poetry 2000
Matthew McQuilkin poetry from 2000

Creating Nostalgia

Time is a friend who will bend
The rules of memory
For the sake of creating nostalgia
It fools everybody
Into thinking there were the good old days
But pain has always existed
Itís just not so hard to forget it
Living in the past
Can be a joyful trip
Remember times you laughed
And disregard regret

Time is a friend who pretends
The ways of the children
In the wake of creating nostalgia
It designs the building
With windows through which we see good old days
But hot air always existed
Itís not so hard to wipe away mist
On memory lane
You are the one who drives
No youíre not insane
If you think you had a good life

Time is a friend who will mend
The broken seams of plans
For narrative creating nostalgia
It validates desire
To realize the dream of the good old days
And you know you always listed
The many ways things could have been
Could have should have been
You know it doesnít work
History will change
Depending on your words

Time is a friend who defends
Defenseless naivety
In the world of creating nostalgia
It keeps us all alive
In a world turning through the good old days
And memory census listed
All the populations of the past
Holding by the hand
Those better than the rest
Happy times were had
Now those days were the best

Time is a friend who can lend
An ear to every need
In the craft of creating nostalgia
It gives us all the parts
Constructing half-truths of the good old days
A foundation somewhat twisted
But reaching necessary heights
All the beams connect
The mental framework left
No one will suspect
The new improved synapse

Time is a friend who can tend
To get the best of us
Who are lost in creating nostalgia
Itís like the grainy film
Of home movies which show the good old days
A vortex of mind untwisted
A snapshot in time unblemished
Some things never change
Visions of what once was
Some people will see
All that time travel does

Time is a friend who depends
On these recollections
Of the ways of creating nostalgia
It brings back vacations
And it brings back the wondrous good old days
And the fun always insisted
On staying with you like happiness
In your families
And your groups of friends
Cinemas and picnics
Swimming reading learning

Time is a friend who attends
The meetings of the past
And it travels creating nostalgia
It keeps you cozy warm
In the soft glow inside the good old days
When Grandma always insisted
On spoiling you how she used to
The way things were then
They werenít so expensive
Things were better then
We werenít so sensitive

Time is a friend who commends
Delusions of the mind
Working hard on creating nostalgia
What we canít see is dark
And it wonít fit into the good old days
And the wistful they will listen
So now memory lane will smile
Those outings to parks
And all the amusement
All the trips across
The states of new descent

Time is a friend who will send
The music to your head
And youíre back to creating nostalgia
It takes you back to when
You first heard the notes of the good old days
And itís just another listen
To what youíve heard many times now
Songs in time return
Remember when you learned
One more verse will jolt
A backflash lightning bolt

Time is a friend in the end
It reviews all of life
At the height of creating nostalgia
It lets you close your eyes
So youíll escape into the good old days
See now, none of it was wasted
All of those years they were worth it
Remember the fun
Remember excitement
Remember the love
Remember nostalgia


("copywrite" 6:46 p.m. sunday june 4 2000)


Solid Gould

(Part One:)

I've seen better days
But how many have seen
Days like this, they don't miss
Four hundred years in the making
Four hundred years forsaking
Four hundred years for the taking
Four hundred years in the faking
Of time of a long long time . . .
I've seen better rays
But how many have seen
Rays like this, a direct hit
Four hundred years in coming
Four hundred years of running
Four hundred years of numbing
Four hundred years so sunny
At the speed of bright white light . . .
I've had better lays
But how many have been
Still ahead, in my head
Four hundred years of fantasies
Four hundred years of candidacy
Four hundred years develop these
Four hundred years envelop me
Head to toe it's all I know . . .
I've seen better ways
But how many have been
Ways around, falling down
Four hundred years of climbing stairs
Four hundred years of vacant stares
Four hundred years of taking blame
Four hundred years of causing change
Into a future future . . .

(Part Two:)

This is the end of the chapter
But the book is far from the end

All of the years that have passed here
Have a hook that's pulled from the mend

Lots of ages turn the pages
This is the only day like this day

Time is a construct
Where is the magic?
Somebody ask Steven
Crime is a conduct
Is it so tragic?
Here it is past eleven

Lots of pages turn the ages
This is the only day like this day
This is the only day like this day

("copywrite" 10:56 p.m. tuesday february 29 2000)