Best Childhood Poems
The old man sat with eyes closed, dozing in his chair
Until a little voice he heard say “Grandpa, are you there”.
He gazed upon a little boy while waking from his nap
Then reached down with a sweeping move and placed him in his lap
The child was carrying a book that he wanted him to see
He held it up and asked him “Grandpa, will you read to me”?
The old man cleaned his glasses then opened up the book
And suddenly the two of them a wonderous journey took
They ventured lands so far away, sailed seas not sailed before
Met knights and kings and wizards on every distant shore.
Together they fought dragons, saved damsels in distress
Freeing lands of monsters and the treasures they possess
When the old man closed the cover to end their magic ride
He told the boy “We're much like books, what's important is inside”.
But one day when the boy arrived and rushed to Grandpas chair
Much to his disappointment, his Grandpa was not there
He ran to find his mother for surely she would know
Why the chair was empty, where did his Grandpa go
She sat him down and asked him if he remembered in each book
The adventures and the journeys that he and Grandpa took
He took you there to show you the things that you can find
The wonders that are yours to see if you open up your mind.
But he still walks beside you in the stories you have read
You're not left to go alone, he’s just gone on ahead
The child then went and chose a book and climbed up in the chair
And opening up the cover whispered “Grandpa, are you there”?
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.
It's raining again, grey neon skies,
washing away suppressed surfaces,
to reveal unhealed wounds,
to scars the eyes cannot see
sometimes they bleed.
Some say words heal,
but I resist to express them,
because I'm afraid of my vulnerabilities,
anxious about tears I've never cried.
You only see the smile,
no one remembers that naive boy,
waiting at the window
for the shepherd who forgot his flock,
and he was no black sheep
if only I could reach him now
so he would not grow up like he did not belong,
stop searching for something,
he did not know how to find.
Stop composing that melancholic symphony,
recycling emotions, he did not understand,
I would tune his piano keys,
repair his violin's broken strings,
but
there are too many silent secrets,
blood stained walls will never reveal.
You left me behind,
with an empty toy box,
taking with you childhood hopes,
so ensued a vacuum of darkness -
sucking me deeper into confusion.
I remember watching you walk away,
along a path of overgrown weeds.
If it was not for the gift of mum's marbles,
I would not have laid an alternative path,
creating my protective bubble,
so I could float away, from all the troubles
until I lost them too.
Tell me father,
how was I to become a man?
You pushed me upon my knees,
like a cherry blossom in the wind.
A victim of your sins,
struggling to rise in adolescence,
I kept faith in the path of marble,
grateful for the guidance of my bubble.
After years of silence
upon your final sighs,
watching you die without words,
tears exploded for a stranger,
forgiving broken promises,
forgetting your crimes -
cursing stubbornness and bitterness,
thinking maybe it was me,
not just you
questions that will never be answered.
Today I stand before your bed of marble,
no need for a bubble, I feel no emotions.
After all I am a product of my childhood,
and you were a result of your own.
Silent One
18 August 2019
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 leads 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 saneness
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!
For Nina Parmenter’s Tongue Twister Contest.
I hope you have as much fun reading as I had writing it.
_______________________
So young, I was, and so naive
There was no doubt, I did believe
this babe who's latched inside my womb
with ties we had,... would always be
Latched on was he, as he was fed
then later days, our hands instead
Not tall enough to open gates
I would reach the latch for his escape
In time he grew to need more space
The cord we had, still had it's place
The loving ties from birth, so long
were gently stretching.., moving on,
yet still remaining full and strong
In time he grew, to be a man
Our bond had changed, but still lives on
He fell in love, as it should be
His bond with her, I'm glad to see
doesn't mean our own is gone
Songs are sung when lovers part
but no song for a mother's heart
When new adventures come one day
and new roads take him far away
The man he is, has been set free
to be the man he wants to be
The child he was is never gone
She's letting go, yet holding on
If once, one wish, were mine to choose
so many would my thoughts pursue
But one within my heart still yearns
for just one day, the clocks would turn
Together you and I would be
sitting there among the trees
I would lift you up upon my knee
just as we did when you were three…
___________________________________________________________________
For Francine's Contest: Children In Rhyme
Where the sound of the wind whistled through the cracks in the walls and the door-sills where pots collected rain beneath a leaky roof where some drops ping-ponged on the empty soup cans resting on the kitchen counter as Autumn turned to Winter seen through white ferns painted by Jack Frost during the night on the window panes where beneath, snow fell through the cracks in the walls and lay glistening on the coat the little girl slept beneath on a cot in a house that even the coal collected from the train-tracks burning in the stove couldn't warm but could leave a trail of black soot on the wall behind the stovepipe in the place the little girl lived and called home for awhile, until the next move, and the next move, and next move, to places much the same, that she also called home, where a broken turquoise robin's egg (in a glass jar), tagged along, forever bringing beauty and joy to the little girls life.
grass and mud a nest
from such humble beginnings
yet the robin flies
____________________________________________________________
(note: picture is essential to the poem)
POTD 11-25-17
Teacher said my decisions needed consequences.
