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.
T.M., sports provide us some of the best memories, particularly when one has attended some of the games and absorbed the atmosphere like you did with the pictures and hoping to catch a ball. You told your nostalgic memory with panache providing us visual imagery. Well done!
Nice, T.M.
Dante and baseball!
And a great twist at the end.
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.
Gigi, I was hoping you would be one of the ones to provide us with some of your nostalgia and I was rewarded with your wonderful memory of how we had to go to the wall to answer the phone in our farmhouse. In my case, unfortunately we had a party line, and neighbors could listen to our conversations. Perhaps that made us communicate in a more social way, though listening to them gossip was often fun. A battery-operated radio was our only other entertainment on our non-electrified farm at the time. Like my first poem above, yours provides a strong message of the deterioration of our society by being suffused with communication devices and extraneous intrusions. You provided us your nostalgia eloquently.
I would be interested in comments if any of you remember DJ Wolfman Jack on radio stations XERF or XERB.
WOLFMAN JACK
DJ on the mighty 1090 radio station XERB, San Diego/Tijuana
and XERF, Del Rio/Villa Acuňa
By Roy E. Peterson
From Border Blaster station XERF
Every night before I hit the sack,
I listened to 1960’s Rock and Roll
On the radio show of Wolfman Jack.
He was the most famous DJ
Of my teenage generation.
His howl and Rock and Roll
Was heard all over the nation.
He took calls from teenagers,
And even asked their handles.
Then he would sympathize with them
And play the record, “Sixteen Candles.”
He flirted with the girls that called
And told them what to do.
Then he would shock with something
He might purposely misconstrue.
Wolfman was a cultural icon.
His crazy banter entertained.
Teenagers thought it groovy.
Adults thought he was deranged.
Late at night as 1960’s records play,
Nostalgia always takes me back,
To a time I still believe was great.
That’s when I think of Wolfman Jack.
XERB, The Mighty 1090 (San Diego and LA radio stations with powerful transmitter in Tijuana, MX) and XERF (1570hz AM) Del Rio Station with transmitter in Villa Acuňa, MX) were the two primary “border blaster” stations in the 1950s and 1960s that reached all the way from Mexico to Canada and the entire United States. The reason for the transmitters in Mexico was to get around U.S. regulations of watts. XERB blasted at over 100,000 watts. XERF for a time was at 250,000 watts, which was 5 times more powerful than any American station, then pushed it consistently to 500,000 watts and even reached 1,000,000 watts. XERF reached all 50 states and 15 countries. Wolfman Jack was on both stations playing Rock and Roll at night and had legendary questions and responses to teenager requests to play a song. Wolfman Jack was immortalized in the 1973 movie, American Graffiti,” where one can hear some of his legendary repartee with sexual innuendo. In Texas, the other stations we heard all the way out in West Texas, where I lived, were KOMA, Oklahoma City; WOAI, San Antonio; and KRLD, Dallas.
UNDER-UTILIZED RESOURCES
We turn our backs and
Breaking waves waste their beauty
On the un-viewed beach.
– 7 May 1989, Yakan Point, Graham Is., Haida Gwaii – this poem the basis for the idea that Canada should have a Ministry of Natural Beauty that posts every young person in some wild habitat for a year or two so that its beauty doesn’t go unobserved
Fred, that would be an awesome program.
Songs of the past can stir our nostalgic memories. Here are some from an era gone by:
DO YOU REMEMBER DOO WOP?
By Roy E. Peterson
Do you remember Doo Wop
When dancing at the hop?
Songs from our generation
We thought would never stop.
The Five Satins sang
“In the Still of the Nite.”(1)
Then the Capris sang,
“There’s a Moon Out Tonight.”
“The Ten Commandments of Love,”
By Harvey and the Moonglows,
We could hear on the radio
With the Wolfman shows.
“Blue Moon” was a big hit
Sung by the Marcels.
“A Little Bit of Soap”
Was sung by the Jarmels.
“Get a Job” was a teenage wish
Made by the Silhouettes.
“16 Candles” for the girls
Was performed by the Crests.
We were “Crying in the Chapel”
With the group, Orioles.
“Maybe” was a big hit
Then for the Chantels.
“Why Do Fools Fall in Love,”
Sung by Frankie Lymon
Featuring the Teenagers
Was something to rely on.
Who Wrote the “Book of Love,”
Was a Monotone sensation.
“Tears on My Pillow,”
With Little Anthony moved the nation.
The “Duke of Earl” was cool;
A song Gene Chandler sings.
The song, “Come Go With Me,”
Was sung by the Dell-Vikings.
The Impalas said they’re “Sorry,”
And ran all the way home.
The Elegants sang, “Little Star,”
As if they were alone.
“Since I Don’t Have You,”
Was a Skyliner’s hit.
“Goodnight, Sweetheart, Goodnight”
By the Spaniels finished it.
I love the Doo Wop ballads;
Soft songs that move me still.
I never have forgotten them,
And guess I never will.
The Good Old Days
I long for 2025
When most of us were still alive,
Those days before new Covid 2
Killed billions in that Pharma stew,
Another filthy Fauci brew.
And then, of course, the Global War
Felled and crippled billions more.
Now rotting in my prepper cell
Makes 2025 look swell.
2028 is HELL!
Wow, Mike — a look ahead!
Mike, I will remember to not wish you Happy New Year. Your well-written future memory poem reminds me of the 1969 popular song by Zager and Evan, “In the Year 2525.”
REMEMBERING THE SUNDAY FUNNIES
CARTOON BULLIES GOT IT IN THE END
By Roy E. Peterson
Classical can be comical
Like a Daffy Duck cartoon.
