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Nature Childhood Poems | Nature Poems About Childhood

These Nature Childhood poems are examples of Nature poems about Childhood. These are the best examples of Nature 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 mirroring 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.


Details | Tanka | |

the farm boy

amidst the green field
behind grandpa’s old brick house
lies a broken fridge,
unmindful of time passing
until my mom calls me home.


Details | Free verse | |

Wild Cherries

A giant snowball in springtime
From twenty yards out the sound and smell
Closer now; breathing her numbing scent
Listening to the drowsy hum
of greedy and jealous bees
forced to share her bounty
with Tiger and Zebra Swallowtails
School will be out soon...

Memorizing every branch within reach
Her limbs are just low enough
for a boy to scramble up quickly
fleeing imaginary monsters
still lurking and prowling below
Taking ignorant and blissful advantage
of this daughter of the wild; his protector
His big sister to run to...

Shiny and slippery black bark
that oozes burgundy sap
which dries in animal shapes
Summer twilight is coming
Bats twittering overhead
chasing nasty mosquitoes
A noise echoing from far off
A door slamming maybe...

Tucked safely away in his favorite pew
(Naughty boy, eating during church!)
sampling her forbidden fruit
sweet and sour...half is seed
Thieving Blue Jays get the most
Screaming and scolding arrogantly
yet flying away unpunished
Grannny will make jelly...

Oh everlasting Father, creator of all things
He knows that heaven is far beyond the grasp
of a feeble and fumbling mortal mind
But when You decide to send Your beloved Son
back to rule the earth for one thousand years
If he is judged worthy to be in that count
May one humble servant say if it's like this
that would be just fine...

8/12/2009


Details | Free verse | |

Those Were Golden Days of Splendor

Those Were Golden Days of Splendor


Rushing clear water splattered over the rocks
melding into a huge spraying white foam
The sounds made sent heavenly tastes to my ears
the sight pierced my heart with love's stab

Stab that melds heart to a gentle Soul
a sweet pain born again and again so happily
Fast running stream in my mind's eye endures
stamps images with a clear splash of life

Just a swift stream from my youthful forays
days spent exploring Nature, the world anew
Memories time stamped , precious cargo aboard
faces of family waiting home for my return

Rushing water, a life in a bubbling brook
A memory, a love , a mental picture I took!

Robert J. Lindley, 08-26-2014 

note:  Looking back at the greatest time of my life. 
I was ten years old, rambling the fields and woods
like a roaming gypsy on the prowl. My father was still alive,
my mother young and in good health and best of all my 
baby brother was two years old, destined to live 12 more years.
A happy family of 11 children and two parents. Life was good!


Details | Sonnet | |

Sandcastles

When I was a young boy,
I built a castle on the beach.
I made it from sand with my shovel-toy,
Then the waves grabbed it in their reach.
They tore my castle down,
And dragged it down into the sea.
So i took my shovel and, with a frown,
Built another castle quickly.
I built it bigger and stronger
Than the ones in the past.
I thought this one would last longer,
But its walls would no longer last.
I built a moat around the last one that day,
But the waves seemed desperate to wash them all away.


Details | Free verse | |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 


Details | Personification | |

Pulse

One moist patch, like dewy grass,
surrounded by a field of weeds,
emerges first and breathes at last, 
through openings, the air it needs.
Cut off from, and cut off of;
counting on, and counting in;
from down below, to up above - 
A smack on tender, crimson skin.
	There is a pulse.

One spring bud, like seedling stems,
surrounded by a garden wall,
is standing out from all of them, 
despite the fact, they're just as tall.
And though the bud has not yet grown,
the soil and the water see
more than just the seed they've sewn.
They see the flower it will be.
	There is a pulse.

One tall stem, like climbing vines,
surrounded by its petals' plumes,
shares its elegant designs,
and stretches as it blooms.
And when the wind begins to call,
the flower spreads it's pollen 'round.
It falls in love, and loves in fall,
and falling love renews the ground.
	There is a pulse.


Details | Free verse | |

Blue Harvest Moon

Comes silently
on sorrel moccasins

roosted on tortoiseshell
of root cellar

singing, stumbling
in numb imaginings

lit with half-light
vegetables
squeezed in jars
of russet and avocado

above
a cornice of sky
split with laughter
searching
for broken arrowheads
gold and silver among leaves

air billowed white
from lips
soft frail bones
of snowflakes
magically appear
scattering in breath
taken away
into apple night


Details | Rhyme | |

A PHOTOGRAPHER LIVES WHAT HE FEELS

It can be an orchard with peach trees against patches of blue 
as they swerve downhill and meet the foaming sea,
see him capture an indelible moment after
moment until he's amazed by that wonder
to have captured a breathtaking view...
which will be eternally frozen in his memory.