I have to write a million gazillion sorry sentences.
Billy was stupid to tease me, call my family poor.
I had to kick Billy so he wouldn’t say it more.
Just like Dad does, I laughed when he hit the floor.
Dad would say I was strong, teach says I was wrong.
I don’t understand any grown up stuff.
They don’t act the same way enough,
or Dad is right; I’m so stupid, I can’t keep up.
I’m trying so hard to stop my eyes.
Things always get more worse when I cry.
Even when I’m quiet and being haved
my tummy hurts cause it feels afraid.
Everyone’s at recess, but cause I made an upset,
Teach said there’d be no play time for me yet.
I don’t know what she means by classroom policy,
but it seems like a plan you grow up and forget.
There’s no sorry policy in my family.
Dad never 'pologizes when he kicks me.
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
One day we will be, forever silent.
Where would we be without poetry?
As a child, I buried my heart,
drained from games death would play -
in adulthood, it still refuses to resurface.
Grim Reaper hides in the corner of my eyes.
Is there such a thing as an overdose of sadness?
Because sometimes pain has no metaphor,
so we bleed the seeds of dormant blossoms.
I stare at a forgotten photograph,
at a boy I once knew from my past,
scruffy curly hair with tense, timid, tired eyes.
His life is a fuzzy blur, but I feel his misery.
Some memories are merely reflections,
some reminders, returning within season.
Unwanted souvenirs of how unfair life can be.
When skies are clouded like ashen smoke,
all I hear is untuned violin strings, screeching -
violent, like tangible bursts of thunder.
An orchestra of lightening forcing an
explosions of unerupted emotions.
Like pain placed in a paper bag,
scattered like a dead man's ashes.
I've come to terms with people
not seeing beyond the smile.
Still I search for love in freezing rain,
to prevent from numbing sensations.
In the darkness of death,
I still remember the white lights -
and my mother's rainbow love
maybe that's what saved me.
I realise the reality of adversity.
I'm an advocate of its lessons -
because, i'm a definition of each battle,
yet I know the war is far from over.
Poetry is the perfect way to release suppressed emotions.
My heart desires to beat like a flutist's musical notes -
like a kite floating higher and higher against brutal winds.
Silent One
4 December 2020
This is an example of my current contest called catharsis poetry.
I attempted to use poetry techniques like light alliteration and assonance.
I remember
when I was a poor boy
and nobody loved me
mamma's tears felt like acid
burning holes in my heart -
I became breathless
triggers came without a guarantee
violence swept like an adversary
in silence i found my sanctuary
my bubble an escape from reality
grenades of my ancestors
detonated along my destiny
I burned in a bonfire of misery
papa's demons were too loud
so I hid my heart behind a shroud
as fatal tumors cursed my tongue
my sighs turned into a melancholic song
triggers came without a guarantee
violence swept like an adversary
in silence i found my sanctuary
my bubble an escape from reality
as the novelty of poison wore out
through the Devil's death i began to shout
his assassination set my soul free
childhood pain became my poetry
once I was a poor boy with silent ink,
but in adolescence I've learned to think
i used to wish I had never been born
but it's pointless living with bitter scorn
As withheld words escaped through winds of change
regretful tears from fears were blown out of range
Sometimes you have to let
the morning have its way,
set out its wide sunlit spaces
like a tablecloth upon your silence,
speak to you softly in the sound
of leaves, bright with the flush
of spring. There is much to tell,
the stories of its winter dreaming,
waking to a warming sun,
desires erupting in flower
and fruit.
As a child I listened
to the almond trees clack
their naked limbs all winter long
until late august when the first
blossoms broke into the chilly air
with their white whispers
and perfumed breath hushed out
of pink throats. It was my eucharist,
trees donning their green vestments
plump with promises.
I must make space in myself
to receive the sacraments of creation,
have a reverence for what comes
forth to speak a name
in all that is born, lives and dies
and reflects a beauty
to which I can be blind to
in the bloat of myself.
