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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The Chronicles of Nostalgia Part 1 Pick up Something... a memory
Amidst the pain i crawled and reached for
The pocket knife, suddenly a memory to abhor
Slipped through my hands into my mind
I swatted it away along with the flashback I tried to find
My flashbang, for i was sweating anticipating the next enemy
As soon as my fingers impacted the surface a memory did come
A memory of her, but
She is gone... I must forget... I feel confused... must
I just chased my memories around and
Around, but when i got to the end there was a sting
Of pain and angst and a pang of my nostalgia
With shackles of my shadow I once was, I cannot sing
The tune
Of life nor rejoice with love in June
No, school seems just a s hollow
This poem is a personal self pit wallow
This is the tune of nostalgia
Sometimes it has repercussion, others times
After just one rhyme
Life and pain drift away
This very day
Today hear the ballad of those whose
Nostalgia is malignant.
poem by David Knox
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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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Nostalgia
We all at sometimes hark back to days gone bye,
in our memory they seem better than today,
then we stop and think for a little while.
Where they really better than today?
Has our memory fuzzed out the hurt,
and blotted out the thing we want to forget?
It is a question of perspective.
They were great if you want them, to be that way,
or they were horrible, as far as I recall.
Nostalgia can swing either way.
The choice is always yours
how you remember your yesterdays.
poem by David Harris
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A Touch Of Nostalgia
When I was young,
I often wandered off on my own,
my eyes exploring everything I saw
and filed it away in my memory store.
Now as I’ve got older
those insignificant things
come back to me now and then.
They fill my life with sanity
when I think I’m going around the bend.
Some of those things
I incorporate in whatever I write.
A touch of nostalgia
for others who remember them as well.
28 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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Nanna and Grandpa
In nostalgia I recall,
The things my memory tell,
Of all those little things,
And the thoughts that ring a bell.
Loved ones never die,
They live on for ever more,
This we should not deny,
Or we make our hearts grow sore.
Memories never cease,
Memories shall never depart,
They live for ever more,
Deep within the heart.
There they keep alive,
For the eternal God above,
In his memory they shall lie,
The very ones we love.
poem by Talmadge Rogalla
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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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Making Love With Memories
You poked my blurring eye,
Let me lift your mushy breast.
We aged onwards
While you stroked flaccidity –
Recalling decades of
Blood-gorged coming, shuddering to boot.
I kissed a venerable mouth
Crammed with falsities –
Once brilliant keys
Guarded by crimson lips
Washed by a sensual tongue.
And so we writhed in wrinkles,
Tiring effort, and
Memories.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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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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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Come As You Are (LP Version)
Come As You Are"
Come, as you are. As you were.
As I want you to be. As a friend.
As a friend. As an old enemy. Take your time.
Hurry up. The choice is yours. Don't be late.
Take a rest. As a friend. As a old memory, memory, memory, memory.
Come. Dowsed in mud. Soaked in bleach.
As I want you to be. As a trend. As a friend.
As an old memory, memory, memory, memory.
And I swear that I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun. No I don't have a gun.
Memory, memory, memory, memory (don't have a gun).
And I swear that I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun. No I don't have a gun.
No I don't have a gun. No I don't have a gun. Memory, memory...
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The Way Back Then
Seven years ago,
I went back to Canada
after forty-two years.
I walked down a road
to show my wife where I used to live.
The road was built on rolling hills
and as I came over one,
I knew instantly where I was.
Things had changed
in those forty-two years,
some would say
it was unrecognisable
from what I used to know,
but as soon as I started down the hill
things came back like yesterday.
It was as if I had never been away.
Memories of my childhood
instantly sprang to mind.
I found myself seeing things
not as the now,
but there were changes
from the way back then.
The memory flashes
brought a smile to my face
as I could visualise
all the friends I knew then,
the funny incidents that over my life
in the way back then.
All too soon, time
has a way of taking things back
and my memory reclined them
to the back door of my mind.
30 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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From The Banks Of Ganga: IX
Colourful petals
Yellow, ochre, white
Red and green
Halt a while around me:
Moments of present ecstasy
Nostalgia of yester years
And future days
Surrounded by chilling waters
My body quivers in chillness
When will it turn into a cold mass?
Will it then recall petals of nostalgia…?
I slip into my future moments of oblivion
My body flowing with the rapidity of Ganga
I don't know!
I can't say!
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Memory (Thy Shall)
Thy shall not slumber,
Thy shall not wake,
A memory so fragile,
So delicate it may break.
A memory so lost,
So unwanted it tears apart,
Until it dies,
It shall go back to thy start.
A powerful memory it may be,
Or a memory that shall be overlooked,
Thy one shall let it see,
How thy memory is like a book.
