As sun rises
I hear your voice
Playfully waking me up
To start our day together
Filled with adventures.
We go down the road
Teasing the shopkeeper,
Running back, dogs chasing
Breathless laughter in the air.
We had many people
Around us, but
Having each other's presence
Was more than anything
This world could offer
We sowed seeds
Of our friendship
With love and hope
To grow our own garden
But I lost the trace.
It's been 10 years,
Still drowning in our time
And I've been wondering
What type of garden
Would it be now
Would it have grown like
A garden of
Long-lasting roots
Or a garden of
Forgotten threads?
If you'd ask
If I still remember you,
I'd say
I still hold you
As you never left me.
Somethings never change
Me, losing loved ones
You, losing our memories.
I hope that you still remember
Atleast one seed.
If it ever crosses your mind,
You might wonder, like
It's a Special memory of life
But I miss it, like
It's a Special life of memory.
They are not headlines,
not numbers
stacked in columns of loss.
They are children...
running with paper kites
stitched from the scraps of yesterday,
drawing suns with broken crayons
on walls that no longer stand.
Their laughter once rose
above the call to prayer,
a fragile hymn
against the roar of falling skies.
Now, quiet shows them before their time
how to carry grief in tiny palms,
how to tuck emptiness close
as though it had been cradled in their chest all along.
Yet—
in the rubble,
a doll without arms still wears a smile.
In the dust,
tiny feet trace games
on streets the world has forgotten.
Hope is stubborn.
It hides in their eyes
flickering like a candle
protected from the wind,
whispering to us
if we tune our hearts to
their quiet voice,
...that childhood
should be a garden,
not a graveyard of dreams.
Remember them.
Not as shadows of war
but as children who deserve
to wake beneath an unbroken sky.
In the quiet corners of my mind-
A fuzzy friend named Cubby still resides.
Years ago, when I was three,
He tumbled into my life, so warm and free.
His legs once jiggled, full of beads,
Now gently limp, shaped by years and needs.
Stitches faded, fur rubbed thin,
Yet love, not fabric, holds him in.
Psychology whispers: attachment, security,
But Cubby is more than theory-he's memory's purity.
He's comfort on restless nights,
A silent listener to childhood's frights.
One summer day, a suitcase closed-
Cubby missing, my heart exposed.
Tears spilled all the way back home,
I felt so lost, so all alone.
But surprise! My brother's gentle tease:
He'd tucked Cubby away, aimed to please.
The ache of loss became relief so sweet-
Reunion turning sorrow to heartbeat.
Why do we long for what can't speak?
Why do soft things make us weak?
Perhaps in Cubby, I see a part
Of something gentle in my heart.
He's more than cotton, thread, and fur-
He's childhood's echo, comforter.
Psychology says it's just a phase,
But Cubby's love, it never decays.
Angry voices from the kitchen
Trading bitter accusations,
The sound of a palm hitting face,
Endless hateful exclamations.
I held you tight against my chest,
You felt the pain I tried to hide,
My tears that soaked your small brown head
Have left some stains now they have dried.
When there was none to cling on to,
I held on to your stubby hands,
As I--to drown the guilt and shame--
I drifted off to distant lands.
Somehow though I was young and frail,
Afraid, alone, and not so wise
I found some comfort and some strength
When I looked in your button eyes.
In that dark corner long ago
When sun, moon, stars all lost their shine
It was so cold but you gave warmth,
Your knitted body pressed with mine.
Lullaby Baby, good night
The Moon is right by your side
Lullaby Baby, sleep tight
And enjoy a Moonlight ride
Lullaby Baby, sweet dreams
The Stars twinkle in your eyes
Lullaby Baby, it seems
You take the Stars by surprise
More than a soft toy,
Is a childhood friend of mine,
He's been here for ten years,
Maybe even eleven,
Why do I feel such connection,
Towards you?
You've been in most of my memories,
Grown beside me,
Is that the reason why?
When i sang a song for the first time,
Or when you consoled me in the darkest nights,
Is it because, i shared my everything with you,
Even my childhood and heart?
Oh my dear lovely jaguar,
I still remember when I hugged you while sleeping,
On the day I got you when I was five,
I just want you to know,
I still do this now.
You're my snuggling partner,
My first friend,
And my whole childhood,
My dear friend.
Children of the Gaza,
How do you strive to survive?
Children of the Gaza,
Why aren't your struggles amplified?
Children of the Gaza,
Can you hear my voice?
Children of the Gaza,
Tell me, are you still alive?
Young souls, being killed everyday,
"Babies aren't meant to be here", they say,
There's a horrifying, terrified sound 2 year olds make,
Hearing the sound of planes.
Being fed water instead of milk,
Where has your baby formula been?
Being thrown bombs over your heads,
Is this how months olds are supposed to be fed?
Voices struck in their throats,
Bloody and hoarse,
Lost in the noise of destruction,
Panic attacks and starved stomachs.
What did they do to deserve,
To be born in the middle of the war?
Our proximity came with my age
And I only saw your later chapters,
though I saw myself in you.
Not unlike myself with ambition,
Homely peers and shouting,
The weight you did accrue.
Your aims changed a while ago,
And I added them to my own,
I saw your smile tighten,
But I let my feelings stew.
