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Free Verse Childhood Poems | Free Verse Poems About Childhood

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

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Details | Free verse | |

First Communion

The powdery snow gloves the fingers 
of maple forest, protecting barren bark 
with the expectation of rose tipped bloom.

A meeting point between pristine
innocence and the veiled promise of spring
ripening. Each trunk and limb mirrors 

the action of man. Reaching, arching, 
swaying, creating aisles of church-like splendor, 
a sacrament where the virginal may walk

toward communion with their God. Inward 
toward the birth of faith and outward toward 
the wedgwood sky in celestial sight.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Teddy Bear-

My sweet little Teddy Bear...
Mommy gave 'YOU' to me
Now I never sleep alone at night
The comfort you gave, when God's sunny eyes ran out of light

You are my sweet little teddy bear... 
You kept me company throughout the years
I hugged you, when my eyes were full of tears
Loving you, squeezing you
We both express many joyful dance of cheers
Together we sang lullabies, without you singing one single word
We drank from the same teacup, whispered about the pretty birds
Now listen, as I mumble extra words into your ear
My sweet Teddy Bear, you are always here

We snuggled every night staring at the star frame window
"You held my hand when I was lost in my own imaginary limbo

My sweet little Teddy Bear...
I'm 11 now, and my mother loves me dearly
Sadly, she felt it's time to find me a daddy
Little does she knows, my daddy visits every night in my dreams

Shhhhhh!!!
Now her boyfriend visits my room and tells me not to scream
Little Teddy bear, I never showed you fear before I fell asleep
Little Teddy bear, tonight I do not want to count sheep
Teddy bear, now I hold you closer and tighter than before
Little Teddy Bear let me cover your ears, from the screeching door
Little Teddy Bear, he said he would hurt mommy If I tell anyone
Little Teddy Bear, I know you see and hear everything!!!

by; pd
You're A Little Kid Again (contest)
The View of an 11 year old

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Boy oh boy and a girl

I wish to claim
My boyness
My yesterday sillyness
Innocent shyness
My crinkled nose grininess
That hide and seekiness
Spin the bottle 
kind of geekiness 

Getting caught 
My hand in the cookie jarness
That pushing too farness
Collecting comic charminess 
Pulling pigtales
Stolen kisses
Hidden playboy kinda business
Cop a feel inquisitiveness

Being a bit
Self conscience  
A true life witness
Loving the mysterious 
Laughing more than being serious
Feeling delirious 
Not afraid
Somewhat curious

Wondering
About adultness
What it was all aboutness
Thinking that it lead to freeness
I'd know just how to be ness
Eating what I want 
Staying up late kinda keeness

Now I wonder
What was the rushness
To reach adultness
Full of it's doubtiness
What's it all aboutness
I witness it's dreamlessness
It's no longer about me-ness
More mundane
To much sane-ness
Routine and sameness
No one cares if you cameness
Less is less
And more is moreness
Can't see the trees
Through the dark forest

So grab onto your girliness
I'll bring my boyness
There will be more
Way more 
Yesirey
Hotdigity
Joyousness 
No more boringness 
We'll spin in circles
Enjoy our dizziness 
After all
Having fun
Is a serious business!



I wrote this one in December 2014. 
I am now proud to enter it into Shadow's contest.
I hope you have as much fun reading as I had writing it.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

The Return

The air is thick with memory -
A fog of reminiscence.
Or is it simply mist 
Rolling through the window? 
I feel the wind and taste the salt,
Hear the distant pulse of waves 
Keeping time, skipping beats
With my haunted heart.
The wind chimes sway and croon
From their place above the sill,
Where sand dollars still form a row
Among crumbs of sand.
And there, on the bedside table -
Speckled stones arranged just so.
And if I lift them, I know
I'll find dustless circles,
Halos from the past.
My vision blurs.
Then I see her in the doorway -
The ghost of childhood,
Twirling in a cloud of skirts,
Strings of seashells draped like gems
Around her fragile neck.
I blink - 
And she's gone.
But through the mist I hear  
The patter of bare feet
Down the empty hallway.


