Nostalgia
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I keep focusing on the past,
Trying to look the future,
But I keep focusing on the past,
I keep looking at my old interests,
My old things, hopes, dreams,
My desires, gone, but not forgotten,
Once there was life within-without...
The “Purple-Violet Squish.”
Flower-power & liquid sunshine shower...
there is something living, mythic
in certain objects from our youth
an unremarkable thing becomes a
totem of legend, plastic
suddenly alchemized crystal, illuminating
memory, worthless
there is something living, mythic
in certain objects from our youth
an unremarkable thing becomes a
totem of legend, plastic
suddenly alchemized crystal, illuminating
memory, worthless
Time is a fire that puts out its
sparks until it smokes off
Time is always unfathomable
The mad chanting banters were audible to me
Ricorda ieri
Ricorda i vecchi tempi
Ricorda quello che dicevamo
Ricorda le commedie
Recuerda ayer
Recuerda los viejos tiempos
Recuerda lo que solíamos decir
Recuerda las jugadas
Remember yesterday
Remember the old days
Remember what we used to say
Remember the plays
If you were born in the month of August
Be cool, be calm, be wise and be robust
My first home stood by shells and sand alike. I passed the days and nights down by the waves. Home two had fields and woods through farms to hike. Our fence was long but I climbed all the staves. The barn held horses, cows, and many goats. But Cr
My first word was “tick tock”
My favorite blanket had clocks on it
I am and was and always will be obsessed with clocks
And with the idea of time
Elementary. Recess, and LearningThis time I barely wrote anythingBecause I was young and life was boring.Middle school.
The canoe has a hole in it
Still we took it out so far
And travelled all the coves
No one is in the houses
Only buzzards flying above us
Time is owned by the trees
So there you go
You finally got your wings
You’re as free as a pigeon in a parking lot
Blue-grey
with just a hint of shimmer
Fluttering aloft for only moments
Before settling back onto the pavement
Another high school poem, this time from senior year ELA.
The first of three poems in a final project assigned during the poetry unit.
ITS ALL COMING BACK TO ME NOW
How can I ever refrain from
Memories of our school age days
Days when our world was wild
I remember the anthem of claps
And the rhymes in our voices
The care free of our minds
What could this all be about?
You creep into almost all of my dreams.
I just thought that I forgot about you again, or so it seems.
I honestly haven't seen you in years.
However, forgetting you never comes near.
Autumn flowers
Flowers withered by the march of time and season
Yet I find it very vivid to my heart and reason
Displayed in plain, on the table - a craft made
Where the wandering of my pen is inlaid
It still lingers,
dispite the time flow
Your sudden presence,
dissipating the closing darkness,
with your brilliant glow
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
Time travel, baby,
Set me free,
Time travel got a hook in me,
In disguise as a young man in the city,
You're leaving
The broad expanse
of your back
is the gallery
where I 'II hang my dreams.
Always on your way
Out
When will I
go with you?
I'll behave
like you want
You're leaving
The broad expanse
of your back
is the gallery
where I 'II hang my dreams.
Always on your way
Out
When will I
go with you?
I'll behave
like you want
The first thing I noticed as I slipped my arms into the sleeves, aside from the size, much too large for me, was the smell.
It began during my weekly
writer's workshop
on a Saturday afternoon
and as usual, a new prompt;
this one was to pick at
random
two words from a box
passed around...
My words were
There is a gift
Deposited upon your doorstep
Waiting just for you,
Open it if you will
Take that chance at regret
Its contents are calling to you,
Or leave it outside
Go clean your home
that night felt like a memory.
one locked in the deepest corners of a mind
left to years of dust and deep-seated heartache.
it was a ripple, sent to announce some
For all actions logical or senseless, there are consequences.
And at times I'm offended and become defensive,
since this extensive, fundamental lesson is intended,
to be a comprehensive theory that is essential.
strange, the number of girls’ houses
that i slept in, memorized.
that still pop up in my dreams as part of
malls or mansions or schools, somehow,
I love to look back on the simple times. The simple wonders of life. The lack of fear, anxiety; the lack of responsibility. A total freedom to run around and smell the flowers, play in the trees and messy up my clothes.