Yosemite Sam sayin’ “Reach fer it,”
Then steppin’ in a spittoon.
Wiley Coyote hidin’
In a flock of fleecy sheep,
Getting trampled by the herd
When the Roadrunner says, “Beep, Beep.”
Elmer Fudd and Bugs Bunny
Were a classic pair.
I think that dealing with old Bugs
Was how Elmer lost his hair.
Tom and Jerry ran around
Some poor lady’s house.
Tom would get bashed in the head
While chasing that brown mouse.
Tweetie Pie was rescued by
The mistress of Sylvester.
Just like Tom he got in trouble
When he would start to pester.
Everyone loved Looney Tunes.
The lessons kids were taught,
How bullies came to grief
When with an innocent they fought.
EVEN BEFORE TV
I can’t explain to a kid today that when I
was a kid, we had no ice dispensers on the fridge—
but only cubes of frozen water in what we called
ice cube trays.
They just say, ‘hey, no way!!’
Or that our fridge was merely a white metal box in a corner
that was only made cold from a block of ice,
a heavy block of ice that I remember was left
about once a week near our front doorsteps.
Kids might at best look up from their phones,
give you a nod, or most likely a groan, a sigh..
when you tell them your mother washed clothes
by hand, then hung them outside on a line to dry.
Or that back then doctors drove to your house if
someone was ill, or a flu were caught.
Our doctor came with his little black bag, and I’d know because my forehead was hot, that I had to endure another penicillin shot.
How do you explain not having TV, computer or iPad,
video games or even CD’s?
We sat on our linoleum floor with our ball and jacks fun,
delighted when we picked up all 10 jacks and we won!
Memories galore, would take up too much space,
Yet one more, we had one bathroom for our family of six,
and very thankful for that for our parents had none.
So we waited in line for the occupant to get done.
Ann, your nostalgic poem brought back a flood of memories for me on my early farm life in South Dakota including having an ice box; our first International Harvester refrigerator when we finally got electricity on the farm; a washing machine where clothes were washed by hand, put through a wringer and hung on the lines to dry; doctors making house calls; in my case having an outhouse; and having no television until the 1960’s when we had moved to Texas. You packed some fascinating memories into your precious poem.
Dear Roy,
How heartwarming to know that my memories sparked such similar memories for you from your farm life in South Dakota. Thank you very much for your reply. I feel like I have discovered such a rare treasure in your website. Thank you
(my nostalgia originates in a small country home built by my father, surrounded by woods and hills and sandwiched in between functioning US STEEL Mills outside Pittsburgh PA. Fruit trees, chickens, vegetable gardens, a cow and my treasured violets in Spring, springs, and more)
Fail Mail
How poor are emails sent by internet
Compared with written letters signed and stamped
Inside white wrinkled envelopes still damp
With moisture from the tropics, sealed with sweat.
Perhaps they slightly reek of cigarettes
Composed at night beneath a foreign lamp,
The ink smudge here reflects a finger’s cramp,
A splash of rum, a doodled silhouette.
What joy I felt away in distant lands
To get a letter written by a friend,
Holding thoughts, news wishes in my hands.
Then drafting a long missive next to send,
By airmail over seas and desert sands.
A shame to see such practice at an end.
M.D., what a great focus on the difference between the poor internet emails and the thoughtful letters sent through the postal system we all treasured and many of us saved. Your poem was obviously written with fond memories of being connected with dear friends by real snail mail. Thank you for sharing.
Wow! A Petrarchan reminiscence! I can relate to it with my own memories of receiving a letter overseas as well as a sending post cards to share the highlights of a road trip. Even so, emails, texting, face time along with photo and video attachments and the like help my family keep in touch in a faster and more efficient way than those old letters and post cards. Then again. Opening an envelope, holding a paper and reading words written by the hand of someone I knew or loved was far more personal than digitalized correspondence Nice memory and thanks.
FOUR DECADES OF NOSTALGIA (I will post each decade in successive comments)
1. FINISHING THE 1940’s
WHEN MY MIND WAS YOUNG
By Roy E. Peterson
Radio is playing
Beneath the summer moon
Songs like “Moonlight Cocktails”
And then “Elmer’s Tune.”
Soft songs from 1940’s,
Played by a swing time band
Remind me of the times
When my life was grand.
I was just a baby
When my mother used to sing
Along with all the big bands
Of life and love and things.
I lived in Nebraska
Until the age of six.
The Omaha radio station
Would play the sultry mix.
Now I am in my 70’s;
When I hear such a song,
It takes me back to childhood,
When my mom would sing along.
Tommy Dorsey and his orchestra,
Glen Miller and his band,
Lawrence Welk and others
Would play across the land.
Mother might be hanging
The wash out on the line.
The radio was playing
A swing tune that was fine,
Or she might be baking
A cake I thought was mine.
When I hear these tunes again
My mind goes back in time.
2. THE FABULOUS 1950’s
NOSTALGIA FROM THE 1950’S
By Roy E. Peterson
My mother bought appliances
With Green or Gold Bond stamps.
I went to the Black Hills
For my summer camps.
Gas Station attendants
Filled our tanks and checked our oil.
When we rolled our windows up
He’d remove the soil.
Wurlitzer juke boxes
From our booths we could control.
Put a nickel in and listen
To our Rock and Roll.
Drive-in Movie theaters
Were in every town
Roller skating waitresses
Set trays with windows down.
We still had soda fountains
With a soda jerk.
We might take our date there
When we got off of work.
Muscle cars were bigger,
A leather bench seat was within.
They were beautiful
With a chrome-plated back fin.
Oh, how lucky we were
In our age of innocence.
No other decade I saw
Has been greater since.
