Verse Childhood Poems

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.


The poem(s) are below...



Details | Free verse |
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 |

you were an infant
i would sing a song i created for you

'there's a baby in my arms
there's a baby in the mirror
but honey 
there's not really two
the child in the mirror
is only 
an image 
of you'

in that same vein i write this

_

you can't hide inside a mirror
it wouldn't be good for your image
if you see what i mean
take a minute to reflect on that thought
frame it as you will
raise a glass to good cheers
this isn't the time to crack
or 
feel shattered 
no 
it is the exact reverse

like skipping a rock across the smooth surface of a lake
seven skips of good luck
because you are the fairest of them all

looking back at yourself 
keeping it compact
as you duplicate your own words 
impossible to read from the other side
this echo of your vision

the epitome of a prototype replicates

ditto 

who is the quintessential hero and who is the fake

go through that rabbit hole -straight to wonderland

bedazzle -radiate -glimmer -scintillate 
deflect
the glare will define you

you have not now or have ever been a duplicate
you are and will always be the one and only
-


Oct 2 2017 - love above all else love - armand

—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—

BONUS POEM

But Tell Me Where Do The Children Play 

you can't lie your way to the truth
what we teach our children 
should apply to us too
you took a wrong turn
check your moral compass
the needle is spinning faster
than a bottle in search of a kiss 
what would our mother think
if she knew what you were up to
you're changing everything she fought for
in her life children mattered
like the singing preacher asked
such a long time ago
'...where do the children play...'

you can argue climate change
but you can't deny the quality of the air your breathing
when did we start bottling water just to take a drink
the taps are bleeding led 
too late to fix the guts of generations who drank it with trust
how do you look at a storm in the eye
didn't you already prove your blind
or do you keep yours closed so no one can look in
look deep inside your heart 

'...tell me, where do the children play?…'

Oct 2 2017- armand

—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—

 BONUS POEM THE SEQUEL

Me? I Saw More.

the clown danced like a marionette 
his painted face featured a grimace
and

and a tear

me?
i saw more

i smiled
no fear here

a performer 
an amazing mime artist
a procurer of pathos

he was pulling a little red wagon
with a large orange hard ball
walking on the spot
performing 'funny'

me?
i saw more

we often have to carry more 
than we think we can handle
our shoulders grow
atlas carried the earth on his shoulder
when we think we can do no more
we do even more than we need to

i saw more
the power of one
we don't need help
we need initiative 
no brother or sister's need
is less important than our own
'give and you shall receive'

we are all more
it takes a strong child 
to raise the values of a village
i can't win unless we all win
we have tried the blame game
five thousand years later

nothing

we are being led by weak men
want bigger and bigger guns
at a time when we have enough weapons
destroy the earth hundreds of times over

money is 
has always been
evil

me?
i see more
i see you
and you 
and you

ghandi was right then
ghandi is right now

do you see

Oct 2 2017- armand

—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—

 BONUS POEM THE SEQUEL TOO

Firefly


i am going to touch you
like a firefly touches 
the dead of night
lights the obscurity 

i want to illuminate 
the pitch dark of your perspective 
inject a bright glow of hope
cleanse your thoughts of the negative

did you argue today 
felt regret
did the daily news invade your cheer
turned your 'in the pink' to something 'blue'

i am going to reignite  your sense of calm
wave a wand -make your heart smile 
warm your complexion to a glow
spread your goodwill worldwide

life i assure you isn't a rotting corpse
you have the strength 
rise above the doom and gloom
you are presently living

the alternative is an untimely exit
unnecessary 
i believe in laughter
and i believe in unconditional love

more
i believe when your back is against the wall
persistence will create a door
a passageway out of the muck and mire

no matter how thick the fog
it only takes a breeze
to clear a path
one you can ride to your destination of choice

