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Quatrain Childhood Poems | Quatrain Poems About Childhood

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

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First Love

Returning home again after many years away
I find our secret path along the Fundy Bay
That happy place where long ago we played
Where all our dreams and promises were made

Once again I lie down where daises grow
In fields above the banks where salt winds blow
Golden memories rush through my hungry soul
Returning pieces of my heart lost long ago

I close my eyes recalling all the things we did
Just the way they were when we were kids
And I know without a doubt that you are here
As your love for me falls from my eyes in tears

We lie like angels looking up at clouds of cream
As we watch them take the shape of all our dreams
We laugh so hard at all the things we do and say
To us life is just a stage a place to laugh and play

We find the trail that takes us down to meet the ocean
Where we swim in waves of jubilant emotions
Then we walk along the shore together hand-in-hand
And we write our love forever in the sand


                                 ~~~

Author:  Elaine George
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Copyright © Elaine George | Year Posted 2010

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In Another Time

Way back then when I was ten,
those were happy days:
Staying out till it got dark;
kickball was the craze!

Taking walks or riding bikes,
how we loved to go
into town, buy some snacks
or see a picture show.

Late at night in the bedroom,
we’d be whispering.
Dad yelled, “Girls, get to sleep!” but
we kept giggling.

Shouts of joy when school was out!
We could all foresee
three months spread with sun and fun -
our short destiny!

Spraying one another with
hoses felt so cool.
Or we’d spend allowance on
Weed Park Swimming Pool.

Baseball, fairs, church camp, and
picnics where we’d meet
cousins, aunts and uncles -
Such times were a treat.

Family vacation meant 
in OUR car were ten!
Not too comfortable, yet I’d
do it all again!

In September, back to school
we all had to go.
Halloween, which I loved, was
‘round the corner though.

Then at last, Christmas parties!
Also I was fond
Of sledding over snow or
skating on the pond.

But my fondest memory
was with family
simply eating popcorn with
Sunday night TV.


For the contest of Ir0nic ZiNk

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2016

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The Whispered Song

The warrior lays her weary head, 
With heavy heart she cannot bear, 
Burning tears stream down her face, 
As whispered memories touch the ear.

Her armour tarnished by remorse, 
Her battle-cry a wimpered row, 
Her wounds, of which bleed solitude, 
Will never know forgiveness now.

The song began two score ago, 
When two came knocking at her door, 
In need of refuge from the world, 
Of that, and love, and little more.

Forced to fight for every smile, 
Her only solace found in song, 
She longed for love to rescue her, 
And plant her where she could belong.

Jealous tongues are seldom kind, 
Self-seeking hearts know nought of love, 
The caged canary only sings, 
When coaxed to praise from up above.

For the steely spine that now I own, 
Forever shall I grateful be, 
A gift from her, and from her own. 
Courage mounted inwardly.

I'll not forget how I have loved thee, 
And youthful memories I will prize, 
Til on the shore of His forgiveness, 
Whereto now, we both shall rise.


Copyright © Yvonne Evanoff | Year Posted 2011

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A Letter To Dear George

Dear Lord Byron
Please don't be upset
I wish to call you George
With affection and respect

The "Destruction of Sennacherib"
I was introduced to your poem
I learned it word for word
As I sat home all alone

You see George the meaning
Is much more than you know
In school I had no success
I was considered quite slow

Empowered by your words
Assyrians coming down
I spoke with true emotion
For once I wasn't a clown

When I spoke of your steed 
With his nostrils all wide
Within the deep of me
I experienced pride

Like the leaves in your forest
When summer is green
You provided inspiration 
I now travel where you've been

With a pen held in my hand
My destruction I escape
Within my troubled mind
New ideas take their shape

I'm gifted with freedom
Words of power do supply
Whether reading or writing
They provide me with my high

So George, I humbly thank you
You're truly the reason why
I travel within the words
They're the gift that help me fly

With anticipation
I know one day we'll meet
Beyond the gates of heaven
Please reserve for me a seat

The Father of all poets
Will speak in splendid tones
We'll marvel at his spirit
We will feel it in our bones

For poets are connected
In very intricate ways
Time is not of consequence 
Our words are a form of praise


As a child when I committed Lord Byrons poem to memory,
I had no idea it was a story from the Bible. Being he was a 
believer I wanted to honor both him and our God. Thanks
Monterey, I think this is a great topic for a poem. I also 
chose to write in the same form as he had for "The Destruction 
of Sennacherib". This was the first and only form I wrote in
prior to coming to the soup. I thank all the poets here who have
helped me grow, yourself included Monterey.





Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2014

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A Fairy Tale

A Fairy Tale
     By the Poets Listed After the Poem

Once upon a time, long-long ago there was a wishing star.
She, unlike a billion other bright shining stars, was magic.
Bored with her galaxy, she began to wander far away.
Streaking through the atmospheres was very hot, but not tragic.

Pausing to wonder with much time to ponder, she cast her spell.
“Tiny goblins on Halloween, by light one wish I will grant.”
Who should be the recipient of this very special wish?
Earth children roaming streets that night in one hand my gift, I'll plant.

Oh who should receive my amazingly special gift of light?
So many young ones, in who's humble heart this wish I could grant.
Out of all the precious children that have come within my sight.
The child who has the purest wish is the one I will enchant.

I'll sprinkle on my chosen one, crystal glitters, gold balloons.
A ride follows to fairyland, ending on the golden moons.
With a magical flight through a rainbow high where dreams come true,
And a house of candies in the land of Marshmallow-Lagoons...

Oh, that magical light shining through sweet cotton candy clouds,
Her wish she may...her wish she might...there's one ghoul she'll bless that night.
Of princesses, fairies and goblins, a good heart will be found.
Quickly child, make your pure wish, before the magic star takes flight.

CONTRIBUTING POETS: Charmaine Chircop, Carolyn Devonshire, James Marshall Goff, John 
Loving III, Robin Gass, Raul Moreno, Ruben D. Ortellao, Patricia Prescott, 
Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen

Copyright © Dane Ann Smith-Johnsen | Year Posted 2009

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Burger Boy

Burger boy hangs out
at the A&W
Spare change for burgers 
he sometimes has two

He chats up the girls
imagines he is cool
Making up tall tales 
but girls ain't easy to fool

He asks the cute waitress 
if she's from the Philippines
Tells her he was there yesterday 
eating noodles and beans!

She asks where he traveled 
he says he was everywhere
But the more he talks 
she knows he wasn't there

She doesn't make him feel bad
she just gives a sweet smile
It's enough to make him happy 
his grin widens a mile

Like so many others 
he hates being all alone 
So he sits dreams and fidgets 
while he charges his phone

The place is kinda quiet 
except cars driving through
If he had his own car 
it would be a dream come true

What others take for granted 
seems far beyond his reach
He's never had a holiday 
or walked a sandy beach

So he finds something 
that to others ain't much
A burger and a smile
He hopes fingers might touch

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux | Year Posted 2016

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My Sister Is An Alien!

My sister is strange
There's no doubt about it
She's an Alien,  that's why
Just get up and shout it!

Her mind control crying
Gets her anything she wants
I say "That's not fair!"
But she just looks at me and taunts

My sister is strange
There's no doubt about it
She's an Alien,  that's why
Just get up and shout it!

It's just a disguise
I'm on to her
Is she scaly
Or covered in fur

My sister is strange
There's no doubt about it
She's an Alien,  that's why
Just get up and shout it!

She's spying on us
They 're ready to invade
So don't just be frightened
Be very afraid!

My sister is strange
There's no doubt about it
She's an Alien,  that's why
Just get up and shout it!


She knows I'm on to her
She's calling for friends
So run for your life
And hide till it ends

Copyright © James Heseltine | Year Posted 2005

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‘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...

Copyright © Kristin Reynolds | Year Posted 2009

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Sea of Dreams

She drifted on black starlit glass
beneath the full moon bright
captivated by the beauty of
the tranquil, lovely light
floating on the gentle waves
the stars kissed her goodnight
and rocked into her deepest dreams
she floated out of sight

By Morgan Mise
Written January 6, 2013

Copyright © Morgan Mise | Year Posted 2013

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Memories

Our home sat nestled in a country glen.
A family of six shared this abode
of four small rooms. My life was simple when
we lived beside that narrow gravel road.

There were no indoor bathrooms in those days,
no phones, no high-tech toys with catchy names.
Our work required direct, efficient ways;
we earned the chance to play our outdoor games.

While we were picking cotton, chopping  wood,
and washing clothes, we built an appetite  
for supper. Oh, it always tasted good!
When we were tired, our beds felt good at night.