Buck teeth and bright eyes
I was eight years old,
I spent my days out on the playground
all alone in the cold
right by the fence where I would watch traffic behind the monkey bars
words spill out of my mouth
and ooze from my skin at the
sight of a july day
spent in the sun
admiring the light slipping through the trees
and onto her skin
The turbulences of Winter, Spring, and Summer pass
Enthusiasm swells as home can now be viewed
In the distance yet on the horizon
Though I am advised to exercise caution--
This place is always a little lonely
At the weekends...no noise and life;
I like solitude,
But not in places
Where there’s recently been
A lot of people.
Reclusiveness protects you
The day I blossomed from my mother's womb
I had two blue eyes, ten pudgy fingers, ten tiny toes,
And 300 bones.
But as I’ve grown up, day by day, year by year, person after person,
I hesitateTo admit that I tend to put things off until they absolutely must be dealt with
I was born here.I’ve moved between neighborhoods butThese mountains have watched me grow up.
O how
Ruefully I pine
For mi pueblito perdido,
What I wouldn’t give,
To be young again,
And happy as I was back then.
Maria, full of peace,
Do you remember
I was driving home the other day, Down the same old streets like always, I passed the school, the church, the cemetary,And I started to think of the old days.
Seeing your parents kiss every day, happy, proud of what their growing babies are capable of
Remember that?
I realized I wasn’t a kid anymore
When my heart sped up
From the mistakes that I had made.
A moment in my life,
Where I realized
There was a price to be paid.
A price for every action
There is something I know now that I didn't know then...
Back when recess existed and kids ran
To play games of tag or house or kick-ball
Back when I thought there was only right or wrong
She went back to her room where her favorite song was just ending at the best part.
The little twinkles that faded with a high D flat that made her emotions fall apart.
I am from forgotten songs,
From distorted guitars and double bass.
I am from late night TV
(Loud, blaring
children shouldn’t be watching).
I moved to this neighborhood forty-two years ago today.I moved here six months before Elvis Presley passed away.Crosby Park is the name of my neighborhood.I've been here for a long time and I'll be here for good.
The music echoes still inside my head,
The bright colors still dance before my eyes,
And memories are fresh within my mind,
Though it’s been so long.
I look through old albums and reminisce,
I come to the realisation
that
I can’t remember those winters,
the winters of my childhood.
It was really good at all times,
and it was really bad.
Now it’s bad all the time.
I could hear the wind,
rustling through your veins, when
you opened your mouth and the gnarled wings of a hummingbird fell out.
I could taste the regret,
deep breath, deeper, deeper yet, deeper than the ocean of your
eyes that keep calling me home, calling me back back to the
Years of lost time
Quietly echo
Sentiments of regret,
Remorse,
And a vague sort-of hatred.
I wanted to tell you,
(god, i thought i would have to be drunk to write this, but i don’t feel pain anymore.
not really.)
There is a place
I used to call home.
the air redolent of childhood
nostalgia hits like a freight train,
my chest feels like it's being pulled
tighter
tighter
tighter.
memories of that time flood back,
I hurt from a pain I can’t find
and I bleed from the blow
I don’t remember.
I miss the memories
I never made
and I long for the love
O Julia, do you remember elementary school
Where every one of us was a young fool
Drunk on youth although we couldn't drink yet
Free from the constrains of student debt
Gee, Julia, elementary school ruled.
Nostalgic melodies cause me to rise,
from the safe white, billowing sheets,
and the shared warmth of surrounding arms.
Aimlessly, I sway unsteady, on the forgetful memory foam,
legs wobbling, arms bending,
We were almost brother and sister—
Sharing inside jokes that left others befuddled,
Matched in both wits and passion for our craft…
Now I barely recognize you.
Reminiscing to learn from the past,
to live in nostalgia, it doesn't last.
The world's a stage, you're a part of the cast,
they say have patience, but the world is so fast,
to live in nostalgia, it doesn't last.