WE ALL GET NOSTALGIA
By Roy E. Peterson
We old folks get nostalgia
For the good times that we had
Remembering our teenage years;
Forgetting all the bad.
I go back to the fifties
When car culture came of age.
Poodle skirts were fancy dress;
Beehive hairdos all the rage.
Shorts soon became short shorts.
Teeny bikinis were the bomb.
I wished the girls could wear them
To the Senior Prom.
Hotrods were meant for racing.
Convertibles for show.
Souped up carburetors
Made the engines blow.
A large coke cost a dime;
A hamburger was fifty.
We could fill our gas tank
With four dollars if we’re thrifty.
Mom got our appliances
With Gold Bond or Green Stamps.
I remember mother trading
Them for table lamps.
If we got in trouble,
A spanking would ensue.
We were held responsible
For everything we’d do.
Nostalgia is for lovers
Who remember pretty faces,
The fun we had, the things we’d do
In all of the old places.
COUNTRY SINGERS OF THE 1950’S
Song Lyrics for Nostalgic Country Music Artists
By Roy E. Peterson
All the great country singers
Who to my eyes brought a tear
Seem lost in their own songs
That I still love to hear.
Jim Reeves was stuck in Nashville
Next to Heart Break Hotel
At the Three Tear Drops Tavern,
And not doing very well.
Johnny Horton passed away
From Big Ed’s knife throw.
When it was “Springtime in Alaska,”
He was six feet below.
It seems old Marty Robbins
Left this world in El Paso
Near Rosas Cantina,
One hundred fifty years ago.
What happened to Hank Snow?
Can anybody share?
The last I heard of him,
He’d been everywhere.
If I write a country song,
I don’t want to be
Down in some Lonesome Valley
Hanging from and old oak tree.
FIFTIES AND THE SIXTIES WERE THE GREATEST DECADES
By Roy E. Peterson
Fifties cars were so much better;
Motors made for revvin’.
I could even fix the things
In my own car’s engine.
I still think Mason jars
Are best for iced tea sips.
Ridges run around it
Preventing any drips.
Music then was Rock and Roll.
We had Clyde McPhatter,
Buddy Holly, Elvis Presley,
The Everly’s and the Platters.
Things were built much better.
They tended not to break.
Now they’re made of plastic.
That is a big mistake.
I remember children
Learned to write in cursive.
That developed motor skills,
And their thoughts were immersive.
It was the golden age of TV
With sit-coms for the family.
Boys would open doors for girls;
They still had gallantry.
We drank Coca Cola
From bottles made of glass.
It tasted so much better,
We never thought ‘twould pass.
We had drive-in picture shows
To cuddle with a date.
We might get a kiss or two,
And thought that it was great.
We could take a date
To the Dairy Mart.
It cost less than a diner,
And they thought we were smart.
We know some things improved,
From things that used to be,
But the fifties were much better.
At least they were for me.
3. THE SEXY 1960’s
BLAST FROM THE PAST: FEELIN’ GROOVY
By Roy E. Peterson
In the nineteen sixties
Teenagers made up slang
To fit situations,
And feel part of the gang.
If we liked the party,
We said it was “a gas.”
If it was really great,
We said we had a “blast.”
A “bug” was a VW
We thought was “rad.”
If something were so awesome,
We said it was “bad.”
“Far out” was an expression
Of approval we said.
The other one was “groovy”
Like the “Grateful Dead.”
Flower children running
Across the USA,
Saw psychedelic colors
with which they would play.
“Boob tube” was television.
A “cat” was a guy.
If you “crashed” in a “pad,”
It was a place to lie.
If we sought approval,
We asked, “give some skin.”
If we saw a “fox,”
It was a girl made for sin.
“Hang loose” was take it easy.
How great, “Outta sight.”
“Fist city” was the place
When looking for a fight.
“Rat finks” were tattletales.
If failed, one got the “shaft.”
If you bet your sweet “bippy,”
I know we had laughed.
If you can still remember
This slang from the past,
Then you must be one of us,
And still having a blast.
4. THE SCINTILLATING 1970’S
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE FONDUE PARTY
By Roy E. Peterson
What happened to the Fondue Party;
The one with pots of cheese
Boiling on the table,
With chocolate dipped in grease?
The Swiss began promoting it
In the nineteen thirties.
Americans caught on to it
By the nineteen sixties.
Underneath the fondue pot
Was a candle or spirit lamp.
The informality of the scene
Was like a summer camp.
I remember dueling sticks,
Or long-handled fondue fork
Trying to stick a piece of bread,
Or stab a piece of pork.
The little morsel would be thrust
Into the fondue pot.
When it was cooked you blew on it,
Because it still was hot.
It took a lot of dipping
To get enough to eat
With hands of others in there close
To try the fondue feast.
Bring back the fondue party
With romantic candlelight.
Your friends will have nostalgia
For such a pleasant night.
WHAT HAPPENED TO LATE NIGHT TELEVISION
By Roy E. Peterson
We used to have fun shows
Like Jack Parr and Johnny Carson
On late night television
When they had the stars on.
Red Skelton was a classic clown
Who acted insane.
We would laugh for hours
When he would entertain.
I seems that network television chiefs
Are lacking in good vision.
Now we get propaganda
And political pontification.
TWO NOSTALGIC POEMS ON COUNTRY/WESTERN MUSIC
COUNTRY/WESTERN SINGERS OF THE 1950’S
Song Lyrics of Nostalgic Country Music Artists
By Roy E. Peterson
All the great country singers
Who to my eyes brought a tear
Seem lost in their own songs
That I still love to hear.
Jim Reeves was stuck in Nashville
Next to Heart Break Hotel
At the Three Tear Drops Tavern,
And not doing very well.
Johnny Horton passed away
From Big Ed’s knife throw.
