These Childhood Ode poems are examples of Ode poems about Childhood. These are the best examples of Childhood Ode poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
these words of my heart
will neither come out of pity
nor will go down the wind
nor, again, will build any city.
But lend me your ears, baby,
and listen to what an old man
can say despite the rods of men.
Live up to your own ambitions.
Keep your heart alive
and your mind working
with honor and passion.
Take this over from my heart
that has suffered for so long.
There is always a good thing
to think of and to do
instead of fruitless tarrying.
Let not the cold world
affect you and do its worst.
there is always something
good to be done against it.
be careful of those people
who call themselves your friends,
your enemies are known.
They both have not become
what they have become
only because the mind, without
the heart, sees differences
and builds on them obstacles
to divide rather than unite.
They used, it is gone now, to be
your friends and the circle
the circle is open and far from full.
When the light and the sun rays
are leaving, remember to perceive
the natural attitude and substance
of daffodils and innocent flowers.
Hide your tears, baby, from men
and let them fall alone to freshen
the sight of your eyes and vision.
Open your inward eyes of Earth and Eden.
Be always on the move
and fear not the elements
of submission and contrition.
The light is coming in
and love is all around you.
Fear them no more.
Bring yourself to accept
your destiny and look at
the horizons of your heart
to improve your tools
and feel the power of patience
and reap the harvest of resistance.
So much depends on them,
so much depends on you.
Have time to work, son,
and have time to play.
Seek to be simple
and look up at
the sunny sphere
without a pair of glasses
Your eyes are for Earth and Eden
Keep them pure and undefeated.
But see !!
When the rain comes
as it will in autumn and spring,
summer and winter, son,
don't rush to get an umbrella
and cover your head like many
of them would do and would not.
You already have more than it
your smile can make it
and the flowers around you
will make it and come along
to live with you and teach you
how to be yourself and be
one sunny day, to your sons
and daughters, little son,
the father my father
has never been for me.
" L'amour a besoin des yeux, comme la pensée a besoin de la mémoire. "
Dear Lord thank You for a mother
who stayed through it all with us,
who has shown us the way to church,
because in You today I trust.
Thank You for every hardship she faced
for she has taught us sacrifice
now I can give my all to You,
nothing else would have sufficed.
Thank You Lord for all her toil
because she represents great strength
for even in adversity
she persevered through great a length.
If anyone be candidate
let it be her You honour Lord
for You know all about her struggle
and surely You are her reward.
I praise You greatly for Her life
my life without her could not be,
show her Your favour without measure
for everything she's meant to me.
Goblins and ghouls, we are.
Behind the paint,
Beneath the scars.
We tread the night,
So fright the stars, we must.
For an ode to monsters,
A worthy trust.
The"tail" I have to tell, starts off really sad.
My sweet doggie Murphy died and my heart, it hurt so bad.
Until one day in early spring, I got a call that made my heart sing!
There were some puppies born in Waco, the daddy -Jasper, and mommy- Juneau.
Four little boys, three little girls. But the picture of one boy, made my heart twirl!
So I waited for a week or two, to meet my little puppy-oh so new!
I named him Humphrey, such a handsome boy! He has brought laughter back and oh what a joy! He's super cute, and very smart. Many would say, he's a work of art!
He's learning new tricks, and how to potty outside. So many rules to learn and abide!
Humphrey is growing so quickly, the puppy breath will soon disappear. He will be an adult in less than a year! Every stage of his life is a blessing from above. I guess that's the true meaning of what we call "puppy love".
On a dark and gray sunless day I put my thinking cap on,
and started writing like I always do on dreary days like this.
It's kind of interesting how things just start to happen.
I remember my English teacher trying to tell us students,
how to just let it form, It will happen, just give it a chance.
At that time I was;
"yeah right easy for you to say."
Of course I was young and dumb and full of...
Anyway, it appears that I finally have learned the lesson,
taught to me so many years ago.
I wonder sometimes how he's doing?
Is he still kicking or has he kicked the bucket?
Sometimes we as humans forget,
those that put so much time into adjusting our young minds,
to prepare us for the road ahead.
So much hassle though, they put up with so much crap,
for the pay they receive.
I honestly feel sorry for those teaching professionals.
I feel like I owe every teacher that ever taught me anything,
a huge apology for being such a handful about 60% of the time.
I can hear you in my mind, okay so where are you going with this?
Actually this is going to end real soon.
But I have to make this one point first.
Life is a beautiful orchestrated symphony,
of concentrated measures, for all to hear.
However those whom have chose,
to keep their ears closed,
May never know,
the joy of just,
"I shall be telling this with a sigh"
My thoughts they roil like waters dark
in the abyss of blackest night
with memories of mother’s book marks
of Longfellow read by lamp light.
She called in the room around me
the patter of other small feet,
her gentle voice fetched angels
Oh, rhymes how they astounded me
like lullabies soft and so sweet.
All fearsome shadows, she’d dispel
Maxine, my queen read Tennyson
and the Charge of the Light Brigade
a little girl dreamt of caissons
roll and thunderous cannonades.