When you kiss me the
taste of that ginger ale you’ve been
sipping at
invades my mouth
along with the smoke
of that
am I proud of who I've become
or do I disappoint my past self
the one I shelved,
the stone I sanded down
Line to the surface of bliss, right above the crowd I was floating, electrified with enjoyment,don't you ever fall please, now let me drown right in deep.
i slip into a dream
it's sometime between late and early
and this is where i find you
the bugs sing at their own tempos
as we walk a steady pace down the longer of the paths
who are we now
sometimes i don't feel like we're the same souls
whose eager teeth met by the brick river
on days like this i wonder
what it would be like to be us again-
i still sleep
with the light on
in hopes it will travel through my ears
into my dreams
faster than the train did
Dear Class of 2018,
R. D. Wilson School is where it began.
I remember like it was yesterday—
Talking about princesses and Batman,
Looking forward to lunch with Mr. K.
Whomever it may concern,
Grab as many chairs as you can- six or seven-
create a square space bordered by the chairs-backs evenly together-
It won’t work if the chairs are too far apart.
To my mother
I imagine that before my mother was a woman, she must have been a girl.
It's an odd thing, this imagining.
My mother was once an unfinished human,
I wish I could melt memories
of rainy Moon Township days with the newer ones,
in which I see myself drinking watered-down beer
(and hating it)!
I open the door and get whipped in the face with the playful autumn breeze
The skies are gray-blue and the air chilled with oncoming winter; the Sunday of summer is here
I was born in two halves: Red and Gold
Our colors mixed in the wind of our laughter
our tears
our screams
our shared stories
Colors flew when we hurled words at each other
like vocally loaded bullets
I thought I was ready
Sat back with my window down
The radio loud, going seventy an hour
Heart a hurricane
Mind a comet
But the most beautiful things end
you see
To yearn for happiness will bring aboutAn emotion that tears at my weak heartNo wisdom here found in deadly black artThe seeds of dissent this feeling will sproutPure happiness this seedling will wipe outOnly sadness and fear will it impartWithin
you creep into my mind
like fog in the morning light
I know you will stay with me today
or at least, your memory
the memory of you and I
Down grape vine hill
Just by the old shop
But not quite the pasture
They sat there rusting
Their eyes fogged
Their color faded
By tiny cat paw prints
In the dust
a Taxi to Jerusalem - for Dinna
Dinna of Denmark you were my darlingWalking in your leather sandalsDown the dirty Via Dolorosa
Intact in my eye are a five year old's streets
I peeled oranges bored in Sunday-School pews
Seldom a shoe on my naked free feet
Never my knees without blue bruise
The table clothed mountain ,
Your absence is not my best remedy.
It doesn't help me, it doesn't make it unbelievable.
The aching assures me of your existence,
but memories are fading as if we never happened, as if we never existed.
Remember dancing, tasting the present,
It as fleeting as our movements and our feet
Remember hugging, each other on days of sorrow,
Freeing feelings caged underneath
Our skin
Spoken Intro:
“All of a sudden, it’s like you’ve become aware of your own existence, how unwhole you are.
And you’re constantly being reborn...
Again...
And again...
And again...
And again.
Love,
E.
What love did I have to give
But the letters L O V E
Strung together with threads of Indifference?
The place where my mom's cold hands touched my forehead
And the place where cool misty breezes kissed my cheeks.
Take me back.
The place where I fell asleep on the carpet
This is a shape poem; start at the very top and read from left to right. For simplicity's sake, I uploaded the poem as an image.
Early morning-when darkness has not yet been chased away by the fury of light-I look to the stars.In their magnificent realm they are the rulers,but in ours,they are subtle sings of hope.
I wake up trying to wash yesterday off of meOr out of me..All the thoughts, twitches, and goofy tears...
Rita June,
staring silent at Indiana snow,
robed up in a worn, old, pink throw
lights her cigarette by the kitchen window.
She squints and she licks her thin, blotted lips,
Maybe one night when we are together
it will be 3 a.m.
and the walls will ricochet laughter
and we will not be able to stop
until our stomachs hurt and our vision blurs.
Because in this past year
How did this come to be?
Like the bird
that forgets to fly,
I am grounded, without purpose.
I shout below, why?
To know again,
I still hear the children playing,
They have their own homes now.