When it was “Springtime in Alaska,”
He was six feet below.
It seems old Marty Robbins
Left this world in El Paso
Near Rosas Cantina,
One hundred fifty years ago.
What happened to Hank Snow?
Can anybody share?
The last I heard of him,
He’d been everywhere.
If I write a country song,
I don’t want to be
Down in some Lonesome Valley
Hanging from and old oak tree.
COUNTRY MUSIC SCANDALS
By Roy E. Peterson
Country music scandals seem to climb the Country Chart.
Hank Williams sang about it in “Your Cheatin’ Heart.”
Carl Perkins and Elvis sang about shoes that were blue sueded.
Then David Houston came along and sang, “Almost Persuaded.”
Earnest Tubb was “Walking the Floor over You.”
I hope he did not bury someone down there too.
Jim Reeves once sang the song that “He’ll Have to Go.”
Marty Robbins had a Mexican girlfriend in the town of “El Paso.”
Women tried to blame the men like the singer Kitty Wells.
“It wasn’t God who made Honkey Tonk Angels.”
When Bill Anderson sang, “Still,” what kind of still was that?
Johnny Cash stole all the parts to build his Cadillac.
Johnny Cash spent time in jail, and he paid his dues.
Then he wrote the song, “The Folsom Prison Blues.”
If you want to get rich with more money than you can handle,
I suggest you write a song about a Country scandal.
POETS PEER INTO THE PAST PRESERVING IT FOR POSTERITY
AMERICAN NOSTALGIA
By Roy E. Peterson
O, Take me out to the ball game.
Call me a hot dog guy.
Find me an American dame.
Give me a slice of apple pie.
Come with me in my pickup truck.
Let’s kiss at the drive-in movie.
I don’t need Las Vegas for my luck.
With you I’m feeling groovy.
NOSTALGIA LIKE NEURALGIA
By Roy E. Peterson
Nostalgia like neuralgia sometimes causes pain.
The past that sometimes haunts will not come again.
Be careful with actions. Be kind to those you’ve met.
Once may be the only chance we will ever get.
NOSTALGIA IS A STATE OF MIND
By Roy E. Peterson
Nostalgia is a state of mind
___often filled with regrets.
Loss of love and family
___and of our favorite pets.
Wishing we had second chances
___or we at least had tried.
Wishing we could go back in time
___before our music died.
It can become a pity party
___wasting in our soul;
A wrenching teary tumult
___leaving our mind in a hole.
The older we become
___the more nostalgia we recall.
Don’t dwell on your nostalgia
___You’ll know life was worth it all.
ON NOSTALGIA
By Roy E. Peterson
When the world is muddled
With life’s difficulties then
We need our nostalgia
To help us live again.
Nostalgia is remembrance
That filters out the bad.
Looking back in time we find
It better than we had.
We have a great film editor
Built into our mind.
We use a rosy filter
For the things we left behind.
We don’t need to take a trip
Paying for airfare.
We can use our time machine
From our easy chair.
NOSTALGIA
By Roy E. Peterson
Nostalgia is remembrance
Of good things from the past.
Thank goodness for nostalgia,
The good things never last.
When we get much older,
Our childhood seems much brighter.
Like the song about
The little old lamplighter.
We comb through our pictures
So good memories we recall.
Then we look for autographs
Signed on an old baseball.
Nostalgia means great stories
We can tell to a kid.
We can embellish on
The great things that we did.
I BELIEVE IN NOSTALGIA
By Roy E. Peterson
I believe in nostalgia.
Our memories keep us young,
The music and the movies,
The places where we hung.
I remember beauty,
The puppy loves I had,
The joy of my first kisses
With girls that drove me mad.
I remember high school days,
Playing in football games,
My teacher educators,
And students with their names.
My parents were restrictive,
And I could have punishment.
They taught me to be truthful,
And to act the way they meant.
The years improve the good times,
As the bad times fade away.
Memories have me longing
For my thrills of yesterday.
WE ALL GET NOSTALGIA
By Roy E. Peterson (July 30, 2019)
We old folks get nostalgia
For the good times that we had
Remembering our teenage years;
Forgetting all the bad.
I go back to the fifties
When car culture came of age.
Poodle skirts were fancy dress;
Beehive hairdos all the rage.
Shorts soon became short shorts.
Teeny bikinis were the bomb.
I wished the girls could wear them
To the Senior Prom.
Hotrods were meant for racing.
Convertibles for show.
Souped up carburetors
Sometimes made the engine blow.
A large coke cost a dime;
A hamburger was fifty.
We could fill our gas tank
With four dollars if we’re thrifty.
Mom got our appliances
With Gold Bond or Green Stamps.
I remember mother trading
Them for table lamps.
If we got in trouble,
A spanking would ensue.
We were held responsible
For everything we’d do.
Nostalgia is for lovers
Who remember pretty faces,
The fun we had, the things we’d do
In all of the right places.
Roy, you mentioned Gold Bond and Green Stamps in the above poem. This brought back a memory. Italian families bought a great deal of dry pasta, and two of the pasta companies (Ronzoni and LaRosa) had a coupon printed on every box they sold. If you cut them out and saved them, eventually you’d accumulate enough to redeem them for some household item. My grandmother and mother clipped them for years, and eventually we brought a shopping bag filled with them to the redemption center and got some cookware and china.
You may also recall that if you went to the movies on a certain night called “Dish Night,” the theater would give every lady a dish. It’s hard to believe now, but some women made sure to go to the movies every “Dish Night” in order to assemble a complete set of dinner plates. One woman in my wife’s neighborhood actually put together four sets of twelve plates each, for her four daughters.
