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Showing stories tagged with #nostalgia Clear filter
#household. It seems my favourite poster. Cannot be bought in stores. Won't find it on a wall. Or covering holes in doors. Not readily available. Nor hidden in plain sight. Contains many images.
CHI CAN O CAN A poster of my youthful days. Caused me often to wonder in a quizzical haze. What could this silly collection of nonsense mean. To shy to ask, lest my ignorance be seen.
Do you have a favourite little store, or boutique. I do it's in Carmel Ca. As you walk in you leave the real world behind & enter a creek bed.
Burntwood Lichfield is where I'm. From. It's not too big but to me it's the bomb. Drive by shootings are non existent. But drive past starings are quite persistent.
Collect those tears if you please; After all they're memories, Then stop at once, no need to cry About the fate befallen. Why Sob and wail at the end of a run Instead of remembering all the fun.
You've been here for years You've wiped our tears Comforted us when we collapsed from fears Silently mopped up spilled beers We never appreciated your presence in our lives Forgot you protected us...
When you shook my hand, you passed on ambition. When you told me we can send boxes of kindness to children thousands of miles away, I found out that the world's only as big and scary as you let it be.
#Household @Burrfoot This carpet's worn, This carpet's torn, This carpet's full of heart. It's watched us grow, As children show, A life it's been a part.
He stood at the edge of the garden and surveyed the sacred land. His worn out boots were deep in weeds, a worn out hoe in his hand.
A flower, A tulip, Petals And all. Sleigh bells And presents And santa At mall. Ribbons, And birthdays, And cake By the slice White kittens, White seals, White rabbits And mice.
The first time you hear that song, You know that together you belong. Who is this song by, what is it's name. To find that song becomes your aim.
I think this is the first time to actually sit and enjoy the beach today. I had my family.
I can feel it all around, Only on Sunday can it be found. Lazy television and Sunday roast, The only day of while these can boast. We've got the family all here, All the men drinking beer.
My fingers fumble fondly For a lean and little locket That my perfect parents prized as a present long ago.
This poem was written by yet another friend, now sadly gone too. I think its worth reading, he was quite a character.........
Laying in fields. The grass swaying to your heartbeat. Pushing the world back. Using your own personal shield. Darling I can feel you here. This was our escape.
Marilyn, Betty and Lauren Bacall. We must remember them all. Their beauty and grace from so long ago. Especially Marilyn I love her so. She was tortured and troubled so very sad.
#household I used to paint a mug Every birthday that I had. The first one was painted by mum And smashed up by my dad. When I was two I lost a tooth And painted the fairy on it.
One silver watch for the time you could'nt keep. With a battered face and an alarm that never beeps. One dusty notebook full of blank pages. I've filled them now, it took me ages.
Today I saw a man cutting a hedge and the smell transported me back to a different time, a different place, when my own father used to cut our hedges.
If a cherished memory could be boxed Kept in your pocket for a while When you need to relive that moment Take it out, take a look with a smile How wonderful would this gift be.
As time goes by we grow. Some of us grow wise. Some of us grow old. Some of us grow to make decisions that we wish we could take back. Some of us grow up to fast. Some of us never grow up at all.
Eyes closed,shuffling feet,aimlessly moving arms Funny coloured pills providing thrills,hopefully do no harm Open fields and dirty clubs were the only place to be Prodigy and altern 8 were the...
The faded oak framed photograph hung in pride of place over the hearth of the ramshackle cottage. An old smack in full sail chased the massive clouds as she ran the tide.