Feeling no regret for late nights.
A fleeting tinnitus to write
The games of old...
What joy they hold...
Improvised at the last second.
Surprised by the words beckoned.
The memories of the past...
Inscribed to forever last...
When I arrive at thoughts of her,
A faded convivial feeling occurs.
The games we would play...
Hold true to this day...
When I think of my other friends,
How the memories do blend.
How they seep from my mind
Into fiction they're entwined...
Friday, January 16
Friday, January 9
The Nostalgia Swells
The quick glance, the stymied smile
Those brief moments erstwhile
Always under evaluation
Inveterate hopes and expectations
From the lens of a stolen moment
I found proof of your involvement
I see hints of its actuality
Against imagined practicality...
Mnemonic frequency increases
Reset the board and its pieces
An idioglossic glance
Affirmed I had a chance...
The distant birds, the lapping waves
I hear you in my mental caves
From the echoes of recurring thoughts
The nostalgia swells, the mind is wrought.
You were glowing in the firelight
On that warm but ever distant night
Worlds shifted when I heard you sing
A simple and wondrous and beautiful thing...
Now I wonder all the time
Were those the days of our prime?
Let's look to what the future holds
As we've a while until we're old.
Those brief moments erstwhile
Always under evaluation
Inveterate hopes and expectations
From the lens of a stolen moment
I found proof of your involvement
I see hints of its actuality
Against imagined practicality...
Mnemonic frequency increases
Reset the board and its pieces
An idioglossic glance
Affirmed I had a chance...
The distant birds, the lapping waves
I hear you in my mental caves
From the echoes of recurring thoughts
The nostalgia swells, the mind is wrought.
You were glowing in the firelight
On that warm but ever distant night
Worlds shifted when I heard you sing
A simple and wondrous and beautiful thing...
Now I wonder all the time
Were those the days of our prime?
Let's look to what the future holds
As we've a while until we're old.
Friday, January 2
The Nostalgia
A memory, a clear dream
A poem three and a half years in the making, I guess. Well, I wrote it that long ago. Yes, SumodudeSalad is back. And yes, it has a lot to do with my other blog, Sumo Sonatas, being so active. It's kind of an under-the-radar comeback, but I think I'm okay with that. I'm not going to say, "expect big things!" or anything, but you can generally expect to see more activity here (especially after all that Camp Mix hubbub dies down a bit)...
This is the first in a trilogy of old poems I'm planning to post over the next two weeks. After that, we shall see...
A dripping cone of ice cream
Days so windy they would hurt
The seas of gulls in a desert
Greetings with outstretched arms
Now we're safe from harm
Friends and borrowed hats
They could never relate to that...
Background discussions over wine
Sitting on carpet while we dine
Laughing at the top of our lungs
Our silly jokes and puns...
A car ride while it snows
Tired eyes and a runny nose
Unsaid words, a warm touch
Didn't have to amount to much
One of these days I'll think of you
I'll think of the ages we're coming to
The nostalgia seems so transient
Sending memories off on a tangent...
Sending memories off on a tangent...
A poem three and a half years in the making, I guess. Well, I wrote it that long ago. Yes, SumodudeSalad is back. And yes, it has a lot to do with my other blog, Sumo Sonatas, being so active. It's kind of an under-the-radar comeback, but I think I'm okay with that. I'm not going to say, "expect big things!" or anything, but you can generally expect to see more activity here (especially after all that Camp Mix hubbub dies down a bit)...
This is the first in a trilogy of old poems I'm planning to post over the next two weeks. After that, we shall see...
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