This wasn’t a world of unbridled affluence and consumerism. You saved what money you could, you husbanded your resources, you put pennies and other loose change in a jar, you kept vegetable peelings and old coffee grounds for the garden. My wife’s grandmother (a very skilled seamstress) made complete new Easter ensembles for her grandchildren every year — dresses, shawls, and coats, with all the linings, buttons, and other trimmings. Her husband made the new Easter hats for the little girls (he was a ladies hatter by trade).
Dr, Salemi, that is a great contribution filled with stimulating memories. Saving coupons like saving stamps was something my family also did back in the day. I identify with everything you said including getting dishes and building sets by various means. We did not get any from attending movies, but I was fascinated with how your family saved them. On the farm, feed and flour sacks in the late 1940’s and into the 1950’s began to have patterns placed on them so women could make skirts from them. My mother made several of them, since she was also an excellent seamstress like your wife’s grandmother. On Wednesday and Saturday evenings were the times all the farmers went to our nearest town, (Bonesteel, population about 500 people) to deliver and sell milk, butter, and eggs to the produce forwarders and to shop. It was interesting to recognize the different patterns on the dresses of some of the women.
In olden songs I find my tranquility,
A gentle ache of fragile sensitivity.
Through fading years I glimpse their profundity,
And in their memory taste sweet immortality.
Mike, this is one of the best nostalgic poems I have ever read or for that matter any other poems. It positively resonates with me. There is a depth of thoughtful sentiment in this one that speaks to the heart. The rhyming is superb. Thank you for sharing this wonderful ode to the great music from the past that far outshines what we have today.
Thanks, Roy.
CAR HOPS SKATING EVERYWHERE
By Roy E. Peterson
Got a load of high school friends.
Goin’ to the Sonic Drive-in,
Cruise around the block a lot.
Stop to tease the new car hop.
Amy comes to take the orders.
Four hamburgers for two dollars.
Two root beers each cost a dime.
Car hop helps us pass the time.
See the car hops come and go.
Better than a picture show.
Car hops skatin’ everywhere.
Love the caps in their long hair.
Pretty car hops bring the food.
Pass the ketchup. Don’t be rude.
Tip the car hop one green skin
For the work that she puts in.
Someone’s car is chug-a chugin’.
Our car revvin’, hudden-hudden.
Drag equipped and can’t be beat.
Devil drag us on the street.
Open up the carburetor.
Maybe we’ll be racing later.
Car hop gettin’ off at ten.
Hopin’ for a late date then.
Car hop dressed in long knee socks
Play a song on that jukebox.
Oh, yes “I’m the Great Pretender.”
Love that car hop. She is tender.
Frito Pie and RC Coke.
Eatin’ there till I go broke.
Come let’s have a little heaven.
We’ll stay out until eleven.
Car hops skatin’ everywhere.
Car trays loaded up to there.
Hook them to the window sill.
Never seem to make a spill.
MALT SHOPS OF THE 1950’S
By Roy E. Peterson
Malted milk was a creation of two English brothers
Who settled in Racine, Wisconsin and malted discovers.
It was a powdered milk, wheat, and malted barley compound
The Horlick brothers trademarked as “malted milk” they had found.
Their ads first marketed it as nutritional baby food,
But were surprised when adults and older kids thought it good.
The lack of alcohol and drinking age rules met a need
As an alternate to bars and clubs that made it succeed.
Soda fountains in the 40’s added ice cream to malt.
The malt shop theme expanded it seemed never it would halt.
Malt shop parlors and fountains became the newest ragers
As popular evening hangouts for boomer teenagers.
Added to the malt shops were the boomer jukebox rockers.
In the 1950’s then we added bobby sockers.
The trend carried into the 60’s like “Rock Around the Clock.”
Then came McDonald’s restaurants franchised by Raymond Kroc.
Milk shakes then replaced the malts minus the great malt powder.
It spelled the doom of the malt shops like clams replaced corn chowder.
Oh, how much I used to love to drink tasty malted milk
That had vanilla ice cream and went down as smooth as silk.
LOVE QUOTES FROM TV SHOWS
By Roy E. Peterson
On the “Good Witch” series,
Starring Catherine Bell,
“You can’t have too much love,
Or chocolate,” I heard her tell.
Penny in the series, “Lost,”
Characterized her world thus,
“All we need to survive,
Is someone who truly loves us.”
On the “Castle” tv series,
The lovers did not use a phrase.
They ended conversations
With the word, “Always!”
Juliet O-Hara on the tv series, “Psych,”
Tried to shed a little light.
“Well, I think you deserve more
Than just popcorn tonight.”
Mulder on the “X-files”
Was an agent with a task.
He said, “A dream is an answer to a question
We haven’t learned how to ask.”
“Criminal Minds” ended in quotes
They often wouldn’t explain.
“Find the place inside where there’s joy,
And the joy will burn out the pain.”
Someone tried to give a hint
On “The Gossip Girls.”
“Say just three words with eight letters,
And I am yours,”
One said on the “Vampire Diaries,”
Where for life is what they strive:
“You should love the person
That makes you feel alive.”
“Love is like an arrow.
It must fly straight and true.”
That is not a tv quote.
It’s one from me to you.
OLD HAUNTS
By Roy E. Peterson
My familiar haunts are vanishing.
They are a dying breed.
They live on in memory
That my mind can accede.
The farm house where I first lived,
And where I played around
Has gone the way of the old barn,
And fallen to the ground.
The summer camp I loved so much,
Camp Judson and its thrills,
Is covered by Pactola dam
High up in the Black Hills.
The Texas town we moved to
Seems smaller every day.
I can still go visit there,
But my haunts have gone away.