(Dedicated to one of my childhood friends)
You were one of those charming lilies
that bloomed, so fresh, in my springtime pond;
when my homesick wings of longings flutter and soar,
and my mind alights
on the periphery of the playparks of the past,
I reminisce all the little fun we had
along with our other friends -
as we strolled through the narrow trails
in the verdant flowery meadow
that sprawled near our school
during the tender years of our lives.
The giggles and the laughter
the chuckles and the chatter -
those shrieks and the squeals
that baffled even the needles of time
to forget their own pace
and hop and waltz along with us.
Then roads diverged, new air we breathed
as we took new paths to pursue our purposes in life.
Years later, you arrived once very near my place
yet we could not connect and get ourselves to meet.
That day when we talked on the phone
and I heard your voice after a very long time,
my mind leapt for joy and soaked for some time
in a summer drizzle of rainbow memories -
of those I had long forgotten
as you reminded them to me in our chat -
they linger on like pleasant petrichor.
Later, I tried to recollect and sing our childhood songs
rhyming it perfect with the
unrhyming clamor of our choruses.
When commitments in work and family responsibilities
seem to have rusted the gate to my nostalgic dam -
your call was the key to open it - and when creaking opened
wistful emotions gushed forth
to form an ocean of yearnings
to be a child once more.
You revived the puddles of my mind with paper boats
that carry leaves, stems, and flowers of fond memories.
I felt like a gleeful kite in the vast blue,
fleeing for a moment from the humdrum day.
You will forever be the same charming lily
adorning my little lake of most treasured blossoms.
My bestie, my soul-sis.
She Calls Me Home…
At days long end
Left on troubles shore
When I just know
I can't take anymore
When the last light
Of hope is gone
She calls me home
She calls me home
When my thoughts
Are racing round
And I can't find
A friend in this town
When every door
Has turned out wrong
She calls me home
She calls me home
She calls me home
To her embrace
Wipes the tears
From my tortured face
Calms my soul
Til the demons are gone
And with her sweet voice
She calls me home
When the dark
Won't give up light
When the wrong
Outscores the right
When the noise
Outdoes the song
She calls me home
She calls me home
When the clouds
Won't seem to break
And the sky
Just seems to ache
And the sun's
Completely gone
She calls me home
She calls me home
She calls me home
To her embrace
Wipes the tears
From my tortured face
Calms my soul
Til the demons are gone
And with her sweet voice
She calls me home
I like many others have lived in our dreams
In this world where I lived amongst forests and streams
Where the Great Plains stretched and our rivers flowed
If you could see through my eyes, how my tribe glowed
Born from my mother of Arikara descent
My father a Sioux warrior, his stature, augment
My growing up was no different than the others around
For the learnings that grew from our ancestors surround
Hunting and fishing, being told of the dangers in life
Cultural indifferences, to fearing tribal strife
But it's what my father taught me every single day
To learn from our lands for through the years they'd display
Tracking, seeking, searching, living from our lands
Every year more learned, growing in understand
From a boy to a man becoming a warrior through my years
Protecting what was ours, allaying modern fears
But the changes that we faced, suffocated our souls
There was only ever one outcome, other man's goals
I like many others, to live and eventually fall
Born from Arikara, Sioux, my name was 'Standing Tall'
..
A little story from my heart, where the Indigenous will always be.
Childhood is a ship,
preparing to set sail,
but not all harbors are kind
the ocean a mysterious enigma.
Not all inflictions are visible,
some bruises remain invisible.
Not all trauma can be expressed,
so the past is buried - still breathing.
Ghosts resurface, with subtlest of hints.
When we are born,
we are 'freshly decorated' boats.
Preparing to set sail through unknown waters,
longing to venture to foreign shores.
Yet, what is hidden underneath deep ripples,
is not innocent, like my childhood heart -
powerless, helpless, defenseless.
An anthology of a villain and his victims
Sins of my father,
once plagued my mother's tears.
Her anchor became a burden of heavy fears,
so drought, dehydrated her river bed.
To escape constant waves of rage,
my mind set sail to seek safer shores.
On my boat, I was my own captain.
Steps of thunder,
followed me through turbulent tides,
yet, spirit found courage to row faster -
to this day, I've never known how.
Maybe, I could not let his blood define me.
I watched, in horror, as his terror,
drowned my petrified siblings -
I wonder, why they did not sail away,
were their anchors, consumed with reality?
When words struck like metaphorical daggers,
sirens of the sea, serenaded with songs of sorrow.
But, my soul knew the sun would offer redemption -
finally unchain me from the darkness of adolescence.
Through passages of life,
what was once a boat in troublesome times,
is now a ship, settled on stable seas.
Example for Inflictions contest.
Silent One
8 August 2020