But how powerful thy memory is,
It has to be stronger than a good memory,
A memory that has passion and feeling,
A memory that has greatness and becoming myself, I, and me.
Until that kind of memory is shown,
Thy memory shall be looked upon near and far,
Thy memory shall be kept hidden,
Until it shall be who we are.
Thy shall not slumber,
Thy shall not wake,
A memory so fragile,
so delicate it may break.
poem by Alicia Meyers
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In The Making Of 'memory
dear friends,
how's your life?
it's been a while since I heard you laughed,
I, sometimes, dream of us so clearly,
in this making of 'memory'
our past days surely are beautiful,
the things keep our memory books so full.
the things we left unchanged are so many,
in this making of 'memory'
dear friends,
where have you been?
our day, our time,
do you still have that memory?
we live our lives now, differently.
we are, but for the making of another 'memory'
poem by Kite Remedy
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I live and will die by you
It is my memory of you
That kindles my spirit.
It is the same memory
That swindles my heart.
My head is full with your thought.
My bed is sore from the same thought.
Day by day pain aggravates;
The same way does my plight.
It is my memory of you
That gives me joy.
It is the same memory
That sends me to sorrow.
You throw on me the day and the night.
I enjoy both in different lights.
I cherish you in my memory;
I may perish from the same memory
29.11.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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He Often Thinks Of Rosie
He often thinks of Rosie where might she be today?
Is she still back home in Derry from here long miles away
For three years they were an item but for them things did not work out
As often can happen in love affairs between one from a Northern Land and one from a Land in the far South.
He did not wish to live over there and in Melbourne she would not stay
Nostalgia won out over love or so 'twould seem that way
She went back home to Derry though he had asked her to become his wife
Young Rosie she was homesick a natural thing in life.
His wife and he have parted ways they have a year old son
The love died in their marriage he is not the first or he won't be the last one
To know of marriage failure such is life I do suppose
Yet his greatest love will always be the lovely brown haired Derry Rose.
He often thinks of Rosie they parted ways six years ago
He loved her and he always will though apart they did grow
Nostalgia won out over love in their case anyway
She went back home to Derry and home in Melbourne he did stay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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One Thing Leads To Another
How many times have we
thought of one thing that led us to another
within our memory store.
We think of one thing
and our memory links us to another
that may have happened years before.
We sit for a few minutes
as our memory takes us on a trip
through the corridors
of our childhood many years before.
We remember moments
that delighted us at the time
before growing up
took those pleasures away.
Each memory hold a precious moment
we will never see again
except in our memories
when they will take us
down that road again.
27 March 2009
poem by David Harris
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Television
Before that sacred holy flickering tv-screen
You're served commercials day-time fakes and tv-priests
You keep your VCR running almost constantly
Afraid to miss out on something happening on channel three
You zap from channel one to two look what they have done to you
You live from staged realities and fakes
Channel three then four and five you double check your tv-guide
Re-enacted lives to keep you awake
Life is served
Here every taste will find our satisfaction guarantee
On the never sleeping flickering screen
You keep watching this truly weird masquarade
The flickering screen enchants you your truly all enslaved
Nostalgia sports and comedies, cops cartoons and tragedies
Remote control at hand you sit enslaved
Washing powder and apple pies re-runs soaps and Jesus Christ
Anytime is time to zap the world away
Life is served...
We're your tellyvisions
You zap from channel one to two...
Nostalgia sports and comedies...
Life is served...
song performed by by Quorthon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Notforgettin'
Before that sacred holy flickering tv-screen
You're served commercials day-time fakes and tv-priests
You keep your VCR running almost constantly
Afraid to miss out on something happening on channel three
You zap from channel one to two look what they have done to you
You live from staged realities and fakes
Channel three then four and five you double check your tv-guide
Re-enacted lives to keep you awake
Life is served
Here every taste will find our satisfaction guarantee
On the never sleeping flickering screen
You keep watching this truly weird masquarade
The flickering screen enchants you your truly all enslaved
Nostalgia sports and comedies, cops cartoons and tragedies
Remote control at hand you sit enslaved
Washing powder and apple pies re-runs soaps and Jesus Christ
Anytime is time to zap the world away
Life is served...
We're your tellyvisions
You zap from channel one to two...
Nostalgia sports and comedies...
Life is served...
song performed by by Quorthon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Unfound Thought
Your thought is like sitting on a standing nail
as if my life is made all to fail
your memory is a curse in disguise
making me forget how much i am wise
your thoughts is like sitting on the edge
of a cliff that has no space for a wedge
your memory is linking my life with the hair
of the shaven heads of a gods fair
your every thought is like a rotten fruit
that lost its value and been a dude
your memory is a sweet revenge
of my vulnerable days that stand in adage
You were my soul, my sas, my special something
but now and ever you are just a bad memory and nothing...
poem by Umasree Raghunath
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