Good morning, Roy. Sorry I’m coming late to this challenge. This is the best I could come up with on short notice — remembering what life was like when Saturday morning cartoons were the highlight of my week!
A SONNET IN PRAISE OF CARTOONS
I had turned the ripe old age of six
When I first saw Bugs Bunny on t.v.
Saturdays were always a fun mix
Of Daffy Duck, the Roadrunner, and me.
Forest-romps, but only after chores.
Treehouse building – that was also great.
Summer days exploring the outdoors
But Flintstones first! – Nature had to wait!
At sixty-four I still prefer cartoons
To angry politicians everyplace
When public figures are all Looney Tunes…
You don’t need Scooby Doo to solve this case.
With all the news that isn’t fit to print
Preferring Bugs is simply good judgment!
Brian, what a great commentary on legendary cartoon, especially “When public figures are all Looney Tunes.” I love it along with the image of not needing Scooby Doo to solve a case. I greatly appreciate your poem, your sense of humor, and you joining in the Challenge.
Mr. Flowerday
His voice has gone. His words remain.
They sparkle at this darkest hour.
They soothe like sunshine after rain
And shimmer like a summer flower.
His grace and joy, his golden tone,
His wit and wonder sing within
My soul. Yet still I long to phone
The gentleman who made me grin
On greyest days. He always knew
Just how to turn my bleak sky blue.
Susan, Mr. Flowerday is a fantastic nostalgic tribute to one who obviously meant a lot to you in the past. There is so much pathos and praise in the fond memory. What a great poem for this challenge as you shared with us your heartfelt remembrance! The greatness of this poem lies in the words and rhymes that everyone can deeply appreciate for its straightforward unpretentious presentation. Thank you for this marvelous contribution to the nostalgia challenge.
Roy, thank you for this challenge… it came at the right time for me. Brian, Joe, and Roy – I cannot thank you enough for your comments on my contribution. Mr. Flowerday is real and this shining gentleman (I love your Kellaway comparison, Joe) meant the world to me. He died last Friday, and this poem landed in my lap. I wanted it to be longer. I wanted it to say all my heart is saying. I wanted it to speak of the priceless gifts of love and joy Mr. Flowerday endowed me with… and all of you have told me, my short and humble poem is a worthy tribute to a magnificent man. For that, I am most grateful.
Susan, great gifts often come in small packages. Your gift to us and to his memory came in the perfect package with a beautiful gold ribbon around it!
Susan, some of the greatest gifts come in small packages and this is one of them. Your depth of feeling is a precious gift to us and to the one memorialized. Your poem is a treasure wrapped in a gold ribbon.
Susan, this graceful poem of deep longing carries with it more than nostalgia – it is a beautiful and heartfelt tribute to someone who was very dear to you. I love its simplicity, the language, the rhymes. I notice in poetry that when the heart matters — as here — pretentious, latinate verbage is best avoided. You have the tone exactly right. May Mr. Flowerday’s memory be a blessing to you always. My deepest condolences over the loss of your friend.
FAMOUS MOVIE AND TV HORSES
By Roy E. Peterson
I remember movie actors
And horses long ago.
We would watch on television
Or at a picture show.
Roy Rogers rode on Trigger,
A great horse, Palomino.
Whatever Roy would need,
Trigger seemed to know.
Roy Rogers saw him on the set
Of Robin Hood one day.
Olivia de Havilland
Was riding him away.
Roy then bought the horse
And they made history.
Riding in the movies
That told a western story.
Dale Evans was Roy’s wife,
Her horse looked burnished silk.
The name of Dale Evans horse,
Of course, was Buttermilk.
The Lone Ranger’s horse, Silver,
Is the one he rode about.
Along with him was Tonto
And his famous Paint horse, Scout.
Silver was magnificent,
A white stallion by the way.
Intelligent and well-trained
It was Hi-Yo-Silver away.
Gene Autry had his Champion,
But there were three of them.
The first died during Autry’s
Military service way back then.
Champion was a blazed face
And three white stockinged sorrel,
At least back in nineteen thirty-five
When he was the original.
Topper was the great horse
Of our hero, Hopalong.
Topper had black ears
And was a white Arabian stallion.
The Cisco Kid rode Diablo
On the western tv show.
His sidekick was Pancho
Who rode a horse named Loco.
In the 1950’s
Wild Bill Hickok was the rage.
Guy Madison as Hitchcock
Rode Buckshot through the sage.
One who went before these
Was Tom Mix, of course.
He rode on a smart one named,
Tony the Wonder Horse.
Lash Larue had Black Diamond,
Tom Ritter had White Flash.
Oh what fun to watch the horses
When they would have to dash.
I would love to return to
Those days of yesteryear
When the dirty varmints
Would the horse and rider fear.
Susan, your poem is a real gem. Only you can tell us if Flowerday was a living person or a fictive invention for your poem. Let me say this: when I read it, the name “Kellaway” came to mind because of the accentual and phonic similarity. And I realized that I had recalled the British actor Cecil Kellaway, who almost always played a kindly old gentleman, of the type that Flowerday is meant to be.
HAPPY HALLOWEEN HALLUCINATIONS
“INNER SANCTUM” RADIO SHOW
By Roy E. Peterson
How many remember
The Inner Sanctum show
From 1941
To ’52 on radio?
It came on Sunday night.
The stories were creepy
With music that was weird
And scared the pants off me.
It could have ghoulish laughter.
And stories about ghosts.
How somber were the voices
Of the scary radio hosts.
To open up the show
One could hear a squeaking door
Followed by an organ
With a malevolent sounding score.
Mysteries could still remain
Unsolved in some of them
The narrator then would say,
“Pleasant dreams, hmmmmmm.
