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Childhood Social Poems | Social Poems About Childhood

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

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Details | Free verse |

Where Shadows Refuse to Dance

Locking the door is useless,
for he has a key...

Will that sliver of light
become a wider slice tonight,
or not?

Bed sheet covers are but flimsy barriers,
easily thrown off
by hands—

Hard working hands 
that roam where they should not

Tuck you to bed,
tell you a fairy tale before you sleep,
kiss you good night.

They all hold different meanings,
they always do.

The moon is a silent witness,
peeking through the windows,
where shadows refuse to dance...
but creep
Innocent eyes of a doll
that weep

“Shhh,” he says
“This is love.”

But the pounding heart,
the screaming mind
know otherwise.

This isn’t love.
It never was.

The moon can only scream in silence
with her.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun crashes in,
dissolving the darkness
but it never matters,
for the nightmare continues...


She’s there at the stove, cooking
eggs sunny-side up
He reads the newspaper 
with a smile

Yet tears start to pool
as a timid voice says,
“Please, Mommy...
Why don’t you believe me?
The Boogie Man is real.”





September 16, 2011
091620111025p1050


Details | Free verse |

MAKING SOUP

Always cold in the morning, this kitchen is warmed now
With a roaring fire and my wife working beside me making just desserts
We stand here two hours this afternoon doing one of our projects
Cooking soup and fish for this evening’s xmas party of friends. 

The ghetto, the Projects, contained me with the music of 
The school’s leather belt and cane.  And then 
Parents lost in a fire. 
              That was a tough xmas, alcohol boozy flavored in an
              Empty-bottle kitchen, crowded and smoky.
It was a tough meat just cut today red blooded, now pale in the friends’ 
Xmas gift, the tureen shiny clean. The soup’s              
Alcohol flavored in effort to disguise taste of the firm onion, now soft slop. Next, must
Empty bottle of sauce in …add spice…Oh, now chop more veg: and the 
Kitchen knife peels and reveals their secret inner fleshes,
Crowded and jostling with juicy tomatoes, now reduced to wrinkled skins; and
Smoky, tall, erect celery now chopped into mini-sets of false teeth

Innocence lost in the poisonous smog of Dublin’s
Orphanage hymns and anthems: God and the state will help
Uniformed religious staff and teachers to tell me 
I do not belong - I must reveal no secrets about being
Woken, shaken out of bed, taken (with no word spoken) from the 
               Cold dormitory, scaly hand on my knee:
               Drown in this grasp -  fish out of water
Cold.  A small shivering fish caught in net, taken now from its fridge 
Dormitory for this sacrifice: staring, unfeeling, cold-blooded creature, its
Scaly skin shining on my cutting plate.
Hand on knee, I sit down to gut it, gills first - which made him
Drown as he struggled in the tightened net; and 
In this grasp I cut the fish open - an old  
Fish which was still feeling
Out of water. It seems a silly, scaled creature now, lifeless, staring at nothing.

I lost my loneliness from that hostile world:
She gave me peace and serenity  -
Warm feelings of belonging ; and it’s
Christmas every day. 
                 She is sweet, inviting, colorful, and around her
                 Melt-in-the-mouth music plays.
She is the essence of sugar,
Sweet free-running chocolate,
Inviting me to dissolve all of her creamy meringue shells 
Colorful and delightful, which will swirl
Around her taste  and 
Melt like love on a summer’s day.
In the mouth of my hell, she has uttered  
Music, and forever now,  it
Plays sweetly.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

Written for and entered in Debbie Guzzi’s  Contest     GET SERIOUS


Details | Lyric |

Normal To Me

This isn't just a poem This isn't just another emotion This is me, these are my thoughts The Imagery is my sight, And The Allegories are my Life I'm lonely, There is just me But there's so many people around but no one can hear my loudest screams Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me I'm torn, I'm Cut Part of my heart stabbed, and then taken from me The Search for my innocence, Is like a moa hunt Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me Laughing and Jokes all directed towards me Just to Hurt me Cover all of the Halls "Fag, Emo, Queer" Words I too often know Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me Curling her hair putting on her makeup "You're worthless and nothing to Me" Says the so-called all-loving-one As she screams: "Why am I not Pretty" Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me This is not just a poem not just some words my pen cries with each words But this is Just a Glimpse Don't Shout nor Scream This is all just Normal To Me