By Heather Ober
Submitted to Nette's "Mixed Senses" contest
*This is an old poem I wrote on March 7, 2012

Copyright © Heather Ober | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Toddler Sky

-Toddler Sky-

Down where I sleep, 
You hold me, embrace my every way
The Marks up on my skin
You caress, taking away from the ugliness

Watching the simple breath, when I breathe
Breaking the ice, soothing my inner peace
A sweet spray across the paleness in my limbs
Holding the warmth, I've been loved throughout my life.
From picking up sticks to the walking stick
My loving dear I know you will always be there
A few wheel chairs, when broken bones mend
You know my every cure*
Walk with me across the hall
Through the oldness, and the boldness of every color in the sky
Thank you for taking me as I am
A light twinkle' every time I feel the colors of the rainbow drip
Now a newborn takes his form
In you I find the strength to stretch my arms and reach for every star

When happy moments fail, 
I embraced the colors I found in you
I make out every tree, and wonder why and how?
I close my eyes to imagine the fun of chasing fireflies
Tonight I'm keeping my prayers simple, cute, and innocent
I will count sheep and search for sweet lullaby dreams
Smiling like a 3 year old this very moment, 
You think I'm having "Baby Blues."
My loving dear, thanks for having patience,
Painting my way down a toddlers sky
Every time  "P M S" hits

~SKAT~

Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2013

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.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

THE BROKEN DOLL

Walls of silence hold,
 Me prisoner,
The child held within,
 Cries out for release.
Relative solitude comforts, 
Not the tortured soul,
Inward coiling withdrawing,
 Deep inside. 
Shedding its outer skins,
 Protective
Layer thus preserving its,
 Inner being.
Innocents shroud lies in ruins.
Gentle spirit, cast aside wings,
 Damaged appendages.
The fallen angel kneels in,
 Shame,
Shadows before mankind.
Unanswered prays rest upon,
 Deaf ears.
Muted sobs, echo on stilled,
 Winds breath.
Hardening to stone, the
 Chilled heart
 Reflects frozen repose.
Forgotten amongst mine own,
 Kindred,
Childhood symbolizes a betrayed,
 Victim’s refuge.
Small fragile hands reach out,
 Into nothingness,
Hollow space grasping into,
 Oblivion.
Chained shackles twist,
 Imaginations warped view,
Somber tones cloud troubled,
 Thoughts.
Amidst life's trials, I'm aimlessly,
 Adrift,
Without any form of stability.
I, alone remain shambles,
 Wreckage.
Displaced and damaged,
Beyond repair.
A broken doll thrown away,
By those who should have, 
Cared for her the most.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Play Rain

Play rain , play melancholic tunes Play closely to my ear, I need to hear I want to listen to Sinatra's toe-tap sounds As you fall, fall slowly to the ground outside my great-grandmother's house. Play rain, Come down and break the silence Bring puddles to the desert Puddles far from clear, yet fresh enough to jump into, to jump in muddy waters to step within the dormant child to free the one I'm not from who I am Play rain, play melancholic tunes Wash away my present ,So I recall my past Let me find night's music as you patter on the old tin roof like a symphonic flute. Let me search for who I am , who I was why, and where Why do I fight this little girl inside ? This little girl who screams , who begs, who yearns to run, to get her white shirt soaking wet to splish and to splash , to be whom She's meant to be Daughter of the wild. Rain , rain, come again Let those drip drops stream , over my shoulders All way down my back, and across my thighs. Let me sail upon your rivers Holy waters - Dirty Waters Any water, better than a dry land where only cactus will survive. Rain, rain, Let me feel your touch upon my lips Rub gently against my skin Let me taste your every trickle Rebirth in me with all the blowing winds Cleanse all sweet hypocratic lies, anytime Tease me with your whisper Evoke in me the childhood magic Make it last throughout the years Rain, rain, pour down your sky light showers Let them hide away my fears Fears, tears, Fears...and more tears. Rain, rain , play and make me smile.
Inspired by Nikko's blog about Rain , Thanks Nikko !

