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 It’s 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 It’s not so hard to wipe away mist On memory lane You are the one who drives No you’re 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 doesn’t 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 It’s 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 weren’t so expensive Things were better then We weren’t so sensitive Time is a friend who commends Delusions of the mind Working hard on creating nostalgia What we can’t see is dark And it won’t 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 you’re back to creating nostalgia It takes you back to when You first heard the notes of the good old days And it’s just another listen To what you’ve 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 you’ll 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)