I still hear the horses running,
They have passed away now.
I still hear the rain falling,
They lined the station like tchotchkes placed in careful disarray,
Here between F and 13th,
Red cheeked and frosted breath,
Bare porcelain angels waiting on the shelf of a Goodwill.
I remember feeling so odd.
We were laying in bed and you somehow felt nostalgic.
Nostlagic? This had never happened before.
I had never leaned into the contours of your body, fit perfectly into your arms as we watched the
Sliding, sliding, sliding down the yellow slide
Back to when I was only five
Back to the sandbox, wooden swing set and towers so high.
Moments fill my head when I was a kid, playing imaginary games with my brother.
It's been a while since you moved away...
If there was a time I'd wish to have back
It would be the year before you left
I didn't realize how much you mattered to me
Until you were gone
And even when you went
Your first day at a new schoolThe first time I turned around in class to ask you a questionThe first time I gave you a ride to soccer practiceThe first time we went skiing in Colorado together
A snatch of song,
behind a door:
a melody I've heard before.
Forgotten but familiar notes:
Of lost dreams and abandoned hopes.
An eloquent dismay.
Palms drenched in sweat andA little bit of anxiety, it's naturalIt's your heart, boy, she's making you feel a certain way
Short note: the following poem is in Villanelle style.
As words that infuse life into a dark place,
Poetry gave a face to the tangled mess in my mind,
As strokes on a page that probe a soul’s triumph and waste.
Abroad I battle challenges with hope
Despite the nightly toil and days alone,
The songs of poetry to soothe my soul
The world of words to make me whole once more.
Left I the motherland four years ago
In the dusty suburbs of a forgotten Mississippi town,
An old man waters his lawn-
Watching
Watering
Watching
The neighbor kids, how they run with such agility.
Coveting
Craving
Coveting
Once upon a time
in the lavender fields
shone a sun in the deep blue sky.
But even deeper was the blue
that shone in that sun's
ocean-deep periwinkle eyes.
As it kissed my face
I kept
Looking back
For a familiar
Face and voice
That smiled
And cheered me on
It hurt for so long
When I looked back
To see hesitance
And eyes looked away
It pained me
Drifting in a languid landof singing prairies and crystalline lakes,I wander toward a jeweled tree, radiant sapphire and ruby in a halcyon dream.
Breaths puff out
In the cold chilly air
Frost dies underneath
And you don't care
You try to breathe
You lift your feet
To take a step
On that very long
Staircase
And you're gone
So I sit here surrounded by acquaintances, friends, and best friends i've made over this short but arduous 4 years
You need to stop Stop trying to build bridges out of ashesYou spent so much time Setting things a blaze Did you ever consider the reasons You left everything back there And you rebuilt Moved forward
the girls are going missing.
i hear voices in convenience store buzz
and see a crime scene in
the cherry pie on an empty shelf.
eastern hum; the sound of
I taste the magic when it begins to seep,
heady, sweet; the soft slip into darkness.
You are so beautiful-I don’t know what it is,
but your wizened trees and your sweet
Biting back tears
Holding in gasps
Choking on sadness
And sorrow
Falling in traps
Knowing it would happen
Faking joviality
But in the end
It was hopeless
Your heart is breaking
An ache in your chest
Dunno where we stand
Happy memories ablaze
Standing hand in hand
Where it all began
Nobody can say
The end was unexpected
A world fell apart
Can this just be the present
That everyday is
Even with a nemesis
Or without even saying
Wanting the same Even if it's in different shades
Or different context
A note sounds
Harsh and beautiful
Light falls around a room
Dust floats in the air
A piano stands by the window
I finally poured the concrete
And solidified the past
Into neat little paths
Of "Remember when..."
And "Life was simpler then"
I don’t live in the light
I am consumed by darkness
My heart is shattered
My mind is fragmented
What more can I do?
I can’t save myself
The only person who stood with me
Has left…
She's gone.