Copyright © Charmaine Chircop | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Tangled Vines

I walk along the old familiar path in the wood of my childhood - the place that I willingly abandoned for the lure of new friends and activities that carried me ever farther from my simple carefree days. Nothing here is quite the same, and all that once was large to my child’s eyes has grown small. How can it be? The houses on the fringe of this old wood are the same houses we always came upon as children as we ran - exuberant wild Indians of our enchanted forest - away from our foes and into the safety of “clearings” - those back yards of neighbors whom we never really knew. Our small legs ran so quickly down that well-worn long-ago path in the days when we were soldiers hastening to secure our forts. Other times we searched for treasures in the wood's crevices, finding - one day - bed springs, metal pieces, and old mattresses and converting them into contraptions for jumping. I tread slowly, noticing how many spots along my way are now overrun with weeds and tangled vines. How did I ever not notice there were vines here at all? They must have been well hidden off our path. Perhaps a kindly neighbor kept the pathway clear of them out of consideration for all us kids. I cannot know. . . It was so long ago. I glimpse the raspberry bushes we used to happily discover each summer when fuzzy berries showed brightly red and plump. And there’s old man Miller’s house, whose fence we used to climb so we might quickly steal the juicy apples fallen from his tree. Sadness tugs at my heart. The tree has vanished, and in the place of old man Miller’s shed now sits a swing set looking barely used. I head toward the center of this miniature forest recalling how it used to hold such grandness in my young imagination. The pond where we used to skate in winter has disappeared as well. In its place is a broad high pile of dirt, and at the north outer edge in the distance I can see diverse machines used for excavation. Maybe soon the wood will be cut down. Though small, this place was once so wondrous! I think back to our Christmas vacations, looking for the perfect little hill to drag our sleds up- and the thrill of barely missing trees as we slid back down. Everything was magical, crisp and clean. Suddenly I trip on tangled vines I’ve failed to see. The vines are stumbling blocks that have blotted out the utter charm this locale once held for me. You’d think that being smaller to my grown-up eyes, the wood would seem even simpler now. But no, it’s lost the grace of my simple and easy childhood days; It’s become a labyrinth of too lush plant life. I think how - like my complicated life - this old familiar place is decaying and is overwhelmed with all these obnoxious vines and how one day - like the pond and Mr. Miller’s apple tree - this dear wood will have vanished. inspired by events of my childhood and the contest of Constance la France and now for Caleb Smith's In the Woods Poetry Contest

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Like a Rock

I carry my mother 
like a rock in my pocket 

that I just can’t seem to throw away 

It serves me 
no purpose, 
it just weighs me down 

~~~
 
When I first found it, 
when I first picked it up 
and started carrying it with me, 

I thought it so beautiful – 
I could look at it for hours 

But, like my mother, 
it never looked back at me, 
never grew warm under my loving gaze 

For the longest, I was blind to that, 
Blind to anything but the beauty, 
blind to the cold, hard, 
beyond-remote nature of the rock,
of my mother,
my stone

