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Childhood Introspection Poems | Introspection Poems About Childhood

These Childhood Introspection poems are examples of Introspection poems about Childhood. These are the best examples of Childhood Introspection poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |

Things That Seemed Poetic

Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.


Details | Free verse |

Wounded

Come and gone like small twister like the cloud of debris he’s left. Echoes of Charlie Brown’s buddy Pigpen blow through the cobwebs in memory. Left over coffee cups replacing Transformers still dumped in the attic. Reams of knarley skateboards, wheel-less, lay in piles like so much unburnable refuse. The obligatory hugs and peck, over and done the never paid chauffeur collapses… Ah, to have him always near, So, each kiss was not quite so dear. The last fair maid on parade has wandered across the home front, wondering about her predecessor, still tacked with magnets to the fridge, still part of my heart and his… Sons…they say, do not cause such angst. Couldn’t prove it by this mother. This maternal blimp of unused helium was not permitted a girl child. One did come and fleetingly leave before formed. We’ll never know the sweetness of her. Let the image of his manly self disperse, this son.. into the mist as his Father’s has… to be remembered again, only in times of need, his need, for to do anything else, would be to rub salt in an open wound.
Poet: D. Guzzi *the day after Christmas


Details | Free verse |

Take Me Where?

Take me home

Where the sunsets are golden
And God’s gossamer curtains ripple between the mountain tops

Where the seas are clear as the sky above
And the waters tickle the shoreline

Take me home

Where the food is simple
And tastes all the better

Where the cabs run for cheap
And smell a little funny

Take me home

Where childhood was magical
And to this day feels like a dream

Where make-believe was the truth 
And the future did not exist


Take me home

Where the nights never end
And laughter is our language

Where I drown in myself
And moonlight shines behind my eyes

Take me home…
I’ve lost my way


Details | Lyric |

pseudo artistry

Blood that screams mixes with tears of fears,
Over your hypocrisy and useless years.
Fresh cuts don't matter - your attentions yet wane.
It's just too easy to shut down, I could end this pain.

But, escape artists aren't artists at all.

When life ends the real journey begins, the journey to be
Above imperfection and glorified weakness everyone sees.
Life trickles into the drain of the sink, wash it and pretend
The veil is burning off,but there is only so much fire can mend

Besides, escape artists aren't artists at all.


Details | Rhyme |

Little Yellow Socks

* Written for my daughter, who really does have a precious pair of Little Yellow Socks.

Little Yellow Socks
       by Amy Swanson  12/5/2008

Little yellow socks
running down the hall
"Slow down with those socks on,"
I'd yell... too late, the fall!

Little yellow socks
padding softly late at night
climbing up into my lap
one more hug, out goes the light.

Little yellow socks
follow me with squeals of laughter;
Oh how she loves to run in them,
Begging me to come chase after!

Little yellow socks...
now not being worn a lot.
My little girl is growing up,
No longer just a tot.

Little yellow socks
will be cast aside someday
I must guard these precious moments;
in my heart, they'll safely stay.


Details | Quatrain |

‘The Airplane Crossing Clear-Blue Sky'

My white-washed bars surrounded me -
they held me as I slept;
they soothed me when the days were long,
and mother’s blue-eyes wept.

A baby girl, six months or less,
awakened from my sleep -
stood up legs as sure as hope;
as strong as flat is steep.

My hands, my saviors, gripped the rail
so I could peek outside –
the bluest sky I’d ever seen,
As tall as it was wide;

came into view - between the blue,
an airplane gliding by,
its smoky streamer like a flag,
across my memory’s sky...

The memory is a simple one -
a window, sky, and plane -
but in my heart, it's heaven's door
and there it shall remain.

I’ve hung it on my memory’s wall
Between that life and this –
It covers every hole I’ve dug
In sorrow’s vast abyss.

This picture brings the special peace
I knew when I was small –
Where mother’s just beyond the door,
and waiting for my call…



*Inspired by Danielle's Earliest Memory contest. I have blocked out almost every memory 
from my childhood, and only a very few gems remain - this is the first. and I will treasure it 
always...