Fancy chains of gold, white veiled capture,
And, yes, I hate your captor,
Sceptical of this new chapter,
and the baby cradle too.
As of now your hands have turned to hitting,
Smiles inclined to swearing,
Your son is only one now,
And our similarities are already true?
As I try to slumber now the stature cracks,
The bringer of tears strikes again,
And I struggle to identify who.
I’ve looked up for the longest time,
And I gaze into you now that I’ve grew.
The truth I’ve come to grips with now,
I don’t want to be you.
Yogi Bear to me is as close as family
Out in the backroads of my youth
Grew with me through the years
I’ll always have that soft spot in my heart
Your fur is worn thin now,
patches where love pressed too hard,
but to me you were never just a toy -
you were the voice of courage
when the dark grew too loud.
I held you like a secret shield,
breathing into your sewed ear
the worries I dared not share with my mother.
You guarded them in silence,
never speaking a word
but somehow - I always slept easier.
In daylight you became a friend
sailing ships across blankets,
chasing clouds across the plaster sky,
celebrating every victory
in make-believe wars you alone could prove
Even now,
you linger on my shelf,
a gentle witness that love
is stitched to last
beyond the years.
we came up same building,
same busted elevator, same rumors in the walls —
three girls stacked on top of each other
like secrets whispered through radiator pipes.
6S - she’s half rican, half black,
but don’t call her half - she all attitude,
dark skin glowing when she laughs too loud,
hips slick like she dancing with nobody’s permission.
5E - 5’1 and built like a threat,
she got a stare that’ll stop you mid-lie.
she hate surprises, so we never sneak up -
she come knocking first if you do her wrong.
then me - 7N, freckles spread like stars on light skin,
red-brown hair tied up, book in my lap,
content to stay inside while they chase block heat.
they pull me out anyway - stoop nights, corner gossip,
big dreams that don’t always fit our pockets.
we so different it make no sense -
three girls shaped like soft rebellion,
like hard lessons, like love
that never needed no permission slip.
puberty tried to twist us up,
boys tried to break us open,
life threw her worst
and we just leaned closer -
me, yaphia, tarita - same building girls,
same busted elevator,
still going up.
My teddy bear is antique
He has lived a long life
and is a bit worn
Despite its appearance
there is never any doubt
on who owns him
I got it from my grandmother
when I was born
The cradle of nostalgia
unforgettable memories
He has been with me all my life
and is my best friend
The teddy bear is made of soft
and lovely fabric
that feels wonderful to hug and cuddle
My cuddly teddy bear has been
absolutely invaluable through thick and thin
It is my emotional anchor
when anxiety or sad thoughts appear
A soft toy ? - ... significantly much more
Tea bags and wet dog, crossword ink on fingertips.
Chocolate biscuit wrappers, garden pond algae.
Hairspray that held those curly grey locks in place. Regal.
Scents mixed and shaken,
ground and stirred – a dusting of her
that wafts through air like a time
machine, shuttling me back to a
bowling alley, a country show digging
up worms. A couch that belched
stories when sat on. Vegetable broth.
I’d bottle it. I’d use it sparingly.
Red carpet occasions only.
Or for our backyard patio boardgames.
It's a far reaching stretch,
Large people has flooded in,
I am not alone,
My father has held my brothers hand pretty strong;
As he makes the path in between
I too am catching up ,
A carnival is yet to come
Huge creatures approached
as we stood in front .
Loud drums and hustling crowd
papa speaks to his friends around ,
But I did see his one hand still held
By that little guy on the ground,
Through a distance ,
there was this white eyed, black teeth shabby clothed crow like guy
Running right at the crowd ,
Wherever he went , people gasped.
And As he was approaching ,
I already took a few steps back
He came right at my brothers face,
And He curled up to my father's legs
leaving everyone awestruck
Then restoring to our places ,
People laughed .
It's a far reaching stretch,
Life is filled with strange people
I am not alone ,
But I too would love
To hold my father's hand .
My nephew had a grey Mousie,
When he was a small boy.
He took it everywhere with him,
His precious mouse soft toy.
If Pete became upset would cry,
I want my Mousie now.
And with his thumb in his mouth,
With Mousie settled down.
This Mousie was a soft grey toy,
Given to nephew Pete.
When he was just a babe in arms,
No other could compete.
Pete loved his Mousie very much,
But due to wear and tear.
Mousie began to disappear,
But Pete he did not care.
And over years poor Mousie lost
His stuffing and was flat.
Yet Pete still carried it around,
A scrap of this and that.
Until the only piece of him,
Was just a little ear.
But to young Pete his Mousie was
His comfort, loved so dear.
Now Pete’s a man, but can recall,
When he was just a boy.
His favourite toy was Mousie,
That gave him so much joy.
Specific Types of Childhood Poems
Read wonderful childhood poetry on the following sub-topics:
bad, celebrating, early, friends, funny, growing up, happy, innocence, lost, memories, nostalgia, trauma, sad,
and more.
Definition | What is Childhood in Poetry?
Poems Related to Childhood
nonage, juvenility, minority, puberty, infancy, nursery, youth, cradle, babyhood, immaturity, adolescence, schooldays, teens, juniority, pupilage, tender age,