We loved our tv time. Like most, we had
three channels. We all gathered round to see
Ed Sullivan and "Lassie." We were  glad
to watch a Perry Mason mystery.
	
When I feel reminiscent I am drawn 
to that small homeplace nestled in the glen.
I close my eyes and see a house long gone,
so cherished way back then when I was then.


entered in Nayda Ivette Negron's Nostalgia contest on November 24, 2016








Copyright © Janice Canerdy | Year Posted 2016

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Bee's Knees

If bees have knees
They must be quite tiny
What about elbows
Or a cute tiny heinie?

And what about thighs
That end at the knees?
Do they ever wear shorts?
Are they hassled by fleas?

Now how about hair
Is it long and flowing?
Do they wear tiny parkas
When winter wind's blowing?

When one tells a joke
Do the other ones giggle?
Can they write with a pen
Does it look like a squiggle?

Do you know what scares 'em?
Do they have any fears?
When a bee friend dies
Do they cry honey tears?

© Jack Ellison 2012

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2012

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The Stars Spoke Right To Me

She looks up at big brother
She looks up at the sky
"You can't even reach the stars
So how in the world will I?"

He kneels down by his sister
And drops his voice down low
"Do you want to hear a secret?
But only you and I can know"

Her eyes and teeth show big and white
And she holds out her little pinky
"Tell me! Tell me! I wanna hear!
And I promise you can trust me!"

He chuckles and puts on a grin
And sets her on his knee
"Okay so first you have to know
That the stars spoke right to me

Before you were even born
Shooting stars fell down towards me
They told me something really special-
That anyone can touch them if they reach

They said it may be hard
But can happen if you try
They said you don't need to be tall
In order to touch the sky

They taught me how and said I'd show you
One day-- I guess that's today
So close your eyes and dream real big
Soon you'll be in outer space."


April 2010

Copyright © Destiny Budd | Year Posted 2010

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Father

When I look into your eyes
I see right through
To the back of your mind
What’s bothering you

Everyday you carry guilt
Never bother to pick up the phone
Just to straighten it out
But it seems you want to be alone

You say you want to make up
The lost birthdays and years
For destroying our family
For the dreaded tears

Over a year no letter in the mail
Over year there’s no call
Over a year no sign of life
Over the years you never cared at all

You only want to get it out
Just so you don’t feel bad
Only for your benefit
So your life is no longer sad

Y say you want to be close again
By buying me anything I desire
But love you can’t buy
So all you are is a liar

I know you have regrets
But you’ll eventually pay
You might be happy again
When you grow up one day

You let the pain stand in your way
You tried to block us out
But you only put distance between us
Now your own kids you know nothing about

You never know what to say 
Being selfish and covering up the pain
Never saw what it did to us
Tired of losing now you want to gain

Over the years I forgot how you hurt me
I forgot to call you dad
I forgot you all in all
I forgot everything  bad

Copyright © A Rambling Righting Riley - Shauna Riley | Year Posted 2011

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Silhouettes on the Stage 1953




Lying still on the class room floor,
brown paper for a bottom sheet.
All the children were gathered round
and my outline was complete.

A cookie cutter girl was I
in bright black paten leather shoes;
with a gathered skirt, puffy blouse
of blue polka dotty hues.

Drawn silhouette, a paper doll,
not ashen as deaths cold harrow,
and I regret, my parents get
left Hiroshima's shadows.

Eight years gone the Rising Sun
was challenged in an earthy sky;
for bombs Little Boy and Fat Man fell
and two-hundred thousand people died

The Man of Steel, old Stalin
passed away in Russia this year;
the hot cold war was in full bloom
and our children hid in fear.

Beneath our desk tops we scrambled
as the shrill sirens shrieked away
the Committee of Five ruled Russia
and Khrushchev was on his way.

Dwight Ike was in the White House
as a veteran, he'd fought hard
the GI bill was now in affect
and bomb shelters filled our yards.

And little girls with ringlet curls
still made dollies on paper sheets;
while the doll shadows left by WWII
bombs blackened in Japan's streets.

*On August 6, 1945, the United States used a massive, atomic weapon against Hiroshima, Japan. This atomic bomb, the equivalent of 20,000 tons of TNT, flattened the city, killing tens of thousands of civilians. While Japan was still trying to comprehend this devastation three days later, the United States struck again, this time, on Nagasaki. Nagasaki was bombed on August 9, 1945 only three days after the bombing of Hiroshima. And we worry that other countries may develope atomic bombs???

