This poetry challenge comes from poet Roy E. Peterson: From your past, write and provide us a poem about something that gives you a warm, fuzzy feeling about the past—something that moved you, inspired you, amazed you, or at least left a lasting impression on you. Everything is fair game. If your nostalgic poem is from the 20th century, you may need an explanation for the general public. Post yours in the comments section below.
Here is my example:
There Was a Place Called Hollywood
by Roy E. Peterson
Once upon a time there was
_A place called Hollywood,
_Where dreams were manufactured
_Some bad but most were good.
The factories were studios
_Where movies came to be.
_The workers came from hills
_That they called Beverly.
Reality was something plain
_They often would avoid,
_These tales were more than real
_And made of celluloid.
Once upon a time the hearts
_That broke would lead to mendings.
_With strong male leads, romances
_Still brought us happy endings.
Patriotic Hollywood
_Supported the USOs.
_Bob Hope and other greats
_Would give our troops free shows.
Now Hollywood is China’s slave
_And has no moral code.
_They chase whatever sells;
_Hell’s flames lick their abode.
Poet’s Note: Hollywood has come to rely on China to break even, which has led to the American movie industry tacitly catering to the Chinese Communist Party. Read more here.
Here is one I wrote today that is a funny memory:
RACING TO A WEDDING
True Texas Story
By Roy E. Peterson
I worked on my first Master’s at a place called Texas Tech.
I knew Texas patrolmen would go racing to a wreck.
I always obeyed the speed limit, except for that day.
Because we got started late, I threw caution away.
Headed south of Lubbock at a hundred miles per hour;
At that rate of speed, it would have made patrolmen glower.
A good friend of my wife on that day was getting married.
I knew we couldn’t make it, if we then had tarried.
Just before Lamesa, I saw in my rearview mirror,
A highway patrol car and it was drawing nearer.
I slowed down quickly, since I knew I was going too fast.
As I slowed down to 90, the highway patrol car passed.
I estimated it was going at one hundred twenty.
If I got a ticket, I would have had to pay plenty.
The highway patrol car soon disappeared from our site.
I sped up to one hundred thinking it was alright.
When we arrived in Crane, with only ten minutes to spare,
We noticed that the patrol car was parked outside of there.
As we heard wedding music and for the march we’d stand,
We realized then the groom had been the patrolman.
On The Sand and Shore
By, JoyAnne O’Donnell
The warm sun shines on my day
Then I travel on the bright side of the bus
Enjoying the ride watching the breeze caressing flowers colors
Relaxing and watching
Riding to my vacation
Sights all around today
Then I get to my hotel
A nice adventure seeing time
Clock and tick fast
Then l get to cozy up with the sand
The waves white as angels
Calling me to swim
I swim for hours
Enjoying such a beautiful bubbles
Lifting me up with the waves fun pull
A seashells embrace of stars in my day
To golden wings to tomorrow
A great place to pray
A wonderful day
To always feel comfortable of the memory
Held bright as a million rainbows.
JoyAnne, that is surely a precious memory with warm cozy thoughts to put us all in a nostalgic mood for such times spent in our past. Here is my postcard: “Wishing I Was There.” Thank you for sharing.
Elegy to the Black and White TV
Three channels on a black and white TV;
a relic, even then; ’twas bunny-eared
to capture ITV and BBC
(both 1 and 2) once white-noise blizzards cleared.
Exiled to my messy bedroom lair,
beside a moon-shot model made by Dad,
the screen, at night, broadcast forbidden fare
of violence, swearing, women scantly clad.
Appliance of the past, your knobs tuned out
your future; technicolour, size and weight
were ranged against you, leading to a rout
as Far East imports pointed to your fate.
Blue Peter, Jackanory, Bill and Ben
by day, while budget cop shows ruled the night
along with Hammer House of Horror… then
its time was done, the stalwart black and white.
Ah, Paul, I remember seeing my first black and white television show at a cousin’s farmhouse that had electricity and we did not. We saw a Walt Disney show on a Sunday evening followed by wrestling. Great memories. Thank you for your well-worded contribution and taking us back to a time when our parents were careful what we watched. I really liked the poem and the message.
Some of our best nostalgia was as a teenager. This one goes back to the mid 20th century:
FOR WHAT ARE YOU NOSTALGIC?
By Roy E. Peterson
What is it you’re nostalgic for?
Music behind a “Green Door?”
A T-bird made the girl’s heads flip,
If you drove on the “Sunset Strip.”
Maybe it’s “Dragnet” on TV,
Or it’s the “Addams Family.”
“Beverly Hillbillies” were swell.
“The Price is Right,” if you could tell.
Gilligan’s friends were on a raft.
When we were wrong, we got the shaft.
When it was cool, we said “Groovy.”
We made out at the drive-in movie.
Wolfman Jack played us Rock and Roll
We learned to Bop and do the Stroll.
We listened to the radio
And called our elders, “Daddio.”
What is it you’re nostalgic for?
I think it is a whole lot more.
Go back in time and you will find
The memories to mend your mind.
Namesake
My Dad would take us to a Cardinals game
from time to time, at Sportsman Park, as it
was called, although it had a brand new name—
Busch Stadium. We had to walk a bit
to reach it, since we parked on side streets so
we didn’t have to pay. The Park was lit
up by the time we’d get there, gloves in tow,
because, you never knew, this time that ball
just might be yours. Before we sat, we’d go
to see the Cardinal pictures on the wall
along the third-base side, especially one.
He lived on our side of the River. All
us Illinoians clung to when he won
the All-Star center field slot the year
my Mom and Dad produced their second son.
So what they’d choose to name the kid was clear,
It would be Terry Moore. His namesake, here.
Not So Long Ago
I long for days when mothers staying home
Could keep their focus on the task at hand.
Back when I was distracted by the phone
Which hung upon the wall, I had to stand.
The phone (betwixt my shoulder and my ear)
Was fixed with the umbilical like cord
To the base. And I could only hear
A single voice – my friend to whom I poured
My thoughts and plans. The conversation waned.
We said good bye, returning to the kids
And house and laundry and the dinner plan.
Today the phone is more a two way sieve
As information flows in tidal waves.
The influencer sharing every thought
With total strangers. Now she is a slave.
With loves and likes she has been hooked and bought.
“Intelligence” from round the world is dumped
Into her mind and home. She cannot keep
Up with media designed to pump
Her up. She scrolls. For really, who needs sleep?
No one reads a book or writes a note.
The children have their own devices, too.
The Uber guy delivers dinner. Food
Is consumed by phonelight. What a view.
I miss the days when moms were truly home,
Safe within the walls where they were queens.
Now because of internet and phones
Their presence there is few and far between.