Thoughtful Tuesdays: Nostalgia

By Eithne Cullen

Welcome to July’s Thoughtful Tuesday page. This month, I have a great selection of poetry to share with you. Our theme is ‘Nostalgia,’ which unlocked a rich vein of poetry from our Pen to Print writers and brought some new poets’ submissions, too.

I’ve always enjoyed the little quip: “Nostalgia is a thing of the past!” But it’s a truth, isn’t it? We all have a past, we all have memories and we share common experiences with our loved ones and with new acquaintances, as well.

Among other interpretations, the idea of comparing one’s self with a then and a now version came up as a way of writing about nostalgia.

Here’s a poem from Mary, to start us off.

Then And Now

And now my shell has hardened
Once a shrinking shivering thing
Afraid of speaking out
Afraid of the flowers in the wallpaper
Afraid of everything
Then as the shyness of my youth escapes
Through the cracks and fills the gaps with the confidence of age
Now I stand, I recite the words I have written
To a crowd of my peers
My pen has lent me confidence
No longer shrinking in the violetness of youth.

© Mary L Walsh, 2026

Connect with Mary on Bluesky: @Melw66.bsky.social and Instagram: @Marelwa60

I love the image of the ‘shrinking violetness’ – an inspiration to us all to get up and perform our poetry, as Mary does!

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Most of us can easily recall our first day(s) at school. Here, Julie uses her memories to contrast with later adventures.

Hammond School, Chester

The First Form

Here we are, tongue-tied, boatered and caped against our will, terrifying others in our Handmaid’s Tale garb and the laughingstock of the street. We formed a line like monkeys waltzing into the ark in rain or sun, two by two, to Christ church we went, just there and back and in the afternoon the Sunday walk around the Roman city walls, capes flaring like Batman and Robin.

Hammond Senior School

Ages 16-19

And here we are in senior school, torn black fishnets, one-sided hair permed to a frizz, Claire Grogan earrings rattling as we ran, a stash of hooch up our jumpers with cigarettes placed down our rising mini skirts, winkle pickers skating and sliding, heels slipping off at the back as we legged it to the park.

And here I am now.

Not quite world worn and weary and not hooch-mad or liver failed, or long dressy, pashmina or cape driven. No surprise!

I’m as free as a lark must be, untethered to possessions, yet not unhinged. Gifts of the spirit mean more now, and deep appreciation of nature’s glory; the joy of sleeping calmly, loving unswervingly and being able to discern most carefully are among the necessities of life for me now.

© Julie Dexter, 2026

Connect with Julie on X: @JulieADexter, Facebook: Julie A Dexter and Instagram: @LateNightSwimmer

 

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The next poems use nostalgia as an opportunity to look back on people we have lost; memories are always poignant when we recapture nostalgic snapshots of our lives and our grief. These snapshots can be closely linked to our childhood memories, as shown here.

Nostalgia Hits Hard!

Everyday, while making afternoon tea,
I think of my, grandpa making lemongrass tea,
Tasting the summer delights,
I think of my grandma’s handmade summer special delights,
Me, running through the stairs and garden at 9.
During the summer of 2026, that part of life comes to rescue me from the doom and gloom of world life.

Turning on Tom & Jerry, licking ice popsicles,
Friends around the jolly neighbourhood.
Those days are gone, no friends stood near,

My spirits lived on higher notes in the past.

Summer camp and basketball,
was my go-to,
Trekking with my uncle, I held his hand as we got down a steep slope.
Mountains were climbed and memories were made.
As of now the nostalgia invades and fades & blurs any wreck of the present day and age.

Two years ago, is nostalgia too,
When my grandma passed away,
And left me with blues.

That guy held me close,
he will become “nostalgia” too – one day!
In the anticipation I dip in a well, deep well!

Being on Facebook is nostalgia too,
I deleted it, forever, however,
I crave the surge of connection and love it lead me to,
You’ll find me visiting all these digital graveyards – where my profile will one day be too.

In nostalgia!

© Vrushali Khadilkar, 2026

Connect with Vrushali on Instagram: @aprilautumnservices

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Jessie Joel has an important reminder for us that there are many young people caring for their parents and their memories will be shaped as Jessie describes here:

“I want to put a spin on the concept of how we remember special moments and happy memories. Many of us have memories of loved ones who shaped us; concerns and fears driven by our love for them. Sad times that overshadow happiness, with the power of love and compassion meshing these nostalgic memories together.