~~~

I carry my mother,
a thought without weight

And she’s heavier

and she’s colder

than all the stones
there are

~~~
 
By the time I recognized her 
immutable, emotional unavailability, 
I had run out of joy,
felt depleted of hope –

But I could not,
for the life of me,
stop seeking a beauty, a warmth,
inside her heart

Could not stop
wishing
that one day this stone,
my mother,
deep inside my pocket,

Might just become
its own opposite –

Change from hard to fluid,
from cold to warm

But my rock, my hard burden,
will only turn to water

When my mother
stops being
a stone

Copyright © Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson | Year Posted 2005

Details | Free verse | |

Intangible

There was change, a new pulse, cadence, and tone, where my mother had been, the only place I had known Where two maples stretched out, to cradle my dreams, and shelter my life, in the house I called home On a make-shift bed, I was lying awake, Windows cracked open, a wind coming in, .... Intangible nights, in the familiar old room, alone with my thoughts, while sorting out things... There was a strange, jaundice glow, from the porch light, left on, and my pillow felt cold, where the moon used to go The sound of a moth, batting wings against glass, was begging for warmth, while seeking to ask, a place that made sense And a place to fit in My father was sleeping, with his newlywed bride in the same sacred bed, where my mother had died And a new child was dreaming in the soft yellow room where I spent all those nights, ... just me and the moon I was happy for him, and for the child that he gained. I was there at his side, when the changes became.. a part of his life, ...... a part of mine too But, I was lost in the amber, like a moth batting wings Yet, somehow I grew, with a new point of view The child that I was, still waits for the moon I've grown older and wiser, maybe stronger than then,... But, still the moth that looks in, while under the moon resisting the screen seeking the flame... batting my wings, while resisting the change, ....again, and again
__________________________________ 11/3//14

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

I Recall

I recall a dirty sidewalk
running in front of grandma's house
with bumps and cracks from the roots
of ancient white oaks…

Meandering down to the levee
with cane poles and sack lunches
crickets and freshly dug earth worms
Barefoot in careless summers...

I recall one low spot 
beneath a straggly Chinaberry 
filled with pitch-black delta dirt
washed in by summer rains
Shuffling through and digging down
burying our toes...

Often now I recall
when the heavens are shrouded in grief
when darkness closes at the edge of vision
I recall a porch light flicking on in the distance
I recall grandma’s trembling soprano calling
calling me back home….














Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

In A Blink Of An Eye-Collaboration with Charmaine Chircop

Sitting on the window sill with the wind in my hair I gaze up into the stars, pondering the great unknown. Thinking back of that night, when I heard your first cry tears of joy filled my heart as we carried you home. Nervous and excited, a mother I had just become, you were my angel, my being, my son. You were all that I dreamt of, from my lungs, pure breath. In the cradle I rocked you, before going to bed. With gurgles and babbles you have filled up our lives. With first footsteps, first mouthfuls, with sweet little rhymes With first schooldays, first friendships, first free little moves, Like doing your homework, and tying your own shoes We followed your shadow from a distance not far, giving you your wings, yet knowing where you are The time has passed by, in a blink of an eye, Soon you'll be leaving, making this mother cry.
Co-written by Charmaine Chircop & Tim Smith October 18, 2014

Copyright © Tim Smith | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

The Journey Begins

A little boy wanted to meet God.  He knew it was a long trip
so he packed a suitcase with chips and root beer and began 
his journey.
 
He walked 3 blocks and met an old man sitting on a park bench
staring at pigeons.The boy sat next to him opened his suitcase 
and took a sip of root beer.  He noticed the old man was hungry
so he offered him chips. He took one and smiled at the boy. 
 
His smile was so wide the boy wanted to see it again, so he 
offered him root beer.  Again he smiled.  The boy was happy!
They sat all afternoon eating, smiling, and sharing silence   
 
Twilight approached & the boy found he was tired so he got up
to leave.  On afterthought he turned ran back, gave him a hug.
The elder gave him the biggest smile he had.
 
As he opened the door to his house a short time later, his mom