Details | Rhyme |

A Mother's Love

A Mother’s Love… How precious is the love of a mother’s heart! Even as a child… It’s there from the start. A mother’s love knows no boundary or limit. It’s often shown by how much the mother gives it! Whether her children are young or growing old… And whatever circumstances in life may unfold. Her love is continually a solid foundation… That can’t be removed, torn or shaken. Her love is what is a guiding force. Even if her children’s lives stray off course. I’m thankful for the love my mother’s given… It’s surely influenced the way I’ve been livin’! To all of our mothers across our great nation… May we show them our love and appreciation! Their love has stood and endured the test of time… I’m so glad that one of them is MINE! By Jim Pemberton


Details | Narrative |

1-15-10 look into my eyes

i caught your eyes on me. dont bother to look away. ive already noticed. i wish i was 
brave enough to stare back. it doesnt bother me, just makes me curious. what are you 
thinking? or are you just observing? try to figure me out. but you wont. because youve 
only met the imposter. you havent stopped to look into my eyes.


Details | I do not know? |

Being Different

The past, it may be over
but is it really changed? 
I wish I could forget it
but my life's still rearranged.

I'm always told I'm 'different'.
There are things I just won't do.
These things that make me strange to them
I owe them all to you.

Because of how you were then
I swore I'd never be.
Somehow I lost myself in this
although I'm finally free.

I won't even look at alcohol.
Oh gosh, no way...no how! 
My kids will never see me drunk.
Not later and not now! 

You'll never hear a curse word
be uttered from my lips.
Although I may be thinking them
while my hands are on my hips! 

I seem like such a nut case
to all who don't know why.
I don't waste time explaining...
I couldn't even try. 


Details | I do not know? |

Diary Of A Bully

I watch him clutch
His silly staff,
The way he looks
Just makes me laugh.
His glasses hide
His hazel eyes,
So no one knows
How much he cries.

I don't know why
He looks that way,
To be noticed,
Some people say.
He has no style,
He isn't cool
He doesn't fit in 
With the kids at school.

I trip him up,
Laugh when he falls,
No one answers 
To his calls.
He's so tiny,
I'm so big,
I could snap him
Like a twig.

I don't know what
I'm going to say,
When his mum
Comes in today.
He's moving away
To another place, 
So that I'll
Get off his case.


Details | Narrative |

Child Prostitutes (2006)

Staring head on in the face
What is happening in each corner of this dreadful place
I don’t want to say rather me that you
I wish there was something I could do
Children for sale just isn’t right
Buts its happening day and night 


Details | Rhyme |

Santa's Letter

Last night as I was setting up the tree,
Our six year old son came up to me.
He said, "Mommy, I need a stamp because,
I want to mail this letter to Santa Claus."

Only six years old and just learning to spell.
He tried his best, it came out quite well.
He asked for a car, a train and a bike,
And all of the things that little boys like.

Then he signed his name, with a little PS,
That brought a tear to my eye and a pain to my chest.
As I stood there reading that crayon letter,
I fought back my tears, for I knew better,
Than to show him the impact of the words that he wrote,
As he ended his letter with this little note,

"Santa, I know money is short this year,
So all I really want is my Daddy to be here."


Details | Dramatic monologue |

Will No One Save The Children?

Have you seen
A child smile?
The answer is no
Not for a while.
Have you played
With a child today?
The answer is no
Not since their innocence was taken away.
Can you see
The children grow?
The answer is no
There are no children at home.
Can you feel
The children love?
The answer is no
They lie beneath small graves just dug.
Can you hear
The children cry?
The answer is no
For the children have died.


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