My poem is dedicated to those young carers who put their childhood to one side to care for a loved one, unconditionally. This poem is inspired by my own story.”

Dad

I scraped my knees
Climbing trees
Disabled dad, so I’m on my own
Left to wander, left to roam
Scared to go home in case dad is ill
Worried that he might not be there.

I scraped my knees
Climbing trees
Not very often, days few and far between
Staying at home to look after dad
Very few friends made me sad.

I scraped my knees
Climbing trees
My dad’s not with me
But I think of him loads
I need to get home to wash his clothes.

I scraped my knees
Climbing trees
Well I would if I wasn’t shopping
Getting the food, for dad and me
So, I can cook his tea.

I scraped my knees
Climbing trees
Well, sat underneath crying, head between my knees
Dads in hospital he’s very ill
A 12 year old wishing for a magic pill.

I scraped my knees
Climbing trees
Dad didn’t make it
He’s dead now
I wish he was here, just ill.

© Jessie Joel, 2026

You can connect with Jessie on Facebook, on X: @THE1st MACK, on Instagram: @jessiejoel_writer, on LinkedIn and via their website: www.brianmackwriter.wordpress.com

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My final piece is from one of our regular contributors. It’s always interesting to see what Vic’s next subject will be. Here, he explores nostalgia and art, arguing where nostalgia fits in the ever-evolving world of art, while sharing musings about where we’ve been and where we’re going.

What Would Jack The Dripper Have Said?

One of Jackson Pollock’s drip-dry works has just sold for $181m. What a pity he never saw anything like that amount while he lived. Few artists ever get paid properly for their efforts. Any artist who does make money while still active is often regarded as being too popular to be accepted as an artist. Jack Vettriano is a typical example. He’s no longer with us but enjoyed great popularity for several years thanks to good management by the Portland Gallery.  Art critics were not as impressed as the buying public. It took several years before they reluctantly showed anything by him in public galleries. David Hockney, who has sadly recently died, was himself a borderline case. His paintings are far too easy to enjoy for some people’s taste, but thankfully he experienced success while still alive, contributing a great deal to the acceptance of digital technology in art, as well as to the use of acrylic paint – which some traditionalists wouldn’t accept.

Throughout the ages, artists have always employed technology that could make their life easier: lenses, concave mirrors, camera obscurer, squared paper. Hockney used the iPad while also employing projected transparencies. Caravaggio would have too – if they’d been available in 1600. Nobody has had the temerity to call Hockney’s work “painting by numbers,” which is what has been said of Vettriano.  In his book, Secret Knowledge, Hockney investigated and exposed the many aids employed throughout the centuries by artists. He pointed out that, even if help is used to create an outline, You still have to be able to paint the darn thing. That was ever the case with Vettriano, but half his success was based on his theme of nostalgic courtship along with an ability to create titles to make the viewer stop and think. The Singing Butler is the perfect example.

It raises again the age-old question as to what art is. I’m not usually impressed by abstract art but am aware that I don’t appreciate colour the way some people, especially women, are able to. In the case of ‘Jack The Dripper,’ though, I think he managed to find a key into my imagination. Maybe his works act like the ink-blot tests of the psychoanalyst. I find them fascinating. One can’t help feeling there is something at the end of one of those dripping lines. I’ve always liked looking at old maps and his drippings give me the same pleasure. Could I recognise a good fake? Probably not, but it’s Pollock’s original idea that matters. I suspect the London Underground map looks similar as a Jackson Pollock to many foreigners at first viewing!

I’ve been strongly against using AI to create art, but recently stumbled across some videos using AI creatively to produce surrealistic moving images that could not have been made any other way. They are created by Kelly Boesch and you can watch them here:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YATSuGzrCOM&list=RDYATSuGzrCOM&start_radio=1

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vUf_SaRYKHs&list=RDYATSuGzrCOM&index=2

Perhaps I’m not as old-fashioned as I thought. There are no rules governing how art should be produced.

© Vic Howard, 2026

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Finally, let’s use this opportunity of reflecting on nostalgia to give us that warm feeling it induces and, maybe, to let our own imaginations flow.

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Issue 29, featuring travel writer Tharik Hussain is out now. You will be able to find it in libraries and other outlets. Alternatively, all current and previous editions can be found on our magazines page here. 

You can hear great new ideas, creative work and writing tips on Write On! Audio. Find us on all major podcast platforms, including Apple and Google Podcasts and Spotify. Type Pen to Print into your browser and look for our logo or find us on Spotify.  

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