was  surprised by the look of joy on his face.  Son, "What did you 
do today, that made you so happy?"
 
He replied, "I had lunch with God." He added, "You know what? 
He's got the most beautiful smile I've ever seen!"
 
The old man radiant with joy returned to his home. His son was
stunned to see peace on his face and asked,
"Dad, what did you do today that made you so happy?"
 
"I ate potato chips in the park with God." he said 
"You know, he's much younger than I expected."
 
Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a
kind word, a listening ear,  an honest compliment, or
the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential
to turn a life around.  People come into our lives for a reason
a season,  or a lifetime! Embrace all equally!
 
Have lunch with God, bring chips, invite him home for diner...

Love & Light, 
Mystic Rose 
December 18, 2015

Copyright © Mystic Rose | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Swept under the carpet

If people suffer in truth at our hands
with ill education and manners
Then we turn on them spitting words
casting stones of hate
blame them as a menace unto society
corrupted from childhood 
what chance do they have
Living below means 
defined by their status not born to privilege
Then punish them for the crimes committed 
inside which their first education exposed them too
what stands above is created in this society
it holds the key through poverty
Turning a blind eye we punish them
what does that make us
  

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Mending Dysfuntion

A labyrinth….an internal tangle
A skein of glass prisms
                                (dark reflections)
A complex web…intricate and divided
inside a muscle thought too fragile
to withstand the breakage

Beneath…always what lay there
was tattered coils 
                          (rusted raw)

Starkness overwhelms the blue light
and the tender is a bit shattered
Yet surviving with the indomitable will 
                   of a thousand
Iron strength and steel resolve
 is what will govern the web
A quick shot of whiskey burns
and vodka strikes the throat
 in torpid moments
(seeking solutions)
a bit of  mangle and sorrow

Beyond the surface of what seems to be
is the actuality of the puzzle 
                                      (pieces of truth)

Rage against the torpedo
The twists of time ticking timeless
(stealing missed moments)
Find the reason….
(illumination with clarity)
and let the wind catch your sails
                                       setting you free…..
Released from the chains of ignorance
and no longer held prisoner
by the hands that ripped your soul

Freedom is letting go of a smoke mirage
and embracing the cold concrete

Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse | |

Innocence

On days of childhood past
and long faded into memory,
sisters played beneath a smiling sun
in shadowed rooms of bending willows.
Dainty handkerchiefs swaddled
our Rose of Sharon infants
to keep the newborns warm;
honeysuckle spread sweet fragrance
scenting the summer playhouse
while birds trilled lullabies of joy.
Clover chains hung as garlands
to decorate our home
and snowball bushes' spread
perfumed blossoms carpeting the floors.
Simple pleasures of a simple life
we seem to have discarded
in favor of a busier, artificial plastic world
where flowers bud stale fabric blooms
on bending wires.
The evensong of the whip-poor-will is no more.

I would go back if I could harvest
the pureness of those happy hours,
distilling a rare elixir,
a medicine for our ailing times.

Copyright, November 25, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Maturity

As I sit by the window and look out towards the sun,
A half of me says stay, while the other half says run.

I know it's part of life, to grow older with each day,
but the older that I get, the more I want to run away.

All the stress and hard decisions that I'm left to ponder,
only makes me crazier, as now I'm left to wander.

Like a never ending clock, the days and nights will pass,
so I'll hold on to my memories, for only they will last.

And I can use them anytime, to make me laugh or smile,
or just to sort of drift away, and daydream for a while.

Although life seems so hard, I thank the Lord each night,
for blessing me with all the things He's put here in my life. 

So as I grow in my time of youth, I tell myself one thing,
Never regret ,or you'll lose out, on the  things that life may bring.

Copyright © Larissa Lane | Year Posted 2005

Details | Free verse | |

Under the Willow Trees