A photographer lives what he feels,
wouldn't it be a celebrity on high heels,
or the most gorgeous child cuddling a puppy
that she saw shivering when snow fell in February?
Didn't he anxiously climb that remote, sun-sunken mount rising in the East...
to find tiger cubs suckling from their mother as she watched a flock of sheep?


Details | Free verse | |

UNGRATEFUL CHILDREN A parent's lament

UNGRATEFUL CHILDREN   A parent's lament

Children
   	with Wings
    	and Talons
Pounce on the fleetest of hearts
 their
 
Memories	

Soar        
                 over the
                 Blood Transfusions
    		Hospital frights of prematurity
             			 of EMS sirens
                              HIV trembling tests 
   		 Asthma Tents
   	
                Breathless Worry atop cloud kissed Trees
   		
                Sleepless Nights of bully battles
  		
                Struggles with Education’s foes
   		
                 Mad Escapes from Fathers of Violence
   		
                 The teary wave good bye for fledgling endeavors
			Day night day night day night…unending
   	and

Land  on

      Slight Imperfections and Imagined Slights
            or the

Shortage of Cash
        for  
                    Trips
                    Technoshit
                    New Shoes 
                    New Cars
	or other
Dreams
                         You 
                      Couldn’t
                         Buy.
 


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


Details | Rhyme | |

Tombstones & Teacups

Death belies the darkness summoned,
tombstone-colored is the sky,
shards of memories merely fragments,
wailing wind the sole reply.

Violent storm winds strip the tree limbs
like a poltergeist, unseen,
tawdry feeders, heavy wind chimes,
beat against the window screens.

Waiting for the glass to shatter,
like so many childhood dreams,
china teacups, rosebud patterned
in the dustpan, unredeemed.


© 2009 Danielle White


Details | Lyric | |

The Wildflower

   
 It could have been you
       Hiding behind the post
           Stretching out your arms
               Your tiny face upturned 
                      To the early morning sun
                            Waving at me softly
                                 While swaying with the breeze
                                     It was only wishful thinking...
                                            But you look so much the same
                                                 that I walked a little closer
                                                      and nearly called your name
                                                         A scent so very subtle
                                                           Drifted through the air
                                                            Reminding me of the last time
                                                             I tied a ribbon in your hair

                                                           I picked the wildflower for you
                                                           But you’re much too far away
                                                          Shall wilt before you see it
                                                        This one I picked today
                                                      Against the velvet petals
                                                   You won’t get to press your face
                                                But together we will pick the one
                                            That grows up in its place
                                         I’ll save this in our special book
                                     Pressed between the pages
                                And hide it in our secret place
                            We’ve known about for ages
                       The next time that you come again....
                You’ll know right where to look!


Details | Free verse | |

Tadpoling parts 1 and 2

part 1 

We bend low under over-hanging branches
lit by reflected river-light gently shifting. 
Our boots suck the muddy bank.
We wade into clear water
the dappled up-light playing 
on our  serious faces.
Intent on our task
hands plunge. 
Cold-shocked I gasp.
You hold your jar steady.
I scoop mine.
Triumphant in a shower of icy prisms 
we hold our prizes aloft,
laughing and shouting,
water streaming down our arms,
jars teeming with tadpoles.
Faces pressed close 
to these underwater worlds,
we stand transfixed.
Each reflects a small disc
of sparkling  sky.

part 2 

April trees rake scudding clouds.
Far away farm dogs bark
at wind-snatched shouts 
of bird-nesting boys.
Somewhere, a cuckoo calls.

In the back garden
a blackbird stakes out his territory.
Ignoring him the cat purrs,
yawning in the sun.

While unnoticed 
on the garden table
beside a upturned jar, 
a sprinkling
of flattened tadpoles
commas
drying in the sun.

The bored cat
saunters by,
her tail held high
in the shape 
of a question mark.


Details | Ballade | |

My three trees

My three trees

When I was a young lad, I lived in a jungle
A jungle of concrete and bricks
We had there but few birds, and yards without flowers
At times it did make me so sick
For I loved the forests all filled with lush growth
That I’d seen in the books I had read
And life there in Peckham it did nothing to me
It seemed to be dull, and quite dead.