Details | Free verse |

Legendary Lady Leaders I salute you

I am like
Cleopatra
embraced by serpents many
fear
always trying something new
and dramatic with my
hair
I am like
Eva Patrón
growing up with a painful family
getting lost in movies
thinking of my own
hypnotizing when I speak
First lady of Argentina
meeting you, after death
would be a treat
a nervous habit, of nibbling
on my jewelry
the similarities, between us
gave me a sense of foolery
I am like
Wilma Mankiller
Chief of the Cherokee Tribe
for ten years
fighting against Native stereotypes
despite such distress
enemies did stress
promoting to ‘be of good mind’
you were a leader, of your time
an advocator for women
that they may grow up
and become chief
as a child, you wondered
the forests, like me
not the streets
I am like
Aung San Suu Kyi
wearing three types of 
flowers in your hair
feeling at times like a 
‘splinter of glass, sharp, glinting
power to defend itself against hands
that try to crush’
winner of a Nobel Peace Prize, 
for courage, was
a must
I am like
Catherine The Great
a love to laugh,
coffee, and feeling compelled
to always fill abandoned blank
sheets of paper
you were a Royal Russian Empress,with
not one red drop of Russian blood
and her people, were blessed
to have her
I am like
the Queen of England
longest royal lifetime in history
strong built, from a miserable childhood
toughened her
this is no mystery
preferring candle light
to electricity
handwriting over typewriter
and poetry
I am like
Indira Gandhi
dreaming to live as she did
riding elephants and having
tiger cubs as companions
your own Sikh security
killed you, the story
a sad one
secret dreams of being a writer
angered, by the imbalance of
power
between men and women
listening to beat poets
like Ginsberg
as a great Prime Minister of India 
you were heard
and understood
I am like
Rigoberta Menchú
drew the worlds attention to 
native Indians rights,
because of you
your goal, to be
a drop of water on a rock
dripping in the same spot,
eventually in the world, you
may leave a mark
wearing many colors
‘because it gives you life’
insisting men and women be equals
you fought this fight
to relax, as I do
writing poetry into
 the night
I am like
Joan of Arc
French Military Heroine
burned at the stake at just
age nineteen
known for keeping your cool
even on the battlefield
being a courageous and inspirational
rare jewel
Legendary Lady Leaders
I salute you



Details | I do not know? |

The Dandelions Were Listening

I never did the 
''He loves me not....
He loves me'' game
with flowers.
I already knew nobody loved me
so why should I listen 
to a stupid flower? 

I did make wishes 
on dandelions 
after the bloom died
and it was tiny spikes of fluff
waiting to blow away 
till next year.

I hated wasting my time
but I couldn't resist.
I figured
''If there's even a small hope
that this will work....
I've got to try! ''

I would find a spot
where nobody could see me
and I'd whisper
my one wish
the same wish
every time.

Thousands of dandelions 
blown away 
by my pleading breath.

I never told a soul
my wishes.
Until now.
I wished to be happy
one day...
with a husband 
who loves me
and kids who love me.
I wished so hard...

I never thought
those dandelions
were listening.


Details | Rhyme |

My Parent

My Parent

The rules said “one parent not two”
Good for me as I only had you
No selection; no one to choose
Who is this parent; just follow the clues

Next rule; write something “profound” 
Something good or something that makes you frown
This one was easy 
Considering all you ever said was greasy

“You stupid _____”
This one was rich
“Go get the belt”
Not satisfied till there was a welt 
The pain is still felt

How about “you swine”
Became a preference in time
Not “go to bed”
Followed by a blow to the head
So hard could have become brain dead

Your scars are still here
Your pain I still wear
Your mistakes I still bare
Your voice I still hear

Your secrets I now declare
Your presence I no longer fear
Your wrong doings I am aware
Your hate is replaced with tender loving care

Did you follow the clues
Who's this in reference to
Someone you want to be related to
Perhaps it’s someone you already do
This is my parent… I wish it were untrue!

Lay


**For "My Parent" contest sponsored by Francine Roberts.
* Honorable Mention







Details | Free verse |

Into the Weeds

Young girls’ bright eyes widened Behold the wild wheat field Playground for imaginative innocents Gracefully swaying golden stalks Feathered with grain centers Shooting up like ostrich plumes Enhanced by the aroma Of tantalizing potato pancakes Wafting from Miss Anna’s kitchen Such was the ideal venue For hide-and-go-seek The catch of a summer’s day Chewing on a chicken leg Hiding low in duck-walk form Produced a lesson in nature Black ants erected colonies Tiny birds sang overhead Warm sun bathed the golden paradise Plans dashed through my mind When I grow up, I want to live here Right here in the amber field Thatched weeds can be my roof Rain will not seep through As I play host to God’s creatures I’d want for naught Grain could sustain me As wind-swept shadows dispelled the heat Two decades passed swiftly Before my eager return To revisit my playground of youth Stinging sadness overcame me As I stared at an empty mall That had replaced the weeds What is there about a bulldozer That doesn’t like a meadow And buries forever a young girl’s dreams But I will always remember Gracefully swaying, bowing stalks With grain centers that shot up like ostrich plumes Casting shadows on little girls’ faces And lives
*For PD's free verse challenge


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