A path strewn thick with rusty leaves led to nowhere and everywhere in our fantasies, rescuing us from after school chores and homework pages wrinkled in time; a memory come and gone returns to me. Back home, under a row of willow trees, I weep for my childhood friend, for the innocence lost, I thought I could keep, for the faded line between joy and pain that suddenly comes with age; I close moist eyes to see you dancing in rain showers and climbing up rays of sunlight, imagination uncaged; running carefree for hours - just us, two, whether skies were shades of gray or blue. We said forever, a pinky swear I remember, naïve in our make-believe world. How many years passed by, distance growing between you and I? A phone call once-in-a-while became just a Christmas card once-a-year. I hope you always knew the truth, I loved you, my dear friend. Time cannot erase our laughter caught on the autumn breeze and the childhood secrets shared on that path strewn thick with rusty leaves, trodden bare each year come fall of winter snow. Our laughter now echoes in dreams, chaffing the row of willow trees still sulking low, moss brushing tears in timeless beauty, waiting for you to come home.

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Beauty is temporary

Fragile soft pearls elegantly descend in silence blowing in the wind performing a spectacular ballet Gradually snowflakes rebel into a blizzard rapidly settling among Mother Nature's abode Smiles of children bring warmth to the freeze snow is never cold when one is young Snow angels created among charming snowmen courageous battles fought with balls of fury Nonchalantly it melts into slush as laughter dims rain further disintegrates the glow casting black ice Memories of joy and fun slowly fade beauty always seems to be temporary Snow contest by Shadow Hamilton 20 November 2015

Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2015

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

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

SHWEET LOVE

The minute our eyes met it was love at first sight I knew you were the perfect one for me my parents tried to keep us apart but I simply couldn’t let you go My father tried to persuade me are you really sure he’s the one? It’s not too late to change your mind… I smiled my sweetest smile - Dad knew when he was beaten I skipped out of the toy shop .... nestling in my arms, my birthday teddy bear! Contest –Free Verse Love Poem Sponsored By Laura Loo 07~24~15

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

A Tightrope Walk


I balance on a tightrope. Surrounded by 
lovers and dreamers, I teeter above a raging sea.
I admire their glossy smiles and envy
their bright-eyed confidence; envy is a sin, I know.
Please forgive me; a lie would carry more guilt.
The waves crash in dark shades of gray, still they smile.
Their laughter from all around pierces the thin air.
I teeter alone; I may or may not fall.
My fate is undetermined, in my own hands;
the tragedy today may be tomorrow's comedy.
Their laughter echoes...
On a day like today, the fresh tears sting. 
If only I could wake from the nightmare,
pry open the windows of my tortured soul.
If only I could charm the feral...if only.
Oh, the skeletal monsters we are bequeathed!
Yes, I understand the meaning of loyalty.
A fool believes the wicked will fall.
A fool believes the merciless will change.
Can a hollow chest develop a beating heart?
I chisel stone walls, searching for a glimmer of hope,
a flicker of humanity behind steel beams.
Could you spare a token of remorse?
I dare to drop a coin in a fountain of wishes.
A pocketful of coins jingle as my wishes sink
to the bottom of the venomous waters. 
I am patient as I teeter on the tightrope.
The audience cheers taking pleasure in my pain.
Blood pulsates through my veins, yet I feel cold winds
penetrate my soul. I refuse to cower or
live in contention... 
Blood is thicker than ink. 
I find my balance in the written word, a gift of life! 
Words sometimes spill from a bleeding heart.
I beseech the ghosts of the past to end their haunting.
Their breath is the frigid wind. I find shelter...
Tempered is the skin of the wounded. Who knows
what may lie beneath the flesh. In the mirror,
you may find a frightened child in need of love.
Most find the strength to balance and stand.
Every step brings me closer to solid ground...
I am reaching for you. Please take my hand.

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

When the Wanderer Returns

As winter trees exhume their leaves
for spring
and Autumns' sacrifice 
retreats in memory 
Summers of sangria blossoms 
drape their crimson blooms-

exhale against an arc of sighing skies

Seasons conspire
to tempt the wanderer on, 
but it’s the stolen thoughts of childhood 
that bring the wanderer home.

© Suzanne Delaney

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Quiet Attention

