A Stroll Along Old Memory Lane
A stroll along old memory lane is a thing I do enjoy
And I can hear the songbirds sing in the groves of Lisnaboy
And white butterflies are flitting midst the wildflowers of July
And above the rushy meadow the lark carolling in the sky
A stroll along old memory lane on a bright Summer's day
And from the sunlit meadow the scent of new mown hay
Is so pleasant to the nostrils in the freshening morning breeze
And the temperature a perfect of around 23 degrees
And on the leafy hedgerows the young birds chirp and sing
A stroll along old memory lane is such a pleasant thing
The hum of the wild honeybees the buzzing of the flies
The past from us not distant when we do visualize
And the skylark's song in the sunny sky is a pleasant thing to hear
As you walk along old memory lane in the Summer of the year.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Walk On Memory Lane
To me a walk on memory lane can be a thing of joy
To visit my uncle Dan and aunty Mary in their home in Lisnaboy
I could call there at anytime and a welcome i would find
The past it seems to stay with us in the memory of the mind,
The little brown lark carolled as upwards he did fly
Above the old coarse meadow on an evening in July,
I am on a walk on memory lane and how lovely to hear and see
The red breasted robin singing on branch of an alder tree
It all seems very real to me not a vision in a dream
The white breasted dipper singing in the rapids of the stream
On it's way to the river babbling as it does flow
Through meadows and through rushy fields and by many a hedgerow
I walk the fields of Lisnaboy when I'm on memory lane
And i visit Dan and Mary it is like old times again.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Spring In Lisnaboy
My many walks on memory lane i enjoy
'Twill soon be Spring again in old Lisnaboy
And though March 1 is the first of the calendar Spring
March can be wet and cold and few songbirds do sing.
But April she comes with her hosts of wildflowers
And the nesting birds sing in the mild April showers
And old Lisnaboy at it's best to be seen
And everywhere looking so lush and so green.
And April will fade to the beauty of May
And the swallows above the lush fields all the day
Will sing as they chase flies with young to be fed
In their mud nest on a rafter of some nearby shed
And at dawn before the sun shines in the sky
The skylark to greet the day upwards does fly
And the hawthorns heavy laden in their blossoms of white
In the full bloom of beauty a beautiful sight.
The bloom of lost youth we can never regain
But i do love my walks on memory lane
And a hark to the past is a thing i enjoy
Fond memories of Spring in old Lisnaboy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Taking a Walk on Memory Lane
Taking a walk on memory lane
isn’t all that gray.
Taking a walk on memory lane
I see the sunrays.
Taking a walk on memory lane
isn’t all full of tears.
Taking a walk on memory lane
I have no fear.
Taking a walk on memory lane
not a dropp of rain in sight.
Taking a walk on memory lane
Every thing is alright.
Taking a walk on memory lane
is where I want you to come along.
Taking a walk on memory lane
is where we belong all lifelong.
poem by Lost Sierra
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Travelling down memory lane
Traveling down memory lane
is not all black 'n white.
Traveling down memory lane
is not all lacking light.
Traveling down memory lane
is not eye filled with tears.
Traveling down memory lane
brings fresh and soothing air.
Traveling down memory lane
is love & pain, fun with friends.
Traveling down memory lane
is full of curves and bends.
Traveling down memory lane
is a test of time and mind
Traveling down memory lane
is a joy of it's kind.
poem by Ralph Acosta
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Trvelling down the memory lane
Travelling down the memory lane
is not all black 'n white.
Travelling down the memory lane
is not all lacking light.
Travelling down the memory lane
is not eye filled with tears.
Travelling down the memory lane
brings fresh and soothing air.
Travelling down the memory lane
is college, fun and friend.
Travelling down the memory lane
is full of curves and bends.
Travelling down the memory lane
is a test of time and mind
Travelling down the memory lane
is a joy of it's kind.
Poet: Spandan Bhattacharyya
poem by Spandan Bhattacharyya
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Strolling down memory lane
Strolling down memory lane
Where the colors begin to fade.
Strolling down memory lane
Is where I want you to come along.
Strolling down memory lane
is a test of time and mind.
Strolling down memory lane
I won’t be afraid.
Strolling down memory lane
Is not lacking in color.
Strolling down memory lane
Is not a big bummer.
Strolling down memory lane
Not a storm in sight
Strolling down memory lane
is joy without bite.