Oct 2 2017- armand

—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—?—

BONUS POEM THE REBOOT

Colour Me Ill 

i tried to fly today
nothing deep here
this isn't that type of poem
didn't go that well
i fell flat on my fa fa fa face
(pardon my stutter
a temporary side effect of the fa fa fa fall)

i wasn't writing any poetry
at the hospital either
all joking aside 
there was a lot of blood
did you know that doctors 
have no sense of humour

i was slurring anyways
you gotta love that morphine
they were cleaning up the blood
i said thanks dr. acula 

not even a snicker
and i'm not speaking of a chocolate bar
wasn't even my joke
stole it from Mitch Hedburg

coincidentally the doctor left me in stitches

the nurse said she was taking me for an X-ray 
i didn't really hear her but she was a knockout
something ..x 
sounded go go good to me
i was running in front of the wheelchair she was pushing
i was excited

we got somewhere 
she left
you gotta love that morphine
i must of impressed them
they thought i was a model
they took pictures of me
Bi Bi Big pictures
you should of seen the size of the negatives 
i ordered ten sets 

they pushed me outside and left
pa pa par for this course

suddenly my nurse date was back
they always come back

aanndd 
she's gone 


Oct. 2 2017- armand


Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
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 |
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 |
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-

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 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 |
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 |
A path strewn thick with ruddy-faced leaves
led to nowhere and everywhere in fantasies, 
our near-death rescue from boredom 
        come afternoon chores and homework pages 
                                                                 wrinkled in time.

I try to recall all I tried to forget. 

Back home, under the willow trees, I weep
for childhood, friendship, 
                         for innocence surrendered,
all I thought I could keep, fuzzy lines
           between love and loss,
 practical days that come with age.
I close my eyes to see through tears -
          you,  a dance in rain showers, oval-spheres
of costume jewelry, tea parties and dragons slain 
rays of sunlight climbed, 
imagination uncaged,
             carefree hours,
                 diamonds in darkness,
restless dreams fell like leaves
                       on the wrong side of the tracks.

Two kids set free in skies shaded gray -
we said forever, a pinky swear I remember,
naïve in make-believe worlds. How many years
passed by, miles kept between you and I?
A phone call once-in-a-while reminded 
of our   bitter, listless eyes, 
        our disappointment in distant words.
I hope you always knew the truth,
                    I loved you, dear friend.
It was myself, I hated.

Time cradled our laughter,
held it on the breeze, 
                         childhood secrets
shared with ease on our path, 
thick with               summer's dead leaves.  

We, too young to notice, 
                          fell into brittle leaves 
                                          trodden bare 
before first snow.

Our laughter now echoes in dreams, 
chaffing our willow trees 
                                       still sulking low, 
moss brushes away tears in timeless beauty, 
         and waits for you to come home.



An old poem, revised 3/15/17
249 words total

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
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 |
The Outlands

Tell them I died an awful death
and they'll say I received my due
Tell them I awoke in the mornings to poetry
bereft of a lover's disappointment
bereft of over commercialized blues.
Tell them I received my due.

Tell them that my bloody knees climbed
all the way to the stars
that abandonment made me stronger somehow
I reached, I clawed, I grasped
so many bent and lifeless straws.

Tell them I found a thousand answers
to the questions that riddle mankind
their complacency will answer you
that character was built on a feeble mind.

And when I ran the greatest distance
and erected the highest stone walls
to protect the battered child striving to grow
they'll tell you I wasted my time
there is no more to know.

and there in the shadows of their joy
I swam the river of my own tears
they'll tell you I had it coming to me

Outlandish! 

After all those years.

Copyright © Catie Lindsey | Year Posted 2017

Details | Dramatic Verse |
One Halloween night when I was five
Rain pelted city streets, we stayed inside

Dad lit the Jack-o-lantern candle
Told us the tale of a famous vandal

One “Headless Horseman” in Sleepy Hollow
‘Twas Ichabod Crane he chose to follow

Crane ran breathlessly, was terrorized
(At this point my father’s eyes looked wild)

Thundering behind him through the forest
The hooves of a horse and a rider headless

Carrying a sword to strike Ichabod
(Dad grabbed a spatula, swung it like a rod)

Not just we children but our mother too
Gasped at the thought of Ichabod pursued

High winds cut off our electrical power
As in our kitchen three children cowered

Orange light from the pumpkin’s evil eyes
Showed Dad seemed to have dematerialized

The youngest, I felt something run through my hair
I screamed aloud in horror and despair

The lit pumpkin fell from table to floor
Darkness as I ran through the kitchen door

Leaping into bed, pulling up the sheets
Dad snuck into my room, whispered, “Trick or treat”

So if you think I am a drama queen
Please realize that it’s all in my genes



Happy Halloween!

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
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 | Verse |
     Soul progress
     back field in motion
The guff
     Chose, chose, live grow leave!  GO!