Together we would whittle sticks while chewing juicy gum We would find a place to rest beside a river green and wide The skies were blue, and tall grass would grow, and brush against my knees Where willow trees, and dusty trails and nesting squirrels would hide With tackle box on summer days, we sat in lazy pose With fishing poles, and cheerful hearts, in willow covered coves It mattered not, no lad was I, ...a girl is what he got And he seemed quite glad, to take my hand, and help me hook the bait I'd toss it in, against the wind......and sit awhile to wait It mattered not, if fish were caught, the waiting was our friend The sun felt warm, his voice could charm, and worries all seemed gone Curiosity of my tender youth, this world a puzzle, vast I would ponder things, and pick his brain, with many questions asked This kind old man, with gentle patience, and a quiet ear to lend Would tweak his mustache, and kindly hear me, without a word to bend While deep in thought, would listen well, and continue with his task As if my words were meant to hold, and mattered more than gold He'd try to find an answer, with his wisdom from the past With satisfaction we would whittle sticks, yet carving so much more When shadows fell, he'd take my hand, the young one in the old And head back home, as sun goes down, from lazy river's shore Those fishing holes, are idle now, too soon the autumn fell Although I tread the shore alone, I clearly see them all
___________________________________________________________________ 7/31/11

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

UP WHERE IT BELONGS




Strewn by knitted spines and a tail with ribbons on its hair, bright flowing visions float along an azure sky. Gracefully, the flight takes a diamond shape as if to roam away in some twirling glide. And as it slowly faded from sight, the little boy on the beach giggled and tugged the braided loop calling his paper wing, “ Come back; I’ll have to pull you in.” But it waved on like an entranced sail kissing the clouds; till near dusk marked the rising moon…quietly, he rested on the sand to gaze at the breezy sky again; this time a bit aware the kite he handmade and loved won’t come back… for it is up above where its home belongs. ~ Moral: There are precious moments when it takes strength to know when to let go. Contest:A Delightful Children's Fable Sponsor Carol Eastman

Copyright © nette onclaud | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Bedlam baby

I remember you
cartoon smile and egg-shaped head.
Do you remember
how the rainbow formed on the water,
how the neon lights flickered,
or the scent of nectarines on your forehead?
They were happy to see for the first time
behind glass window,
between speaker box voices --
unopened package,
untouched collector’s item,
you shiny new contraption,
star of the play,
hero of the hour, 
flavor of the season.

Seed of your father,
soil of your mother.
Fruit of love,
fruit of conflict.
Decision’s aftermath,
delusion’s consequence,
Are you accident,
                    intention,
                            problem,
                                  solution?

Bough in the river,
wrenched in the current.
Hand reaching for hand,
hand holding your own.
Bedlam baby with the guilty smile
do you remember
how you would not fracture the  mullioned frame,
how you could not shatter porcelain,
or how you hid in changing alleys?

I will save you
you will save me.
My hand in yours.
I am the boat
you are the journey.

Copyright © Ryan Caidic | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse | |

When Castles Washed Away

Some memories of silver sands, have faded like old photographs. But waves rush in to ponder on, incoming tides of happiness. Our shadows left upon the ground, are looking for a sea-shell found, and kites sail high upon the wind, to take us back, just once again We'd dig the sand, to paradise, to build a castle to the sky and filled our childhood fantasy with knights, and queens, and gallentry... Our hearts, carefree, as we were one, with earth and sky, with wind and sun Lone barefoot walks, along a beach, were followed by our impressed feet ~ The rugged coves, the misty air, the windswept trees, each mystery... can sweep me back, in time, and then, I see it still, so very clear,... where sky and ocean meet again Restless eucalyptus leaves, that scatter in the ruthless wind can bring to me a childhood shore, A place I left my heart and more Gulls that circle, high above Reminding me of days so loved Where castles made of sand were found Until the waves came crashing down Today I climb the winding path That lingers yet, in aftermath I'm dazzled by this new day's glare, reflected from those other years This place I knew when summer came Now warms my heart from winter's game Where blooming lilacs danced a tune And summer's end would come too soon