A memory that I have created in my mind,
Stands the test of time.
Memories are like dream, a reflection of the past.
My memories can kiss my…
Ask me no questions I will tell you no lies.
poem by Taran Burke
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When The Bluebells Bloom
There is so much beauty in Nature but as lovely a thing as I've seen
Is in May when the bluebells are blooming on the ditch along the old bohreen
The wild hyacinths of Mother Nature so lovely and bell like and blue
When the bohreen is lit by bright sunlight they sparkle in the morning dew.
Of the beautiful bluebells of Nature the memory with me remain
On the damp and shady ditch of the bohreem they bloom in the wind and the rain
Surrounded by Nature's leafy greenery where nesting birds whistle and sing
In fancy I can visualize the beauty of the Northern Spring.
In May when the bluebells are blooming birds whistle on the hedgerows and trees
And the wildflowers blooming amongst the long grass are dancing in the freshening breeze
And the hawthorns are heavily laden in their fragile blossoms of white
Than the natural beauty of Nature there's not a more beautiful sight.
When the bluebells bloom by the bohreen the little brown lark upwards fly
And pleasant the sound of his carolling this tiny speck in the Spring sky
And though I now live far from the bohreen in distance almost a World away
I fancy I hear the birds singing in the leafy woodlands of May.
poem by Francis Duggan
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On The Second Week Of January
On the second week of January I hear the shrike thrush sing
His flute like notes so pleasant to them have a familiar ring
And Spring is but a memory and Summer near her prime
And that birds sing out of Season happens all of the time.
The piping of the white backed magpie his is a familiar song
By their songs Nature's feathered minstrels one cannot get them wrong
A pleasant Summer's morning 'twill make a pleasant day
And the paddocks of Wonthaggi scent sweetly of baled hay.
In a clearing I am standing surrounded by scrub trees
In such places the Aboriginal dancers had their Corroborees
They danced on Summer evenings before the sun went down
Long before there was a Gippsland or a Wonthaggi Town.
A morning on the second week of January with a warm summery breeze
And a forecast high for the afternoon of 25 degrees
One might say perfect weather for the time of year
North in New South Wales and Queensland 'tis warmer by far than here.
On the second week of January the weather warm and dry
And a goldfinch he is singing on a wattle tree nearby
And brown butterflies are dancing in the sunny morning sky
And Mother Nature's natural beauty is for all to enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Memory Lane
People ask me What you doin' son
You're gonna drive yourself insane
You'll never find the sunshine
When you're followin' the rain
Seems like I'd take a new road
After all these years
But I wind up on the same old trail of tears
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
'Cuz I know I'll be runnin' into you
Reminiscin' through the pain
Recallin' things that we used to do
I'm lookin' up an old flame
Down on Heartbreak Avenue
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
'Cuz I know I'll be runnin'into you
I hate the way I loved you
But my mind keeps goin' back
My train of thought just won't get off
That same old worn out track
It's an every night occasion me and your memory meet
On that endless lonely street of broken dreams
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
'Cuz I know I'll be runnin' into you
Reminiscin' through the pain
Recallin' things that we used to do
I'm lookin' up an old flame
Down on Heartbreak Avenue
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
'Cuz I know I'll be runnin'/Into you
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
Cuz I know I'll be runnin' into you
Reminiscin' through the pain
Recallin' things that we used to do
I'm lookin' up an old flame
Down on Heartbreak Avenue
I'm still walkin' down Memory Lane
'Cuz I know I'll be runnin'/Into you
Here she comes now
I'm still walkin'
Down Memory Lane
I'm still walkin'
Down Memory Lane
I'm still walkin'
Down Memory Lane
Lord
song performed by by Tim McGraw from Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strolling On The Memory Lane
oh, i went to memory lane
too,
i've seen much already.
i come back to what i am
and what i have become,
i hold on to my vision,
my dreams
i write about hope, and
imagine
my future, another 20 years,
another 30 years more,
i pray,
the memory lane is black and white
and then
it faded like a denim
a murky river where i lift my feet
up above the water
and as i move towards the shore,
i decided, i thought,
the memory lane serves me
no more
it was short, and it will not be
repeated
i wake up, and then i forget.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Deep Down The Memory Lane
Deep down the memory lane
I still think of you
Though you may have forgotten me
Yet I think of you
I know there had been promises unkept
and many wishes unfulfilled
Yet deep down the memory lane
I still think of you
There had been lot of fightings
and lot of faults in me
They really have stiffled you
and made u cry to agony
I know it was my weakness
that made you go away
I was the only reason
that made ur love deplete
I have tried to hate u
I have tried to damn
Yet deep down the memory lane
I still think of you!
poem by Rahul Gupta
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Summer Days of Yesteryear
We often live surveying the past
as a summer season comes around,
and selecting the days of living freely
in our memory will be found.