SCARY HALLOWEEN RADIO AND TELEVISION SHOWS
By Roy E. Peterson
I remember listening, though it was long ago
To scary tales on Halloween told on the radio.
Just think of Boris Karloff, or Bela Lugosi.
They fed my inner fears with such horror fantasy.
I recall “The Shadow.” I’d love to hear again
“Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men.”
Do you recall, “Dark Shadows,” that was full of lurid tales?
I loved, “The Inner Sanctum,” where evil still prevails.
“The Whistler,” when he whistled, made my hairs erect.
There were other programs where the devil might collect.
Do you remember “Thriller,” that put goose bumps on your spine?
“Death Rides a Broomstick,” was a classic line.
A program on the radio that lasted many years
Was “Suspense,” a series that catered to our fears.
“The House in Cypress Canyon,” was a scary episode.
A door that could not open in a couple’s new abode.
Do you remember, “Lights Out,” on the radio?
Especially a true story of some murders in Chicago?
“Murder Castle,” was the one that made the listeners shiver,
Since the murderer, H.H. Holmes, stabbed people in the liver.
When I became a teenager, we got a television.
I could look with horror as someone made an incision.
Vincent Price was master of the depths that evil goes.
Remember Friday nights and the special horror shows?
How I loved Vampira, the Mistress of the Night.
I remember Wolfman, who changed with the moonlight.
I remember Frankenstein, who stood at ten feet tall.
I remember Dracula still standing in the hall.
I can’t forget Elvira, Cassandra Peterson.
She hosted at Knott’s Scary Farm when her career was done.
Some think that modern horror films are scarier than all,
But way back when was scarier the way that I recall.
I think the movie’s better if shot in black and white.
The mood it sets is scarier when watching late at night.
This Halloween I’m hoping to see some on TV.
The ones that I remember and scared life out of me.
ELVIRA MISTRESS OF THE DARK
By Roy E. Peterson
I loved to watch Elvira,
The Mistress of the Dark.
To weekend horror movies
She added macabre spark.
I learned that her real name was
Cassandra Peterson.
She was a sexy, campy host
I thought lots of fun.
Her vampish appearance
Was offset by her comedy
She gave quirky and quick-witted
Valley Girl repartee.
She said as a youger girl
She loved horror-themed toys.
She would not play with Barbie dolls
And often scared the boys.
At seventeen in Vegas
She was discovered there.
Her parents let her sign
To be a showgirl half-bare.
She met Elvis Presley
At the Dunes and was his date.
She was not Elvira yet,
But she must have looked great.
She was in a James Bond film,
“Diamonds are Forever.”
Then moved to Italy, where
Fellini could discover.
She became lead singer
Of two Italian rock bands.
First, the Latin 80, then
The Snails on nightly stands.
She returned to LA to be
With the Mammas Boys,
In discos and nightclubs
With parodying poise.
Then she joined the Groundlings,
As an improv night club troupe,
Where she played a Valley girl-
Character for the group.
In 1981, Vampira,
From a 50’s show,
Was recreated along with
“Fright Night,” as we know.
Nurmi quit when producers
Wouldn’t hire her friend, Falana ,
Then they invited Cassandra
To play Elvira.
Elvira was a hit with her
Tight-fitting low-slung gown.
With the tone of “Valley Girl,”
Her show became renowned.
She wrote her satirical
Comedic commentary
Referring to her cleavage
With double entendré.
She became quite popular
And featured on merchandise.
She made a lot of money
With cleavage and haunting eyes.
Elvira evolved from a cult
Figure to a brand–
Calendars, comics, costumes,
And pinball games so grand;
Action figures and trading cards,
Model kits and dolls;
Perfume; full-sized posters
That could be pasted on the walls.
With the feature film,
Elvira, Mistress of the Dark,
She became the witch beloved,
And she even wrote her part.
She made videos and movies
With the Elvira look.
She co-wrote three novels
And a coffin table book.
WITCH HAZEL NEEDS A HARE
By Roy E. Peterson
Do you recall Witch Hazel,
Who used to bug Bugs Bunny?
She was “Looney Tunes,”
And she was kind of funny.
She would ask her mirror
That was hanging on the wall,
“Tell me my dear mirror
Am I still ugliest of all?”
Her ample green-skinned body
Wrapped in a plain blue dress
Has two twig-like legs
And black hair that was a mess.
Whenever she zoomed off on
Her broom with wicked glare,
She cackled gleefully as
Hairpins spun from her hair.
In the cartoon, “Broom-stick Bunny,”
Trick or treating Halloween
Disguised as a witch himself.
The ugliest Hazel’s seen.
Witch Hazel was so jealous
She was beside herself.
She had a Pretty Potion
That was sitting on her shelf.
First, she asked Bugs Bunny,
“Who undoes your hair?”
She was jealous of the “witch”
Sitting in her chair.
Bugs asks, “Do you like it?”
Hazel answered querulous,
“Yes, I really like it.
It is absolutely hideous!”
When he takes his mask off
She sees that he is a rabbit
The one thing that she needed
She wanted then to grab it.
The only thing she needed
To complete her recipe
Was a clavicle from a hare.
That’s why she bugged Bugs Bunny.
“Make yourself homely,”
Hazel said, and left the room
To make a special potion
With a drug to seal his doom.
She tried to trick Bugs Bunny
With a carrot that was sweet,
But Bugs then turned the tables
And he didn’t miss a beat.
She was going to kill Bugs,
When she looked into his eyes.
She could not go through with it,
And then Witch Hazel cries.
Bugs Bunny tries to comfort her
And offers her a drink.
She doesn’t realize
It’s Pretty Potion from her sink.
She drinks her own potion
And turns into a cutie.
A red-haired debutante,
A veritable beauty.
She is horrified
That she looks so pretty.