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Curious George and Winnie The Pooh

I remember Christopher Robin
When helping Pooh find honey
Was my biggest problem
I remember the blustery days
We trusted each other in every way

I remember When we helped Eeyore
Find his way home from the Sea shore
Everything was good
In the Hundred Acre Woods

I remember Curious George
I had to chase him a hundred miles
As soon as my mother kissed me good night
We went around the world
But we made it home
Two minutes before sunlight
And everything was alright

And Sammy the Seal would let me get on his back
And ride for a million miles
We exchanged halcyon smiles

And I remember the monster
Who brought fear to the hundred acre woods
Scarier than the Heffalump
Scarier than the thing with the Black eyes
He was pure evil in disguise
He told lies

Filled with evil and guile
Christopher Robin called him a Pedofofile
It tried to seduce me
Ten minutes after my mother introduced me

I remember that ice cold June
When Mama said “We’re getting married soon"
And Disney left the room
I remember when
Larry Flint
And Hugh Hefner moved in
And H.A. Ray moved away
And Dr. Seuss and Syd Hoff
Took the Summer off

I remember seeing the door knob turn
The Pedofofile kneeled on one knee
Said he had a story he wanted to read to me
And he brought pornos to my bed
Mother Goose turned her head
Christopher Robin Fled
Curious George hid under the bed
And the hundred acre woods were
filled with dread

I remember us all gathering around
The meeting in Hundred acre woods
Christopher Robin said if I
Opened up the pornofo graphic
magazine
I could be banned for good

I asked him what’s a Pornofographic magazine
He didn't know exactly what to say
But saidt they were ten times worse
Than any blustery day

But i was curious like Curious George
I was curious like Curious George
I opened the Pornofographic magazine

I remember the woman
I saw more of her insides than a doctor
I remember the dog on top of her
But I can’t tell you what they did
And i cried out for Winnie the Pooh
I just wanted to be a kid

I remember the last time
I saw Christopher Robin
Tears rolled down his chin
he asked me why I had to
Let the pedofofile in
And it was a blustery day times ten

And I waved goodbye to Piglet
And Roo to Tigger
And the heffalump too
But Mostly I remember standing closely
To Danny the Dinosaur
He told me he would always love me
But I couldn’t slide down his back anymore

I remember 1974

2011 Dr. Seuss Poet M.e. Michael Ellis..

Copyright © Poet M.e. | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Home Of The Hang Man

Home Of The Hang Man

The children are so full of doubt
No one is allowed to speak
No one is allowed to shout
Opinions are driven underground
Seems that every time they do it wrong
Always been the same old song
Never get it right
Never allowed to speak
Never allowed to fight

It’s a strange house
The children are so full of doubt
A strange house

The kids just don’t understand
They don’t see that this is the way it’s all been planned
Keep them frightened is the game
Then all those “other” things won’t need to be explained
Why is big brother always mad
Why is younger brother always sad
Why does he sit in his bedroom all alone
Because it’s a strange house
And not a home

It’s a strange house
The children are so full of doubt
A strange house

Everything they do or say
Is turned into to a weapon to build upon the barricade
And Dad pretends he’s not afraid
Of the sudden discovery of suffocated memories
The dark deeds linger in a cage
Of ridicule and violence that makes the babies cry
So Mum has buried her suspicions worryings away
In Sunday lunches usual farce
A make believe gathering of corrupted loving and pretended merry making

It’s a strange house
The kids are so full of doubt
A strange house




Big brother hit the self destruct
With pills and needles long before he decided he was gay
No one ever asked him why he was so mad
And  no one ever asked why younger brother was so sad
He sits up stairs in his room 
Surviving in a sea of doubt
The suffocated memories have all come out
He’s always sad and he’s always alone
The babies to they both have grown
But he doesn’t know them anymore
It’s been so long since he left that so called home

It’s a strange home
The children are so full of doubt
A strange house

Their children are so full of doubt
Brought up and made this way
All their futures turn to grey
As all the buried memories fight their own way out
Remember why they always felt so wrong
Remember what happened when we were young
And mother just closed her eyes she did not help
All the future turns to grey
Brought up and made to be this way

Father was the hang man who took their lives away



Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2008