw, brush yer brains!' sez I,
Gettin' 'ot. (I dunno why.)
'Cen-TEN-ary!' I sez. 'You darn clod-'opper!'
'Cen-TEEN-ary!!!' sez 'e,
As snarky as could be.
You know the sorta bloke I mean - pig-'eaded).
'Cen-TEN-ary, you fool!
Ain't you never been to school?'
Sez I. An' then things 'appened - like I dreaded.
'Cen-TEEN-ary!!!' sez 'e.
An' 'e swings a left at me
That would 'a' knocked me cold, if it 'ad landed.
'Ho! A gentleman!' I sneers;
'Full of nice, perlite idears.'
Then I ups an' tears right into 'im, two-'anded.
'Cen-TEEN-ary,' squeaks 'e.
(Still obstinit, yeh see).
Well, it weren't no time for bein' tender-'arted,
So I spreads 'im on the floor,
An' 'e never sez no more ....
So, please yer Worship, that was 'ow it started.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Stars In His Eyes
Teen wearing cool shades while he waits,
waits at to learn electric guitar to be great.
Be a great guitar player with 'Stars in his Eyes'
his guitar glows on stage late at night.
Teen waiting at Marathon Guitar Center store,
learning guitar from Rich,
to be better than before.
I told teen as I went out the door.
'You are in inspiration to me, '
as we both held on to our guitars,
'You will one day be a great rock star'.
Teen smiled and then Rich added,
'He will give you tickets to the front row-
to his sold out 'Rock Guitar Show'.
Teen smiled to Rich's reply,
I knew this teen could reach for the skies,
and be the 'Guitar Player with Stars in his Eyes.'
Written Suzae Chevalier on January 28,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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I am using soybean based ink, which is recyclable.
quote by Rick Danko
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They were marketing me as a teen idol, when the stuff on the record was not what teen idols were doing at the time.
quote by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The maker is not to blame.
Men had been rational
Till they’ve made religions,
Since when the religions
Have made them mere sheep.
Men had been awaken
Till they’ve made religions,
Since when the religions
Have made them quite drowsy.
Men had been brotherly
Till they’ve made religions,
Since when the religions
Have bred the rivalries.
Men had been good in mind
Till they’ve made religions,
Since when with all the walls,
They have become perverts.
If what was intended
From what was made
Has not been the outcome,
The maker is not to blame.
17.03.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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My life is very exciting now. Nostalgia for what? It's like climbing a staircase. I'm on the top of the staircase, I look behind and see the steps. That's where I was. We're here right now. Tomorrow, we'll be someplace else. So why nostalgia?
quote by Jeanne Moreau
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Van Halen
When I was a teen,
I went and saw David Lee Roth
who was lean and mean.
Jumping through the air,
screaming at the top of his lungs,
full of theatrics, full of fun.
He wore a sparkly red jumpsuit,
He was hot, point rather mute.
Now Eddy jammed on with brother Alex on drums,
They each did a fantastic solo, never ho hum.
Later I went to see Van Halen again,
This time with Sammy Hagar who is talented like them.
It was a great show, but Sammy did not jump in air,
He likes red costume too with clothes a flair.
Now I hear David Lee Roth is back again,
playing with Van Halen they made up and are friends.
It would be an interesting show to attend,
to see David Lee Roth jump, twirl and bend.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on August 28,2011
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Van Halen
When I was a teen,
I went and saw David Lee Roth
who was lean and mean.
Jumping through the air,
screaming at the top of his lungs,
full of theatrics, full of fun.
He wore a sparkly red jumpsuit,
He was hot, point rather mute.
Now Eddy jammed on with brother Alex on drums,
They each did a fantastic solo, never ho hum.
Later I went to see Van Halen again,
This time with Sammy Hagar who is talented like them.
It was a great show, but Sammy did not jump in air,
He likes red costume too with clothes a flair.
Now I hear David Lee Roth is back again,
playing with Van Halen they made up and are friends.
It would be an interesting show to attend,
to see David Lee Roth jump, twirl and bend.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on August 28,2011
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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I don't play nostalgia acts. I don't play nostalgia shows.
quote by David Cassidy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One Chance at History
One chance at history
To be inscribed in eterntiy
Erasable
poem by Brian Kilpatrick
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On The Last Hour....
incoherent
hour
nostalgia vomiting
nostalgia
hands wrap your
body of
hands
desire is gone
welcome
total blankness
you leave everything
to God to
God
switch to switch
turns off.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Game Still?
People can study the suffering of a meth addict or,
The teen that is hooked on crack,
We can know of what is going through the rape victims mind,
What it feels like to live inside your friendless drunken bottle,
We are taught this in school.
We’ve made excuses for these people so many times,
It’s like what they do in their life is no longer a crime,
Mother of three, gang raped, and left for dead,
Her sprit cries for the remains, because nobody cares.
A teen just did a little bit too much, but as he forever sleeps,
No one will know.
The girl who didn’t want it but he took it anyway,
And now she even has nightmares in the day.
Even the drunk that shot herself,
When the bottle got the best of her.
But what about the sex addicts?
The ones that lay in their bed and,
Cry them selves to sleep,
Call them selves’ names,
Needing to have it more and more,
Each and every day,
The pain they pay,
Because of the need.
Do you think this is a game?
Doubt that I am suffering?
Why don’t you see that I need help?
Just like a druggie or the drunk,
Or the girl sitting next to you,
Just wanting you to hide,
I need your shoulder to lean on.
This addiction I have become to hate,
At first I was like you and thought I was just,
A horny teen having a little fun,
Now I can't sleep at night and,
It controls my relationships with guys,
I just want this to go away,
Do you still think this is a game?
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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A Waiting
A green patch of growth
Raved in Dandelion yellow
Sway to the rhythm of wind
Under an old willow
Out of place it lurks
A muddy pond man-made
Where a lone duck sun bathes
In its weed laden banks-narrow
A concrete wall cage them in
A smiling face splattered on it
Black eyed and red lipped
Outside my window
At my honey oak desk I sit
Surrounded by paper rustling
Wallowing it all, idling
Impatiently, waiting till four!
poem by Deva De Silva
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