Nostalgia comforts as I'm consumed
by my thoughts
By her lingering aroma
Sage, sassafras, and cinnamon drifting
in the wind
As I sit by our favorite willow tree
Illuminated by the
infinite sublimity
Of the seemingly
half-real form
of this man’s body
weighing her down,
She sinks beneath
His solid shadow,
my heart swells with memories of everyone from my past
everyone i hated
everyone i loved
my throat is closing up and i want to go back
and i wouldn’t change any little thing
We cry adieu, the red-haired vulturecrys not a tear, for all is spentits heart is rent, all hidden treasureNevermore to gleam in warmth of light
I am the voice
In the back of your mind
Telling you to make a mental note
Of how your first sip of coffee tastes
The morning before your first day at a new job.
I am the friend
Like sand
On the coast,
I watched you
Slip through
My fingers
Beautifully.
Now I am
Shipwrecked
From the
Most perfect of
Storms.
Alone on
Lately,
The truth has been pouring out of me.
I'm breaking through the barriers.
I know you're not listening,
But I pray you hear me.
One of these days,
I'll get through to you.
Nostalgia,
She’s a cold hearted beast
That seems to instigate the tantrums of the clock
As soon as she strikes 2 am
Suddenly she realizes she’s unfulfilled with the standards of time!
The Fall is a feeling, not a time or place.
It is orange and brown, and the nips of wind blowing.
It's broccoli and cheese, and the rustle of leaves
Pardon me if I regret this
Father, these are my confessions
I'm selfish, reckless, and restless
Pleas fall on deaf ears from friends that once were mine
I suppose that's just how time flies
Please tell me it was I who made you leave
I do not want to believe that you meant to walk away
I want to blame myself
Your like a hot coal in my hands
A gift from life
thanks life
I set you down
and I pace around
what the fuck am i supposed to with this?
If you had any idea the trouble you caused
Well I reread your letter...
Funny how things change-
lovers go from loving,
everything usual feels strange.
Citrus Sit. Rep.April 7th, 2014Track and field thoughts – you’ve been running through my mind all day,and it hit me like a shot put when I watched you run-the-fuck-away.
January 24, 2010 at 12:24am
Maybe I will come back in May
Hopefully I will know where to stay...
Slow motion it's what it looks like to live in a life full of music
music in my vains, music in my ears, music in the rain, and in the warm summer wind.
Only do I feel like my life is a movie, not only a movie no,
She pushed in the knob and turned up the volume.
Her heart recognized the first sound and
latched on before her ears caught up.
In that moment,
in that space of pure recognition
Nostalgia hit me like a wave of nausea
And it ain't goin' away
So I thought I'd call just to remind ya
Of the good old days
Don't you miss 'em, oh I really miss 'em
I really miss you, too
Flashback to the simple times
Your skinny jeans black, your t-shirt white
‘Cause now you're covered up in layers and lies
It seems you've forgotten we had one hell of a ride
Esther May is old and grey
She's gone forever
Not here today
In photos that are still and dead
She'll still be seen
But nothing's said
Close by, but far, she seems so clear
When I was younger all I could think about was going back to Chicago but now I see it's just because of the memories I had there.
I don't read you
Not anymore
I haven't forgotten
The joy I got
Whenever you opened
Nor the adventures
I am just too old now
But my memories are pressed in you
sometimes, I like to walk out side
and let my mind become heavy with pictures of this never ending setting.
things get a little foggy, when I can't seem to absorb
that one day
this won't exsit any more.
How?
How do I rid my mind of your presence?
You linger like the scent of incense, drifting through my thoughts.
On a gloomy, humble, rainy day,
I venture into the garage for batteries,
the garage that slurps in cars, burps out trucks,
and spies on the swimming asphalt outside.
Silver ribbon Assiniboinea sash for a city--a ceinture fléchéetied into the Red just off Highway 1 You leak into the topsoil in the place you call home and come back up a street map
Trust me, you don’t want to know
The thought that just flew through my head
A game of quid pro quo with the status quo
This cache of nostalgia makes my dread drop dead
I keep craving for resolution
I planted you a rose; sat and watched it bloom
the rose didn't feel me watching,
or notice that I was trying to forget you.
Who do roses grow for?