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2009

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Father

In the darkening room I stood:
tears welling in my eyes:
by the windowed-wall, looking out,
my small chest full of sighs.

Headlights bright white and tail lights red,
paired, meandered down the street,
yet the white headlights that I sought
seemed only to retreat.

Cold, calm, singular, tear drops fell,
soon reaching down turned lips;
as in the house across the street,
the living room was lit.

A Father held his baby high. 
He hugged that toddler tight.
I wiped the corner of my eye,
and gazed into the night.

Above the darkened woodland near,
beneath a cobalt sky;
the highway brought their Fathers home.
alone again stood I.

Horns blared out in drives near by
sweet laughter filled the air,
and, in the drive across the street,
their Fathers did appear.

The children ran out slamming doors,
on small unshodden feet,
with tiny squeals, and upturned cheeks,
their Father they did greet.

Where was the father who I sought
our lives incomplete
a traveling man, my Father
did nothing but retreat.


*A memory from when I was 8.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2008

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A Nook and a Storybook

		
		Hello! My name is Bastian. Join me, please.
		I'm a beleaguered youngster in a book,
		The NeverEnding Story. Read with me
		here in my cozy little attic nook.

		I love it here. It's quiet; I can think
		about my mom, who died. I miss her so.
		Here I escape the bullies at the school
		and my demanding dad, who doesn't know

		how lost I feel sometimes and pushes me
		to study more and daydream less. I've found
		this tale set in Fantasia makes me feel
		I'm flying trouble-free, no longer bound

		by earth's restraints. I've suddenly become
		a character! I help a warrior-boy
		the Empress sent to free Fantasia of
		a plague, The Nothing, murderer of joy.

		Imagination dies, and apathy
		replaces it; but there exists no more
		The Nothing. We two boys with magic bold
		destroyed it. Now it's time for me to soar

		back home to face my life. I ride upon
		the Luck Dragon, Falkor, who's going to be
		my savior from those bullies. I must close
		the book. I'll be back soon. There's more to see!


Contest judging completed May 2, 2016

entered in Broken Wing's Second Chance 4 contest on June 1, 2016

rhyming pattern in each stanza: ABCB


The Neverending Story--fantasy book and movie popular during the 1980's

Copyright © Janice Canerdy | Year Posted 2016

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He was Just a Little Boy

I was born unto this world
A little boy called James
I was just like all the rest
Who in the playground played normal games

I knew my life was in trouble
By the time I reached the age of five
My mother had so many friends
I wondered why I was alive

The kids all used to laugh at me
In my short trousers and bloodied knees
If only they had known
What was going on, in the inside of me

Would they ever know
Why a mother would put you down
And pretend that your not there
As another arrives from out of town

Have they ever wondered
To go to school with clothes unwashed
Sleep on a concrete floor
While your Mother's comfortably sloshed

Do they ever stop and wonder
What happens around them day by day
They can't, because they are young like me
When all they want to do is play

My teens are around the corner
To secondary school I go
I survive and I get wiser
As I intend my life to flow

As we travel down life's highways
When we are born they are seldom written
You know the roads you want to take
For inside you, your internally smitten 



Copyright © James Fraser | Year Posted 2010

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One Fifty-Two Sixteen Two

Hey little kiddies, have you heard this story
Bout the Teddy Bear who could count up to fifty
Only problem was, the numbers weren't in order
But his Bear friends all thought he was nifty

He'd start out, “one... fifty-two... sixteen... two”
Mama Bear said he was doing just fine
Didn't want to hurt her little guy's feelings
She knew he'd figure it out in good time

“He'll learn them before he grows up,” she thought
When it's important to get numbers straight
Like when he's buying honey for his sweetie
And the store sign says five ninety-eight

At first he would count out nine eighty-five
Now that was too much for the honey
Then he remembered what Mama Bear taught him
And gave the man the right amount of money

You can find him going around counting all day
He goes, “one... fifty-two... sixteen... two”
And laughs when Mama Bear gets all flustered
Then says, “one... two... three... fooled you!”

Copyright © Jack Ellison | Year Posted 2012

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Old Fashioned Christmas

The snow fell gently on a quiet street
Neighbors walked in without knocking
There was a feeling of joy in the air
As each child hung up their stocking

There was a coal fire in the heatrola
Which took a little while to start
O Come All Ye Faithful on the radio
And a warmth radiating from each heart

The kids all went to bed early
Couldn't sleep until early morn
Waiting for presents from Santa
And to celebrate the day Christ was born.