She runs to her mirror
Asking for some pity.
The genie of the mirror
Falls in love with Hazel’s face.
She quickly grabs her broom-stick,
While the genie then gives chase.
MEMORIES MADE ON HALLOWEEN
By Roy E. Peterson
Memories made on Halloween will last another year.
Adrenalin comes rushing in confronting things we fear.
The haunted house is waiting now for us on Witches Hill.
Do we dare to enter it while looking for a thrill?
Shall we invade the cemetery that we fear a lot?
Will we see an apparition rising from a plot?
Will the ghosts be dancing around the hanging tree?
Is there a certain demon that is coming after me?
Memories are made on Halloween by those who dare.
We all have trepidations and ghost stories we share.
We all have our illusions on this one night of pretension.
The thrill we feel is present still when we have apprehension.
A Century’s Divinity
Another time, another place,
A waft of smoke, a peaceful space,
Atop the club—a Deke at Yale,
And Vassar maiden, by the rail.
Alone they stood, alone they spoke,
Postured classic, lass and bloke,
A century’s divinity,
Not far from our proximity.
Far from perfect: Mother, Dad,
But what a life they held and had,
Absolutely void of strife?
Nay—no way—yet what a life.
Recalling them with drink and smoke,
Olive, Triscuit, cheese and joke,
Their friends we called by “Uncle, Aunt,”
There back in time I’d go, but can’t.
Reaching out to them, in mind,
Vivifies their life in kind,
And when affords the chance? I tend
To make my world, to theirs, to bend.
Alec, I am once again able to comment. Sorry it took so long. Your poem is a treasured addition filled with a heartfelt sensitive nostalgia for the “lass and bloke” that seems to come from your own personal life. I love how you included “Olive, Triscuit, cheese and joke.”
Telling Truth
The present gift is yet alive
though bones protrude as flesh is sunk,
while muscle wastage gives a rest;
it’s what is seen in line of sight
that boasts skeletal once was strong.
It’s not a hanker, better past
in terms of world, relationships,
but focus on what now is passed,
that treasure trove of memories
which swells the chest, unlocks forgot,
or seeps from eye, incarnate scenes,
the mind recounting richest stock.
I’ll try not burden younger set
with tales, unless they’ve telling truth –
though dress them in a modern cloth,
release them from the clutch now gone,
rebirth them where there’s common bond
They’ve not been shelved, despite their space,
though most unread, a collage built
through time and place in unity,
each tome a tale from memory.
They tell me, prize choice when a lad,
explain, thought swot by working, class,
the extract read when led the form,
those faces blank, my zeal alight.
I learnt the worth, poetic words,
found ‘Michael’, as first poem spoke
to sixteen mind, as I look back,
a strange hook, adolescent teen.
No poem’s made by shipping list –
but Porlock man and Kubla Khan
held sway, deep caverns in my mind –
childhood, scout camp, Cambridge exam.
Those rhythms, I find poetry,
like turning leaves, my library,
thin pages, gold leaf edges, Donne,
great Grandma’s flyleaf signature.
The presentation befits text,
as jewel resting in its nest,
a mohs scale of fragility,
through typeset, printed, press released.
For everyman and woman guests,
novel celebrities in set,
though Alexandria was razed,
a phoenix risen from the ash.
They’re cover when I’ve lost the plot,
my Shakespeare’s not love’s labour’s lost;
had I not been ordained, young man,
no better road than Charing Cross.
To sort the books at eighty four
a paradise from roof to floor;
some spineless, past their sell-by date –
too tough to dump roughed written page.
Slide penguins, age changed livery,
for there it was, long journey looms,
the price of books extortionate,
thought the key, Allen, cheaper reads.
And so it saw the Penguin born,
by Exeter, St David’s track –
my hometown, where these pupils trained –
as steamer rolled in, clackety.
Clack, hissed to halt, like Adlestrop,
but barren, needing tanner book,
though ticket clerk without a clue
of revolution, platform two.
Past Imperfect
past imperfect
future tense
present present
having passed
into the past
future crescent
time is always
now and then
are just places
that the second hand
erases…
erases
Personally I like it… a clever and thoughtful use of words as re-read numerous times… certainly thought provoking on the subject, approached by lateral thinking… and of course, every word counts…
thx Stephen, I have a few of those, the phrases are perfect for ambiguity
on the tail end – here’s one:
Judy and Leslie
When we grow up, we want to be famous
Like Burns and Allen, like Andy and Amos,
On Look magazine, we want our faces
Like Xavier Cugat and Princess Grace’s.
We’ll travel in a Coupe de Ville
Star in movies by de Mille,
Smoke Lucky Strikes, drink gin martinis
Have dinner with the Toscanini’s.
The roaring fifties would be so swell
But all of you can also tell
We are not suited to this era.
We are old hat, like Zeus and Hera.
Who wants to hang out, and we’re not gonna,
With people like Cher or with Madonna?
They’re trollops and they have no taste
Devotion to them is misplaced.
We want fame in a time of style
Who’s Fi’ty Cent? We do revile
The current folks who are celebrated
If they all quit, we’d be elated.
Then there would be some room for us
On Rolling Stone. Fans could make a fuss.
This is the last chance we have got,
Please buy our book and we’ll be hot!
Leslie, I am able to comment after a long period of time. You really wrote a striking poem showing the contrast between the great times we remember, intermittent times that left us older folks cold, and the more recent contemptible pop cultures that we revile (as you said). Like you, I believe we had it better, but then I come from that age of reason, truth, faith, and fun.
It’s fascinating that so many are so nostalgic for the pop-culture things we worked so hard to avoid!
Well, we like to remember things from our childhood and youth, even if they were silly.