We scrutinize the events of other Summers
experiencing great pleasure and delight
that once we knew when we were just
youngsters when life seemed to be all right.
Through the fading days of yesteryear
we filled our life with many dreams.
From childhood days to adulthood days
it was just a natural step it seems.
We miss the thrills that once was ours
the days we felt were always free.
We live it over each Summer time
and always remains a pleasant memory.
Too swiftly is the flight of time,
Though plentiful be the exuberant ways
that lead us down memory lane
to the scenes of other Summer days.
Though another Summer season shall end,
One wish for all of you we hold
May Summer always bring an abundance
of joy and memories a hundred fold.
poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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In July Far away
The pleasant natural aroma of meadows mown for silage or hay
Come wafting to my memory from places far away
And the sun at intervals shines through the gray clouds of the sky
And cattle in lush fields chew their cuds at ease in the warmth of July
Young birds chirping in the hedgerows near where the stream goes babbling by
And dark winged swallows chasing flying insects above the valley fly
It does not seem that long ago or a long gone yesterday
Since I walked in the old grassy fields in July far away
In the knee high rushes hidden from view the male pheasant cuck and crow
And dipper the dark brown river bird with breast as white as snow
Is singing in the babbling stream that flows down from the lake
His scratchy notes familiar once heard one cannot mistake
And white butterflies flitting in the breeze make for a pretty sight
Above the wildflowers in the fields in the Summer sunlight.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Lover's Lane
Summah night an' sighin' breeze,
'Long de lovah's lane;
Frien'ly, shadder-mekin' trees,
'Long de lovah's lane.
White folks' wo'k all done up gran'--
Me an' 'Mandy han'-in-han'
Struttin' lak we owned de lan',
'Long de lovah's lane.
Owl a-settin' 'side de road,
'Long de lovah's lane,
Lookin' at us lak he knowed
Dis uz lovah's lane.
Go on, hoot yo' mou'nful tune,
You ain' nevah loved in June,
An' come hidin' f'om de moon
Down in lovah's lane.
Bush it ben' an' nod an' sway,
Down in lovah's lane,
Try'n' to hyeah me whut I say
'Long de lovah's lane.
But I whispahs low lak dis,
An' my 'Mandy smile huh bliss--
Mistah Bush he shek his fis',
Down in lovah's lane.
Whut I keer ef day is long,
Down in lovah's lane.
I kin allus sing a song
'Long de lovah's lane.
An' de wo'ds I hyeah an' say
Meks up fu' de weary day
Wen I's strollin' by de way,
Down in lovah's lane.
An' dis t'ought will allus rise
Down in lovah's lane;
Wondah whethah in de skies
Dey 's a lovah's lane.
Ef dey ain't, I tell you true,
'Ligion do look mighty blue,
'Cause I do' know whut I 'd do
'Dout a lovah's lane.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Good Memories Remain With Me
Good memories remain with me and good memories never die
Of Summer days on uncle Dan's and aunty Mary's farm in green old Lisnaboy
Above the rushy meadow the lark carolled in the sky
And the new mown hay it scented sweetly in the sunshine of July.
The wild brown bees were gathering nectar on the flowers by the hedgerow
And above the sunlit meadows the swallows flew to and fro
And butterflies of many hues flitted around the wildflowers
Their life is brief when compared to ours they are old in forty hours.
The childhood years they went too fast the time just seemed to fly
But our happy memories of the past we reflect on and enjoy
Cock robin with the rich red breast sang on the willow tree
The robin king of his small World his hard won territory.