Copyright © Vince Suzadail Jr. | Year Posted 2006

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Candles

Eyes that gleam
My Birthday Boy
Blows out three
So full of joy

My cake aflame
My little boy
Helps grandma blow
Both full of joy

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2010

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How to Build a Spaceship..

How to build a spaceship


A large cardboard box,
Massive amount of tape.
10 toilet paper rolls…
It’s beginning to take shape.

A creative little mind,
Crayons of every hue.
Help with little scissors,
Grandma, pass the glue.

Imagination going wild..
That’s what yields the fuel.
Our spaceship ready to depart,
Fun the only steadfast rule.

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2009

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To some a treasure

You think how much you hate your house
you despise the ancient floors
You abhor the broken cupboards
Will you always be this poor?
You gaze up at your bedroom roof
You see that it is leaking
You dream of owning fancy things
That selfish ones are seeking
You glance around the dingy room
and think it dark and dreary
How sad, how lonesome, that it seems
As if growing old and weary
Your bed, it lies a little crooked
and your carpets growing old
Summertime is way too hot
And winter gets too cold
Its raining now, its really pouring
Its leaking through your window
The sill is filling up with water
And it soon will overflow
You lie in your crooked bed
As you write this pain all down
The walls are just so melancholy
A sad and dingy brown
Your selfish thoughts lead to another
As he wanders lonely streets
Rain is pouring down on him
It's coming down in sheets
He's coughing and he's crying
And he is dreaming of a place
Where he can rest his weary soul
From troubles he must face
It's not riches that he's praying for
I do not have a doubt
This man is wishing desperately
To have what you complain about




Growing up in California on the Tuolume river was some sad business. There are homeless 
people all over the place. It breaks your heart. I always wonder what their story is and what 
caused them to be there. The little things in life matter and sometimes we forget that. Some 
mens' trash is another mans' treasure.

Copyright © Christie Moses | Year Posted 2008

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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.

Copyright © William Robinson | Year Posted 2005

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Staying Gold

Leave no stone unturned
Leave no lesson unlearned
Have your first kiss
Remember those you miss

Run in circles till you fall to your knees
Climb and fall from many trees
Eat cookies when Mom's not looking
Try your hand in a little cooking

Stare at clouds above
Hold hands, fall in love
Read your sister's notebook
Dare to go in your brother's room, just a look

Jump into a pool with your clothes on
Sit for hours under the warm sun
Splash in a puddle on the sidewalk
Draw millions of pictures with colorful chalk

Don't eat your greens
Cut off your favorite jeans
Get in trouble or maybe a fight
Try hard to stay up all night

Forget about the rules
Blow off homework or school
Play truth or dare
Do things without a care

Don't always do what you're told
Just try to... stay gold








This poem was inspired by the poem by Robert Frost, "Nothing Gold Can Stay..."  I absolutely love that poem, 
and maybe this just is a way to help you out.

Copyright © Jen H. | Year Posted 2009

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Fire-Flies

Fire-flies sparkle in the late June night
The show they put on is quite a sight
Both old and young do delight
As darkness fills with their display so bright

They bring to life many childhood dreams
The world around you becomes magical it seems
The evening air becomes trickling streams
Of flashing lights with no set routines

It's a favorite game children play
I guess it's always been that way
Get a jar, dash about and sashay 
But, not long in one place will a fire-fly stay

When they do capture a treasured one inside
It's shown to everyone with such pride
But after a few moments often decide
The magic to the jar they should not confide

So, off comes the lid so it will go
To join the others in the wonderful show
And as they grow older, I hope they know
To pass on this game, learned long ago

©Donna Jones

Copyright © Donna Jones | Year Posted 2013

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How Dreams are Born at Fifteen

Fifteen days of living I blew bubbles
Bubbles pearlescent in the sun
In hope and love I blew you bubbles
Ephemeral, floating, glorious sun loved bubbles.

In my act of creation, exhale air
Life held close in the bubbles 
Uh-whoo, uh-whoo, here’s life to live
I blew you bubbles for you to catch.

Leap and snatch we played bubbles
Bubbles so airy we can hold and spray
A bubbly world of shimmery beings
Floating in the wind of our wake.