Surely mine for you,
If anyone has listened
to the words of a song
One will surely hear
a time long gone
It comes quite swiftly
too fast to avoid
the feelings of the past
both of sorrow and joy
The early morning sun would rise overthe dirty glass horizon, and hitthe rear-view mirror of that old red van.Slip-sliding with ease through small empty hands,dust and pollen danced like constellations
You see I don't want to grow up
and I don't want to leave you
I don't want to leave behind my memories.
There when I wake, There for me to take. Tuesday will be here long after I go away.
It's a measurement of time, Fifty-two pass us per year, but only happens once a week.
So often I accuse myself of being a selfish person but I think that it is false accusation because it's something I want to be, and there's a difference between what you have and what you want.
I want to tell you to stop hurting me.
Stranger is someone among us.
Silent with the thought of his
Hands around the little caged
Pulse. Once he soaked the wrought iron
With golden memories and charms.
He is intolerable.
I feel a change occuring
In my mind, my soul, caging
My thoughts, my affections
This emotion is raging
I feel these connections
In my neighbors, I can see aging
In eachothers' faces,
I want you to see all of my happiness
I want you to see my friends
And my grades
I want you to feel like you screwed up
Because you did
But I forgive you
The rain glared through streak-ridden glass;
dappling light and grey.
Long it's been since my bag was packed,
and long passed has the day.
The walls bent and frowned some,
and sagged stood the door,
I use to remember you
That way you move your hair from your face
it strikes me down with nostalgia
Like being struck with the badge of honor from an epiphany
I left you by the riverbed
In a place where none can see
I'll never forget what you said
as I watched you drift out to sea
We began our journey together
tethered by our fates
Identified by the marks of her own fingerprints,
the places where she had gone, and where she had left,
blurred into one and became all the same.
What happened to that pink toy house?
The one that you could sit on the roof?
And it would wobble like a Weeble
but never fell in?
I. You write him a postcard. "I don't know how to tell you but I'm finally letting go," it says. The postcard is from Paris and when you finish writing it, you slide it back into the drawer with all the other words you never said.
When I was six years old I sat in a darkened closet hugging my knees to my chest.
Like I do…
My eyes are finally dry.
The thoughts of you don’t hurt as they once did.
They only seem to burn worse.
I have no more tears to shed,
In my mind's eye,
I do not shed a tear for the meek
The meek so trite
Enveloped by spite
Lapping up mouthfuls of melancholy
Food for the souls of the misbegotten and bleak
Snow-capped mountains looming over the cool, blue, rippling water. The peaceful sound of water hitting the sandy shores, the wind rustling the leaves whispering words in my earsof memories past.
Ignorance was bliss Back when our mothers picked our clothes And we rarely brushed our hair And we carried around cartoon pasted backpacks Not a care in the world No knowledge Never having to worry about rumors
As i stared out into the ocean,
my feet covered by the sand,
my rope-twisted hair danced gently in the breeze.
Then I remembered how this beautiful expanse of royal blue and green
had been....
It wasn't you, it was me.
I shouldn't had left you.
It's just that, things weren't working out.
You know it's true.
I was miserable and unhappy.
I found myself aching to get away.
A young girl plays in the warm sunlight.
Tag, you're it.
Running, Laughing, Living.
Hours pass.
Like all children, the girl in the lavender dress is restless.
Dusk.
Tonight I’ll sit on thecold sands of a deserted beach,looking out over the sighing waves ofa black ocean,the sky subtly blending into the waterlike a camouflage—they are one in the same.
No homework on Friday nights
Over the summer bugs masquerade as light
Soda pop on the porch
Terrible heat, outside we scorch
All to soon I grew up
Lost from me my sippy cup
A few weeks ago I walked into an abandoned house in my cul-de-sac, It was new yet rotten, tagged and trashed, violated mutilated desecrated dead, dying and forgotten… This wasteland of a property,… is a magic location, a haunted plantation, haunte
pitter-patter like little feetraindrops tapping on mine pane
bitter burns hiss and slitherremembrance dismantles my sane
moist summers and eerie chimesfingertips lost within your mane
Hidden deep underneath
Sheets of paper from the past
Intermingled with artifacts
A time not so ancient
But twice forgotten
Is eternally retold.
