~ meloostraightfromhertilt-a-world ~    [Author's Home Page!]
  311375   Poems Read   

[Poetry PoetryPoem] [Poetry Search] [Contact Us] [FREE Site] [Home] [Poets] [Login]

Home, Ghuey, Sweet Home

A Dog Should Have His Tail...

Enough to Clear The Clouds Away 4/13/2019

Checking Out


Hope Is Sometimes The Best Of All You've Got (definition poem)

Last Night

Someone Send Out A Search Party

Crows...writing exercise in honor of April /National Poetry month


Only The Choice To Be

When People Go

The Day You Left (Words From A Half-Remembered Dream)

Wake Wake Wake

It Is In The Rain

Dream Goblins Of The Night

Wake And Remember

Unwelcomed Like So Much Unfinished Business

In March (Finally, Spring 2016)

All For Algernon

Weak In The Knees

The Finisher's Song

Nothing's Sadder Than A Rose

All Beings Considered

This Is It

Max on the max

I Long For Stars

Falling Leaf, Falling Man/Woman, Rising Star

So You Do (May 10, 2010 written for June 1987)

Its About Waking In The Middle Of The Night And Having To Write It All Down

Not For The Bloom of Tears Cultivated These Last 100 Years

If This Is Any Art For Which You Care

More Poetry >>

The Old Old Times

It seems like old times again,
yes, it seems just like the old old times.
The minstrel sits
cross-legged, arms raised
above his instrument, the tension strains.
A long long sharp whistle cuts and blows
hard then sweet as the hobos ride the wobbly trains.
It seems like old times again, yes,
it seems just like the old old times.
Their clothes are worn and thin,
and the paying passengers are inside shoveling bluebird pie
sipping dirty water coffee
and drinking bathtub gin.
They hum the Minstrel's music tender as a psalm
a familiar refrain not too far from singing sin.
Yes, it seems like old times again.
Yes, it seems just like the old old times.
One ear is barely in the conversation,
one ear is listening to the struggling of the train.
They can barely bite their meager morsels,
because it seem like old times again,
yes it it seems just like the old old times.
Pitching tents out in the ruined wilderness,
pleading brother, sister can you spare some kind words,
a job, a dollar, not just a dime.
Just when you thought the past was over,
seems it all gets recycled one more time.
The rich and poor putting distance between
one another til we can't look into each others eyes.
It seems like old times again.
Yes, it seems like the old old times.

Copyright February 6th, 2011
All Rights Reserved By the Author
Melissa A Howells Meloo of Tilt-a-World.

Vote for this poem

The Old Old Times



Email Poem

©2000 - 2019 ------- Individual Authors of the Poetry. All rights reserved by authors

Sign Guestbook Read Guestbook

   Tell someone about this Poem.    blank

[ Control Panel ]
Last 100 Poems

Search over
400,000 poems!