To be so brave the small child mused
mother’s small, precious, heroine
what would it take to stand so strong
without father, and not confused
What words where the linchpin
to right mother’s tell tale wrong.
Such sad inspiration*.. mother
but a champion you were born.
You’re adored before all others
yet, tears bring memories forlorn.
So, dreams stream on of Mother Goose
three kittens and their mittens.
My visions of your fleeting smile
return almost every night,
and your spirit comforts, lightens
sights, if only for a little while.
It was a summer day dressed in boredom
For four suburban Ohio boys
Looking for some excitement
In their banal lives from their banal toys
We took some old models of Navy ships
To a distant wooded stream
Armed with a box of blue tip matches
And mason jars filled with gasoline
We loaded up the ships
Full of the flammable fuel
And set them adrift in the stream
Thinking we were kind of cool
Then Jonsey had an idea
On how to create an eternal flame
As he slowly poured gas from his jar
Into a ship that towards him came
Before the words escaped our mouths
That his idea was a foolish one
The flame shot up the stream of gas
And his jar he quickly flung
Some landed on my bare legs
Singing adolescent hair before patted out
Then suddenly I was aware
Of the words Johnny started to shout
“Drop and roll, drop and roll,” he did scream
I knew his instructions weren’t intended for me
I looked up and saw a dancing figure of fire
Doug was aflamed from head to knee
I was headed towards him to make a tackle
When he dropped and rolled on his own
The fire was quickly doused
But he was already severely burned
Doug bravely walked home alone
To tell a story that didn’t implicate us
As we watched hidden from down the street
His parents take him to the hospital in a rush
We moped in guilt for hours that day
Before we decided we had to confess
So we made our way back to Doug’s house
And gave it our very best
Doug was going to be okay
A few scars and plenty of pain
His parents made us make a vow
Never to play with fire again
I wore jeans the rest of that summer
To hide my bare, red legs from my Mom and Dad
They never knew the part that I played
In this saga that turned out bad
As future summers came along
We accepted the boredom quite solemnly
Not wanting to repeat that day
We tried to escape the banality
I viewed the dawn through mist of fading dreams,
Aware of silver feet upon the roof.
Eaves shivered wet, while raindrops welcomed spring
With murmured sounds, and giving me excuse
To burrow down and doze, with warming trace
Of childhood mornings, which have blown away.
I stretch my arms and rise with no regrets,
And see a rainbow’s face
That arches over hills so far away,
From crayons of time, that I will not forget
I love the rain that falls upon the grass
And look beyond the margins framed inside.
I sense renewal come with mute caress,
Will find new places where my soul resides.
The child in me will dance among the dew,
In soggy dress and mud between my toes,
Not to be dampened by a state of care…
Although the day is blue…
My inner child ignores the dark and low,
And thinks of rain the gift of something new.
Contentment comes from little things I do
Old storybooks will dazzle wishes, fed…
to make believe that wishes could come true
I drink some tea, with snack of jam and bread,
And once again, with growing up to do
Old scrapbooks found, to leap right through my age
Just one more moment as the child relents
My childhood bids adeiu
Recalling now, how fondness comes with sage
But knowing now, how well those days were spent~
In Honor of Cyndi's Contest: Comforts of a Rainy Afternoon
There've been times in my life
where I've just had to say,
"I must, give it all up,
for, it's that kind of day"!
I must, really say this
I really, just must;
if I didn't say it,
then, it wouldn't be, "just".
There's this crazy, old man
we'll just call him, "Doc";
who fills up blank pages
with, "poetical talk".
He's scribbled, and scrabbled
'til way, past bed-time,
trying to finish each poem
and, complete every rhyme.
If he hadn't done this
he'd surely gone, "mad",
his nonsensical nature
was, all that he had!
No hidden agenda
when first, he wrote down,
each poem of nonsense
to erase a childs' frown.
And, Doc always did this
..so that , all of his poems
were merely geared, to amuse.
He loved to let nonsense
be the order of the day,
and, with every poem
we all smiled, the same way.
His only intention
was to set our minds, "free",
his style, just did it
With his own tongue, in cheek
we knew we'd been had,
and his poems rhymed perfectly
proving he was no, "fad"!
The volumes of topics
that Doc's written of,
included all that could be
written.....below, and above.
He's written of magic,
puzzles, and games...
..with, strange little creatures,
with, strange little, "names".
The, crazier his story,
the saner he'd feel,
and, the more that we heard
convinced us they were, "real"!
His poems, were genius
as he weaved us, a tale;
with, nonsensical rhymes
that did so, without..."fail".
"Old Doc", has quit writing
he's up in heaven,
this year, his birthday'd ...
make him, a hundred, and seven!
He's given advice,
taught what we must do,
he said, "Be who you are...
..no-one's youer, than....you!"
He's maybe still writing
in, heaven....you see,
that'd be just like him
as, that's who he must, be!
That, silly old doctor...
..as silly, as a goose;
we all loved his poems,
for, we loved Dr. Seuss!