Nostalgia

Introduction:

For those who are not from days like we see about us in recent times, And those who grew up in days that blossomed flowers of a different kind. I have been caught up in recent days in a mind of “Nostalgia”.

For the benefit of a more plain language, I was thinking back to childhood times. and how different it was to how we see of children today. Almost ferile like at play was a thing I look back on now and wonder how so many survived to tell the tales.

As a country boy or should I be more exact in saying I was born and grew up in a small town of an average of 3,ooo people. A place that every one knew everyone else and also a time when kids were set loose first thing in morning and many never returned home until dinner time that evening. Thus kids became street wise fast or became a target for bullies.

Then the childhood games that I have not seen since then, most helped formwho we are or became in adulthood. Basically much of what many have heard from Gen Xers will come into thought here.

On a personal note I grew up with a stammer (or a stutter/ speech impediment) which remained with me up to my late teenage years. Thus any joining such play as children would in my opinion both then and now was down to being wise to avoid direct contact with certain types of characters until I had gained a little confidence from others.

About The Poem:

I wanted to place on poem in some form at least a brief view of life back then. When Children became almost ferile or at least ferile in kind and yet survived together and had fun doing that. Mnay friends of those days remain special to the heart as it were even if most lost contact, yet One still remains a good friend all these years later.

In this poem I tried to reference to games that no longer seem to be the excitement of these days.. When kids formed their own entertainment and enjoyed doing it. From dawn to duck children were out doors almost constant running about. in return we learned respect from neighbours who were not afraid to discipline and parents often gave extra for any upset of such neighbours.

Basically there is not much to break down before one reads such a poem, except I tried to keep a form of poetic flow where possible. One othet way That I as writer could help explain about such times is a song that tells it so well. Although some of the times spoken in this song were past and new things replaced. Yet the nostalgia of days when less control and limitations ruled.

This following Video is Liam O’Connor ( one Of Irelands best accordion players) & Mike Denver ( One of Irelands top country Singers) I like to use such songs to help explain a poem when it is possible to do this.

Liam O’Connor & Mike Denver – The Story I’ll Tell You Is True – Official Video

All going well A reader could or should be able to view the video by clicking on the Link above. At best I find this song both entertaining and catchy to boost. If you do not know of some things referenced ask in a comment or Google. One such is a mention to poteen or potcheen Which was (Still about in places Not legal..) more available back then. (Much like Any illegal home made alcohol brews.)

Having said all of this Please enjoy this poem if you can:

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_{(( The above poem was taken from an outside source and posted here with Thanks. Copyrite remains with those who carried out such great work))}

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Nostalgia



Thoughts when day’s of yore filled hours even more,
Then Nostalgia ruled this way like before.
What differs today? Captured thoughts at play,
Lay there on display,  things we cast away.


Games as kid’s would play did nothing but good,
Entertain as would us kids as we could.
Country grown with nothing to own or loan,
None held a throne for yet known winds had shown.


Feral like, us kids would stay without loss,
Dawn ‘til dusk remain away, less the gloss.
Identify as kids at play that day,
Street wise games our coach, without restraint lay.


Where stands the wild child play, self styled and mild,
To stay undefiled, still today we smiled.
Tradition was strong in story and song,
Yet nothing seemed wrong and all then belong.


Standards raised as cattle grazed they had praised,
Unite the tribes of modern man yet gazed.
Where plays the child there today unwild styled,
Pity the fool burning the pile and smiled.




©   Pat Fitzgerald 2023
 

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ENDING THOUGHTS:

Thank you for joining me on this journey, which is my journey thoughwriting and learning more regarding composing poetry. They say that life is a journey which for me translates into poetry a journey onto itself.

Some of my poetry contain topics that at some point will or may not contain issues that readers either agree with or do not, or they have experienced or They will disagree with completely. YET that is completly fine by me. But Poetry is a form of art work that I enjoy and thus using it in a manner to touch or inspire the reader.

My path through writing and publishing Poetry on this blog is a journey beyond any expectations. And numbers have grown past anything I ever expected. In the end of any post I have to Pass on my thanks to you for joining me on this journey.

Poetry for me is a constant learning curve that I always strive to improve. Often due to the speed of my typing and a few other issues, mistakes and typos will find their way into published posts. I continue to work on improving this as I move along.

Please forgive for any such mistakes and for your understanding this.

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