And at the end of the pliant and fun filled day
We dreamed of bubbles, leaping for bubbles
Watery, airy bubbles floating, flaring and caught
and held within our hand a bubble, a bubble  smashed.

And oh how silly we seemed to break our play
Open up our hand, find within a pearl
A soft shimmery white pearl of life
And let it fly away, in the breeze, like our dream, free.

Copyright © Sheri Fresonke Harper | Year Posted 2013

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Lifting Me Up

My heart is on Your shoulders,
And You are lifting me up.
With every spoken tender gesture,
I fall a little farther in love.

Copyright © Kevin C. Martin | Year Posted 2013

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Lets Play Ball



The sun is warm, the new mown grass is green
Nowhere else he’d rather be this summer day
In tune with his team and feeling fine
Batter up says the ump, its time, let’s play!

It’s a joy to be young and in love with the sport
Dreaming of someday playing ball as a pro
But for now it’s enough to have a summer day
To be a kid with a glove, bat and a ball to throw. 


12/8/15
Image # 4

Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2015

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I Love Mommy Because

Mommy loves me more than laundry
More than dirty dishes too
She’d rather spend her time with me 
Than doing things others do

She would rather play with me 
Than take a nap or sew
I love Mommy ‘cause she loves me
More than any TV show

She’s always there to pick me up 
And love away my tears.
She prays to Jesus every night 
To keep me from my fears

She gobbles like a turkey
And loves to dance around
I always smile; always laugh
She’s better than a clown

She’d rather eat her food all cold
So she can feed me “HUM”, and
Then wipe my face and clean the 
Walls and floor of food I’ve flung
 
Mommy makes the greatest faces 
When I do something she likes
But, saves the best for when she finds
She’ll need the baby wipes

She mostly talks like grownups do
But tries to talk like me
She hasn't mastered yet just how 
To speak in baby-ese.

If there’s just one thing I could say 
To Mommy when I’m grown…
“Thank you for who you are 
And the love you’ve always shown.”

Copyright © Christopher Thor Britt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain | |

My Fondest Childhood Home

A father with one daughter and two sons;
a mother with four daughters of her own -
They came together years ago and bought
what would become my fondest childhood home.

A sharply inclined driveway much too narrow
for all of us to pile out of our car
without becoming crammed beside the house
led to a small garage set back quite far.

The house, blue-grey, two-story, had a porch
we children rarely used, but still Mom swept
it all the time, for she was such a clean freak,
and though our house was old, it was well-kept!

Set on a downward slope, there was a woods
behind the back yard, steep and filled with trees.
In winter, we’d do sledding and could skate
upon its little pond when it would freeze.

In summer, we played war where brush and weeds
grew wild, or we’d play kickball down the street.
Badminton we would play in our back yard
or hose each other in the summer heat.

All over our small city we’d ride bikes,
play at the park or buy treats at the store.
Then late at night, with Mom and Dad asleep,
we’d eat our snacks behind our bedroom door.

We loved to stay up late to joke and talk
upstairs where we shared bedrooms not too big,
Dad yelling up the stairs at us to stop.
We’d giggle, for we didn’t give a fig!

Downstairs and at the front of that old house,
our parents slept next to the living room,
which led behind a side door to the cellar
with parts of it as creepy as a tomb!

A ping pong table Dad set up down there,
a game that gave us hours and hours of fun.
A make-shift shower too, Dad put down there.
It was the thing that most of us would shun!

Each night would find us in the living room,
where we would gather as a family.
But when our dad put on his boring shows,
we’d cram inside our brothers’ room for TV!

The dining room next to the living room
had mirrors and a table where we went
to play monopoly or have nice dinners,
but for suppers, to the kitchen we were sent.

Our kitchen was the back room of the house.
So small it was. The bathroom was right next
to it, and ten of us were forced to share it!
That house design still leaves us so perplexed!

The best thing for me happened in that kitchen
when late at night, my mom or Dale and I
would simply talk. My stepbrother, so sweet,
would be the first of all of us to die.

We’d scattered, leaving home for school, and he
was taken from us all those years ago.
Our step dad passed away two decades later.
Mom sold the house; new owners let it go.

That poor house of my childhood and my teens
is now in disrepair; so says my mother.
But in the cemetery down the street
there rests in peace nearby it - my dear brother.

Written 9/17/2015

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015