And yet in our front yard there lived these three trees
And oh, how I loved them, I did
They filled with lush growth in spring and the summer
And then their rich growth it was hid
Until the next spring it would come back to life
And oh, how I loved to see this
When the sun did shine down on this beautiful foliage
My young heart was filled with such bliss.

Then one day in winter my father chopped down
These wonderful trees I did love
I cried, and I cried, and I sent all my anger
It must have reached Heaven above
For when the spring came those stumps they were loaded
With wonderful Foliage again
Those trees they lived on and I was delighted
That my dad tried to kill them in vain.

11 June 2014 @ 1155hrs.






Details | Rhyme | |

Borrowing Hues of Nature

My sweet angels, am designing a new house for you God, please may I borrow your lavish natural hues? That particular soothing shade of sky blue I'd use as my shelter, my roof would look good too! For the walls I'll take that calming green Mattresses of fluffy clouds, the whitest ever seen Twilight pink drapes, my gal's Fav color its always been Woody brown chairs, for my sleepy frame to lean. A little golden glitter, from delight of the sun A silvery shimmer mixed, the magic has begun Let stars twinkle bright in the room of my son A sky dreamer, he's always been one. An all season garden blossoming blooming forever Yellow sunflowers, violets and lilacs, splendorous ever Crimson beaked robins, saffron flamingos, amber beavers Amazing creatures and wondrous bottle-nest weavers. There will be a VIBGYOR arc always outside the window My children shall play hide and seek below Air kisses, to me, shall their rosy red lips blow As their scarlet cherry chubby cheeks glow! 20/7/2012


Details | Narrative | |

Stunning Armadillos

Trees still shade the road
where Gramps and I once rode
in his old green car -- I drove --
on dusky early evenings
in my fifteenth year.
We stopped, as he insisted, at every spot
where an armadillo scratched
among the tender greenery
in ditches.
I was dispatched,
with Gramps' strong wood cane,
to kill a pesky armored creature
by striking hard, once, upon its snout.
Gramps waited in the car,
called encouragement or condemnation:
"That's it! Hit him hard!" or
"Can't you do a damn thing right?"
He knew I didn't like to kill
but was determined to toughen up
my softness.
That hard old man was not accustomed
to being crossed or contradicted.
But part of him was tender,
and he had a sense of what was right
in the bayou country of his day.
How could I tell him that I hated
killing just to please him?
Often, I killed, then killed again,
although, at times, I'd miss the snout
or be slow to follow up,
and permit an armadillo to escape.
Sometimes, I'd temper force with moderation --
I'd stun the creature, grab the tail,
fling it far into dense bushes
to revive and live another day.
My grandfather eyed me darkly then,
but often kept his peace.
He gave me the treatment
I gave those stunned armadillos.
Could he have felt the same
toward me as I toward them?


Details | Narrative | |

BEFORE SPRING CAME

Before spring came, in late February
to the blooming and jolly hills 
I ran, breathing heavily and frantically,
touching the perfumed blossoms 
of a solitary, old cherry tree;
and underneath it I sat writing poetry
that hadn't a perfect rhyme and beat! 
Weren't my skills marred by imperfections?    



Canaries and red-breasted robins
flew down and rested on my outstretched legs;
perusing my lines to spot their names,
and when they did, they flapped their wings in gladness!
I could have imagined their joyful words,.
if only they had acquired the gift of speech,
and deeper in their thoughts I would have reached:
to dispel the myth that they had no feelings...



After my short poem was completed,
I reached for my harmonica to play my favorite classic tune;
and being surprised by the paleness of the fading moon,
I dedicated that happy melody to her not to let her despair:
by waving my hand to make her farewell less sad, while I whispered,
" Silent moon, eternal companion of every poet,
what's beyond the realm of this universe?...
Tell us more of those invisible suns and planets! "
 


Before spring came to the dormant valley,
the mountains' peaks allowed the sun to melt their snows,
to create gushing torrents to feed its water to the dry and cracked soil,
which needed rain instead of harmful frost;
and I drank the freshest water and washed my sweaty face,
while fighting off the bees' stubborn rivalry!
That spring has come again to dress herself with incredible splendor,
and this discontent and wishful heart desires nothing more than being there!  


My theme is: Happiness In Childhood


Details | Rhyme | |

Thunder

The rumbling of thunder
From some bowlers in the sky
Makes me shudder, gape and wonder
Why we tell our kids that lie.

Does it reassure them, thinking
All that noise is just a game?
Or are they aware we’re winking,
Making such a silly claim?

As a child I did envision
Rip Van Winkle getting strikes;
And I pictured the collision – 
Pins and ball – each bowler likes.