Leapt from heaven's gold
Jump started into a human mold

    White clapboard poverty with tiger lily blooms,
blueberry rake poverty woolen looms.

Riffs of Emerson, Whitman, Longfellow dawns,
mothers’ hazel eyes, father Davidesque form,
chosen to drive twixt a Jew and a screw.
          Magnet of lunacy...
Tumbled like an agate into the stream of life
part of the dream lesson
scream      lesson

Abuser of power, one who had once roared,
 Eve shaped now, weak and mewling
                 between the weeds of woe.
Care taken by lovers torn.
          Watched over by pedophile uncles.
Befriended by lewd Father of sons.
Adult child, searching amongst the Word
for the Word is God           and GOD …
       There are so many   words
    
Root ripped scenes from beauty to horror
Shiksa* taunts seep in with the smell of borsch. 
 A pumpkinseed amongst the pricks of Brooklyn
A wild rose planted in the asphalt soil 
     Doo-wop      ditty
Jew’s bop to a Dago harmony,
bagels, bialys and the French twisted strands 
of great grandma’s hair.
          Clipped, stripped of family shoved whole 
into yet another new mold.
      True believers,  ah yes,      fanatics all.
The struggle to survive whole healthy
dipped in, dripped in, a bath of acid and  thorazine. 
Polish priests pedal platitudes to the sisters of St. Joseph 
behind the gilded glory of the Church.

Raped by trust and betrayed by lovers,
a rose married to a prickles thorn,
so empathy is gained, and a healer born.
              Metal must be formed in a crucible of fire 
A healer can not be born without tasting the pyre.


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
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 | Verse |
Suspended like a lemon drop
 on the tongue of night
the moon melts—

there was a child who eyed the sky
through his black lashes crows did fly

Haze, ever present,
on this humid September eve,
blurs the edges of reality
calling forth images 
	sweet beginnings
the howls of wolf—
the warmth of blood.

a teddy bear he held to him
Ma said the wolf cried—let me in

Fireflies fly near the 
sparkler’s
	spinning 
lamplight
bathes his white blanket in blue.

under the cover he runs boohoo
after all he was only two!



*2 rhythms- free verse & rhyming couplets

 

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
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 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 |
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 |
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 |
The rains had come and washed away the old world,
the thunder had banged its drum
with a weary warning ---
' I do not come oft, but I return and weep
and growl a lion's roar ' ---
I will for a brief moment be as a child
and fear again...
the cracks and booms rouse my guilt,
Telemachus would say the gods were going mad...

There is something 'neath the earnest 
thunder-drums which bangs
something-wicked-this-way-comes ---
and fades,
gently rolling away like a sonic carpet

Its change I welcome,
and fear,
and wonder if I was afraid at all,
wonder what deathly grip may one day come ---
suddenly,
or love may guide me through its tumult,
and dark valleys,
with flowers blooming 'neath my faithful feet;
and though I was once afraid
like a boyhood fear ---
startled from my very boots,
I shall miss my old friend thunder,
who reminds I'm quite alive,
and survived I have,
his treacherous thunderclaps,
and his sneaky ways,
my great trickster
(Thunder!)

Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
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 |
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 | Verse |
I’m leaning out my window gazing at a silhouette against the full yellow moon. “Come to Never-never Land,” calls a voice from my childhood. I reach out to touch the dream - but am left holding shadows. Written by Andrea Dietrich on Nov, 9, 2014/ Theme: Silhouette of Night for the SILHOUETTE OF A HEPTAGONET Contest of nette onclaud

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2014

Details | Verse |
I have some photographs in black and white which show my life when I was just a child. That bygone era long ago took flight, but pictures of it in my mind are filed. How fitting that my photographs depict the drabness of our time in Washington. No dazzle in the state my father picked for us to live in; clouds would hide the sun! My dad was cursed with illness of the mind. For me, bright hues mean family fun and play. How little happiness were we to find where black and white got blended into gray. My later youth for color did not lack, but melancholy years were white and black. For Any Poem That Received Honorable Mention Contest by Broken Wings Written by Andrea Dietrich, 3/23/15

Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
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 | Verse |
Down south of a dirty delta town
after double-winged dusters sweep low
White hats, bent backs and bloody hands
sway to the rhythm of summer snow fields
Backed by a choir of ten thousand crickets
reaching up to touch heaven with a song

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |

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 |
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 |
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