With my Uncle Dan and Aunty Mary I tossed the hay to dry
In the mid fifties in July in green old Lisnaboy
In old Duhallow north of here and thousands of miles away
But the boy back then now getting old and showing his years in gray.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Of Childhood I Have Such Good Memories
I recall when I was a young boy in my ninth year going on ten
I heard the shy cock pheasant cucking in early Summer in the rushy glen
He was one that I did hear often though him I rarely ever did see
A memory from the mid fifties that lives on in my memory,
I was growing to love Mother Nature even got to know some birds by their song
The chattering voice of the magpie was something one could not get wrong
The familiar song of the chaffinch he sings in my memory today
He sang on the birch tree in the meadow that scented of freshly mown hay,
Of childhood I have such good memories with Nature to me always near
the robin he sang in the woodlet he could be heard all through the year
I lived in an Earthly Utopia at least that's how to me it did seem
The bluebells bloomed close to the hedgerow the dipper he sang in the stream
And with me I carry those memories till death with me they will remain
And often in my flights of fancy I visit my childhood again
poem by Francis Duggan
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Memory Lane
This is the place
You end up when
You lose the chase
Where you're dragged against your will
From a basement on the hill
And all anybody knows is
You're not like them
They kick you in the head
And send you back to bed
Isolation pulled you past a tunnel to a
Bright world where you can make a place to stay
But everybody's scared of this place
They're staying away
Your little house on memory lane
The mayor's name is fear
His force patrols the pier
From a mountain of cliche
That advances everyday
The doctor spoke of cloud
He rained out loud
You'll keep the doors and windows shut
And swear
You'll never show a soul again
But isolation pushes you til every muscle aches
Down the only road it ever takes
But everybody's scared of this place
They're staying away
Your little house on memory lane
If it's your decision
To be open about yourself
Be careful or else
Be careful or else
I'm comfortable apart
It's all written on my chart
That I take what's given to me
Most cooperatively
I do what people say
And lie in bed all day
Absolutely horrified
I hope you're satisfied
Isolation pushes past self-hatred, guilt, and shame
To a place where sufferings just a game
But everybody's scared of this place
They're staying away
Your little house on memory lane
Your little house on memory lane
song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Home 3
Often I had gone this way before
But now it seemed I never could be
And never had been anywhere else;
'Twas home; one nationality
We had, I and the birds that sang,
One memory.
They welcomed me. I had come back
That eve somehow from somewhere far:
The April mist, the chill, the calm,
Meant the same thing familiar
And pleasant to us, and strange too,
Yet with no bar.
The thrush on the oaktop in the lane
Sang his last song, or last but one;
And as he ended, on the elm
Another had but just begun
His last; they knew no more than I
The day was done.
Then past his dark white cottage front
A labourer went along, his tread
Slow, half with weariness, half with ease;
And, through the silence, from his shed
The sound of sawing rounded all
That silence said.
poem by Edward Thomas
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To Hear Her Sing
To hear her sing--to hear her sing--
It is to hear the birds of Spring
In dewy groves on blooming sprays
Pour out their blithest roundelays.
It is to hear the robin trill
At morning, or the whip-poor-will
At dusk, when stars are blossoming--
To hear her sing--to hear her sing!
To hear her sing--it is to hear
The laugh of childhood ringing clear
In woody path or grassy lane
Our feet may never fare again.
Faint, far away as Memory dwells,
It is to hear the village bells
At twilight, as the truant hears
Them, hastening home, with smiles and tears.
Such joy it is to hear her sing,
We fall in love with everything--
The simple things of every day
Grow lovelier than words can say.
The idle brooks that purl across
The gleaming pebbles and the moss,
We love no less than classic streams--
The Rhines and Arnos of our dreams.
To hear her sing--with folded eyes,
It is, beneath Venetian skies,
To hear the gondoliers' refrain,
Or troubadours of sunny Spain.--
To hear the bulbul's voice that shook
The throat that trilled for Lalla Rookh:
What wonder we in homage bring
Our hearts to her--to hear her sing!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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A Memory For To Cherish
White butterflies are dancing in the warm evening breeze
And the house sparrows are chirping on the sunlit garden trees
On a warm day in April in the far Southern Fall
Of the Southern Land's four Seasons the most pleasant one of all,
I love this Autumn weather and though Winter days are near
One has to say of April 'tis a pleasant time of year
Above the sunlit paddock to and fro across the sunlit sky
The dark winged welcome swallows chasing flying insects fly,
With his tail ever wagging perched on a garden wall
The black and white fantail or willy wagtail a bird that's known to all
Always on the look out for insects airborne or on the ground
Where willy wagtails are present insects sure to abound,
Of this sunny late April evening in the far Southern Fall
A memory for to cherish and a memory to recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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