But I knew that my perception
Didn’t make a lot of sense
And that grown-ups used deception
At their little ones’ expense.

Still, perhaps their best intention
Isn’t really so off-base
If it soothes some apprehension
And puts giggles in its place.

So when thunder starts resounding
I will think just like a tyke
And find comfort that the pounding
Is another bowler’s strike!


Details | Free verse | |

Lizard hunting

I. 
In the orange land, 
the sidewalks race wild with them, 
postured like statues of royal gardens 
the marble lions 
amongst hibiscus limbs. 

II. 
I like the smell of them, 
earth warmed dirt 
and fallen honeysuckle 
baked 
beneath the Florida sun. 

III. 
I poke with 
one tanned fingertip 
where the flesh 
cocoons around their 
soft belly, 
it is like 
the open sesame 
for lizards. 

IV. 
The open mouth of a lizard 
has no bias 
it dangles on ear lobes 
like Coco Chanel 
classic in style. 

V. 
When separated 
the tail becomes an asp 
wrestling with the truth 
of it's loss.


Details | Rhyme | |

Baby plants

                              Babies soft fingers and their tiny toes,
                                                are like lucious petals on a bright red rose.

                             Little wild mushrooms like babies bald heads,
                                                   constantly growing in most flower beds.

                             Their fingerprints, white stars in the sky,
                                                    and the rain, oh the rain, the tears babies cry.

                             The sound little rattles make when thrown on the floor,
                                             like the noise of the thunder when it's starting to pour.

                              Babies are like flowers,
                                    tulips or lilacs, a daisy a rose.

                              Babies soft fingers,
                                     and their tiny toes.


Details | Quatrain | |

A FULL MOON NIGHT

The moon, pausing near her zenith,
On that balmy night in May,
Painted a warm, nocturnal landscape, 
In varying shades gray.

A mockingbird insomniac,
With golden harp did play,
And serenade his lady love
With songs as bright as day.

A shy, retiring whip-poor-will
In some hidden, forest swale,
Intoned his lonely-heart refrain, 
In a melancholy wail. 

The gentle breeze, that washed my face,
Tasted honeysuckle sweet,
While silver dewdrops glistened,
On the grass beneath my feet.

Though my magic, childhood years have gone
On frightened wings of flight,
I treasure, in my reverie,
That enchanted full moon night.


Details | Haiku | |

Children

Drop of water
In the river -
Sound of joy


Details | Haiku | |

Orange you Glad to be---an Orange---

     Contract Delete


Details | Burlesque | |

Redneck FATHER'S DAY------

***NOTE~TO BE READ WITH A RIDICULOUS "SILKY SOUTHERN DRAWL" (have fun:)***



"Storm over yet...?"

"Well hay'ell ye'ah! 
 woo-hoo!
 sum'body git me a da'gumm cole beer.
 whadda'bou  that boy th'er?
 sum'body git him'a cole beer too!"

"Diddy! that boy ain't nothin' but 8 years old!"

"Wha'choo sayin? 
 wha'th'a?
 na'I don't give a jolly'durn, if he ain't nuttin but 8 year'owed!
 shoot! 
 'dat boy dun' sat him thr'ew a big ol', storm! 
 torna'durr warnin' too!
 he gonna have him'a cole burr;  
 on me!"
 my treat!
 mama, git him'a cole burr! 
 ro'tt now; 
 ya'here?
 besides...
 ta'days father's day!" 



© 2011  ~JSLambert Esquire

   










Details | Free verse | |

Just Be

Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass. 
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are. 

Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment. 
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
Just be.
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers, 
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.

Jacob Reinhardt
10/07/13


Details | Limerick | |

There's No Place Like Home

Once was a gal who felt so alone
Tornato came up rooted farms home
Landed on wicked  witch
Munchkins came out of ditch
Gave dog lollypops instead of bone  


Details | Free verse | |

My Boredom Disease

Like sick allergies, 
Boredom can be passed around
I call it: THE BOREDOM DISEASE

Like a horrid storm,
Boredom can catch you off guard
Hold on for DEAR LIFE!

Like the whooping cough,
Boredom can be serious
If I were you, I’d
Get a vaccination ! 


Details | List | |

Words

Christmas
Tree
Christ 
Spirit
Celebrate
Season
Angel
Manger
Manger
North Star
Sheperds


Details | Verse | |

Wildflowers

Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
 She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell     then came the ice, this went on for months.

The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
 I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.

They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves.  Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
 
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday. 
as they were called WEEDS ..
 The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.

However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .

The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
 Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
  She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB