NaPM, April 17, 2020

[Quixilated]

Rules: Write a poem for national poetry month on the topic or form described. Each poem should appear as a separate reply to this thread. The goal is to, at the end of the month have written 30 poems for National Poetry Month.


Topic: Write a poem inspired by nostalgia.
Form : any
Line requirements: any 


Questions?

[Keith]

Searching for your cameo

You were in fashion
after the bike crash.
It’s funny what death does,
always seemed worried
what people thought,
desperate to be accepted deeper
by friends with no depth.

When I’m home
I walk the fields,
follow the brook up to
the railway bridge,
drop through the hedge
into the graveyard.

It doesn’t seem right
to drive through the main gates,
I would feel old.

Your picture is always a smile
embedded in resin,
fresh faced, shoulder length hair
leather jacket, all the trade marks
to help you fit in, find a slot,
part of our lot I guess.

It’s  nice being 17 again
no matter how brief the moment,
that first taste of whiskey in the days
when music was as important as
motorcycles and cigarettes.
You still get a mention
when the old bikers see who's left
and meet for a melancholy beer.

Maybe I’ll find you next year.

[dukealien]

Nostalgia


We used to hate
each other in a sibling
sort of way and now
we don’t–
does that make love?

[Todd]

The Breakfast Tales

Before flannel and Doc Martens
there was Aqua Net and eyeliner,
acid wash and neon. A simpler time,
where you could pull on an elephant’s trunk
to light the world, or turn off
light forever. A gun would expand
your social group and you would understand
that your parents were true
evil, that you were all the same, and still
wouldn’t be friends on Monday.

[mjweise]

Our Times

It's a funny kinda' day,
and the winds are blowing strong.
Leaves in trees surely shaking,
as our time is rollin' on.

Lives begin with awesome wonder;
in passing years we glide along.
Reaching milestones on our journey,
some choices right, some choices wrong.

Days gone by are fond remembered;
mythic memories dull the pain.
Through our minds we might well wander,
with misty tears like gentle rain.

Comes a time when earthly pleasures
no longer cure our stress 'n strain.
Holding on to feelings laundered,
we'll tumble down that final lane.

On some future kinda day,
we'll hope for winds warm 'n calm.
Leaves in trees quit their shaking,
as our time stops rollin' on.