Closing my eyes, I think
Poetry is the Pacific.
Bubbling foam caressing my toes,
At the edge of an outgoing tide.
Wooden shutters painted cobalt blue,
Adorning a nearby cottage.
An aquatic symphony,
Tough feet, hot cement, cracked lips, drug tongueMy bones slithered down my back as I greeted the Texas summerChinese pear trees with seeds like stones and frozen lemon cubes were my mealOh childhood nostalgia!
Why do I write?Because it is the thing that lets me be creativeWhy does anyone write poetry?It's a song one can sing without knowing the correct notes
I thought my heart was breaking, I thought the day was done
I thought that time was taking too long for me
Now I see
Love is infinite
And you just need me to be here
Dry your tears, I'm here
sometimes i wonder
what things would have been like
if i had forgiven you a little sooner
if i had kept my mouth shut
if i hadn't fallen for the wrong guy
Darling you left my heart in pieces on the floor
So tell me why
The inner Machinations of my mind are an enigma
Because I saw your face and wow
What become of the Beauty gone astray?What happens to those who have no time to play?No one sees the Silent agony,and if they could,what would they really see?
As I drink my sweet tea,
I remember my Southern upbringing.
Running barefoot through the fields
with my half-naked cousins
and trying to avoid getting a whooping
for playing in the mud.
I hate remembering how perfect things were
How when I was small I could run free
Free
But now this world can swallow me whole
And the monsters I thought were under my bed
Actually do exist.
You say I lie I clearly can't remember
Everyone forgets about me in December
Friends quickly turn into enemies toward me
No one seems to be talking about anything but me
In a cruel way nothing but hidden laughs
My head hurts. Counting days.
I run dripping paste,
more exaggerated than Pollack,
to spread on converse and heels.
I begin to open jars in June classes,
and April locker rooms,
I don’t know how to feel about the day to come
Mixed feelings of nostalgia and anticipation overwhelm me
I go back to that musty school yard field
The field I thrived on and learned who I was on
Fashionably
late.
The old and white nostalgia
descends upon my door.
Nervously- perhaps anti-
cipation draws me
like an artist struck by deja
vu- I
walk out to greet her
and
Tick-tock goes the clock as the time passes by
Everybody dressed in blue smiles and cries
The day of graduation was finally here
It was time to celebrate the end of senior year
The songs we heard under the wooden porch
Are still carried in my ears – ringing something awful.
Sighing anger is dead when we’re away and the
Great, wet blue is hanging above – judging
I love when poems rhyme
It reminds me of a better time
I was young, the world was bright
Playing house, telling moons goodnight
But as I grew, the world grew too
Life is moving faster then a speeding bullet
Tell me where does time go
remember when i used to watch my favorite cartoons
nowadays my only motive is a paycheck
time is working against us.
We were convinced our paths were written in the stars
And promised we'd never be apart
To only realize none was as different as ours
So we parted ways with all too broken hearts
I watch her shimmer and dance from the shoreline
While the sunset adorns her in gold
she’s calling so sweetly, my Aquamarine
For our friendship is many years old
Sit at the table,
the booth that was only whimsy, fiction until this moment,
smooth the java with single servings of nostalgia
and laugh a laughter deep,
nourish me for a lifetime.
I try to catch fireflies in summer, keep them in a jar.
Watch them lighting up.
When I miss, it's always a big bummer.
Firefly-catching is not that grown-up.
I dream about fireflies in Winter,
The books never once opened on the shelf
crack their pages to reveal
thick-jawed beasts or
the few remaining craters of ghost-towns or
a sea of people shielding me from you and you from me
Remember the times, hopefully still vivid,
Possibly now incoherent, maybe vague,
Every detail a trap, every smile a plague,
Never has the past turned the present so insipid.
Over such a vast expanse of suburban sprawl
a warm aura of sunset orange radiates from each roof,
Houses,
just actors in the scene of their surroundings,
A distant city as the backdrop.
Dimly lit and falsely advertised
The Cafe stands on the foundation
of what existed yesterday,
The faded glory that used to flow freely
is now dormant,
Hindered and shrouded by years of aging.