Post by Wille-Harlia on Feb 20, 2024 8:25:01 GMT -5
Welcome to the February Poet Laureate Contest, with poems centered on nostalgia. Below are the poems I received. Anyone may vote in this contest, and the poem with the most votes earns its author the title of Poet Laureate! Remember, you still should NOT share the authorship of any entry with anyone but Wille-Harlia until the contest is over. Voting will be open until 8 A.M. GMT on February 27.
Please give the poets their due courtesy and read over all the poems before voting.
Good luck to everyone, and may the best poem win!
Entry #1
Moving Day
I heard a familiar song yesterday
That reminded me of a sweet, old blue jay
The melancholy melody brought back the past
Since then, it has hit me—the cost of living
As I’ve thought about all I am missing
I passed a stranger today on the street,
His carefree grin left me lost, pondering grief
—How I always forget what I must remember
While remembering what I try to forget
Living life through a lens tinged with regret
A single blink and nothing is the same
Why can I never seem to master this game?
I feel I am always scrambling to hit pause
Before life and its mysteries pass me by
Too long I’ve sat watching clouds in the sky
I couldn’t cry the day my grandmother died
As I knew she had traversed the Great Divide,
Reunited at last with those who’d gone before
Instead, I mourned a generation fading—
And the mothball boxes now degrading
When my grandfather followed soon after,
I found few tears for the end of his chapter
For I knew I’d already lost him long ago
To that old age tragedy that steals the mind
Leaving tired, empty boxes behind
Nothing is permanent—that much I fear
Birthday wishes and sibling bonds disappear
Replaced by too many holidays spent apart
The world’s moved on, but I’m still stuck in Hiraeth
Clinging to remnants of another life
Last week, my dad came home far too early
Carrying tattered boxes, cared for dearly,
He looked lost—with shoulders slumped in sighing defeat
Still, I said nothing, too busy pretending
—I didn’t know an era was ending
Soon, my sister will be getting married,
While my brother, unhurried, pushes thirty
Resisting change, I stay up at night, chasing ghosts
Too afraid to stop and face the bitter truth—
With death has flown the remains of my youth
Time can try, but it will never erase
The memories I’ve stored in a special place
These heavy boxes I’ll carry until the end—
And, at the beginning, when we’re made new,
Only then will I say goodbye to you
I heard a familiar song yesterday
That reminded me of a sweet, old blue jay
The melancholy melody brought back the past
Since then, it has hit me—the cost of living
As I’ve thought about all I am missing
I passed a stranger today on the street,
His carefree grin left me lost, pondering grief
—How I always forget what I must remember
While remembering what I try to forget
Living life through a lens tinged with regret
A single blink and nothing is the same
Why can I never seem to master this game?
I feel I am always scrambling to hit pause
Before life and its mysteries pass me by
Too long I’ve sat watching clouds in the sky
I couldn’t cry the day my grandmother died
As I knew she had traversed the Great Divide,
Reunited at last with those who’d gone before
Instead, I mourned a generation fading—
And the mothball boxes now degrading
When my grandfather followed soon after,
I found few tears for the end of his chapter
For I knew I’d already lost him long ago
To that old age tragedy that steals the mind
Leaving tired, empty boxes behind
Nothing is permanent—that much I fear
Birthday wishes and sibling bonds disappear
Replaced by too many holidays spent apart
The world’s moved on, but I’m still stuck in Hiraeth
Clinging to remnants of another life
Last week, my dad came home far too early
Carrying tattered boxes, cared for dearly,
He looked lost—with shoulders slumped in sighing defeat
Still, I said nothing, too busy pretending
—I didn’t know an era was ending
Soon, my sister will be getting married,
While my brother, unhurried, pushes thirty
Resisting change, I stay up at night, chasing ghosts
Too afraid to stop and face the bitter truth—
With death has flown the remains of my youth
Time can try, but it will never erase
The memories I’ve stored in a special place
These heavy boxes I’ll carry until the end—
And, at the beginning, when we’re made new,
Only then will I say goodbye to you
Entry #2
The Good Old Days
The good old days we’re often told
By those who’ve been around,
Were glorious beyond compare,
Their like today not found.
Days filled with joy and jellybeans,
Nights long, and hot, and wet.
Much cheaper costs, more quality,
How could they e’er forget?
It’s great to keep the thoughts alive
That bring you happiness.
Nostalgia night to reminisce
Take stock, reflect, assess
The good old days we’re often told
By those who’ve been around,
Were glorious beyond compare,
Their like today not found.
Days filled with joy and jellybeans,
Nights long, and hot, and wet.
Much cheaper costs, more quality,
How could they e’er forget?
It’s great to keep the thoughts alive
That bring you happiness.
Nostalgia night to reminisce
Take stock, reflect, assess
Entry #3
Untitled Haiku
How fast the time flies!
Forever young is a lie.
I have now grown old.
How fast the time flies!
Forever young is a lie.
I have now grown old.
Entry #4
Squinting
When I squint through the spectacles of time,
scratched and scuffed, chipped and poorly fit,
(ironically it is clear I need a new prescription),
it is difficult to recognize the rosy hue
that colors all my memory.
Long nights on the lake dock dreaming about pretty girls,
A game-winning double, contests hard-fought and won,
Kisses in the moonlight.
Each moment fades in time but is refreshed
with sweet small fantasies and contorted re-vision.
In these moments it is easy to miss - or mitigate -
The everyday care and worries that plague a childhood
Or teenage years; my opaque lenses
May hide the struggles of my youth -
What grave mysteries does this nostalgia obscure?
- whatever they are, surely they can stay in the background;
out of focus, indistinct.
I prefer the happiness and simplicity I see
in my scratched and rosy lenses
Than the dirty, complex reality of history.
When I squint through the spectacles of time,
scratched and scuffed, chipped and poorly fit,
(ironically it is clear I need a new prescription),
it is difficult to recognize the rosy hue
that colors all my memory.
Long nights on the lake dock dreaming about pretty girls,
A game-winning double, contests hard-fought and won,
Kisses in the moonlight.
Each moment fades in time but is refreshed
with sweet small fantasies and contorted re-vision.
In these moments it is easy to miss - or mitigate -
The everyday care and worries that plague a childhood
Or teenage years; my opaque lenses
May hide the struggles of my youth -
What grave mysteries does this nostalgia obscure?
- whatever they are, surely they can stay in the background;
out of focus, indistinct.
I prefer the happiness and simplicity I see
in my scratched and rosy lenses
Than the dirty, complex reality of history.
