Best Early Childhood Poems
Sitting on the Fence at Twilight
When the sun waved good-bye in the afternoon,
I’d say hello to the smiling Man in the Moon.
Perching on our gray concrete fence,
I’d swing my brown legs to a happy cadence.
From my solid fortress, I could see
a daily circus of human activity.
On a single bicycle rode the Fabros, a family of four;
how they all fit, it was a mystery to be sure.
The street vendor, old Papito, would hawk his treats;
oh! those warm, sticky, honey buns and tamarind sweets.
Sashaying in her tight-fitting skirt of tomato-red,
Cousin Clarita balanced a green basket on her turbaned head.
Then came buxom Aunt Alfreda huffing and puffing by,
to give me a piping hot, home-made, savory meat pie.
I’d blow on it to cool it off first, just
before biting into the flaky, buttery crust.
As day soon faded into hues of twilight,
I’d spy the occasional shiny satellite,
a tiny, silver snail slowly revolving in the sky,
moving so silently above, way up high.
For a child of seven, this was such a wondrous time…
right until the old town clock chimed nine.
Then Mama would ring her bell calling me inside,
and I’d leave the stars still twinkling outside.
04-24-2018
Contest: An Early Childhood Memory
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Placement: 3rd
Senseless fear of others, being shy.
All my life, been the uneasy guy.
It's a functional thing, not organic.
Social situations, just that little bit of panic.
"Stranger anxiety" from early childhood,
never left me, then even Mom and Dad weren't good.
You'd think I wouldn't feel it, at least with my wife,
though even there it's a tiny part of life.
Get through the day fine, and publicly do okay,
but what would it be like to not feel this way.
December 5, 2016
For FJ Thomas's contest
The Beauty of Charkha the Spinning Wheel
The Poem is dedicated to Mahatma Gandhi and his Charkha.
When first time I looked
At the Wooden Charkha*
With a child’s curiosity to know,
What it was?
I had seen it
Without caring and knowing much,
What actually the thing was?
For me in my childhood days,
It was then
Just a toy like instrument with wooden wheels
Equipped with some simple mechanism
To move a wheel from one hand
And to take out the yarn
On the wheels of the Charkha
From the other
Emerging like a never ending rope
Resembling the heavenly figures
Which attracts the viewers
In all the classic works of art.
To me in those moments
The making of the yarn on a Charkha
Was like coming out of a magical thing
From the white cotton lovely small bales
From which the Charkha was
Pulling the threads
And twisting the thin yarns
To make to make it a stronger weaving yarn.
The outcome was astonishing
In the form of cotton yarn
Which the spinner produces
On the wheels of any Charkha
By his soft and simple hands
It was a thing which would have fascinated
Any child and even the grownups
In those days
When the treasure of knowledge
Was not so easily available
By clicking a button or moving a mouse
And simple things used to give us
The most delicious pleasures of life
Which we try to find and keep searching
In every possible places today
With the help of innumerable
Search engines.
I had very little idea in my early childhood
How a fabric was made from cotton tree
And what it was
That we know as cotton
Which ultimately gives us
The most fascinating comfort and pleasure
In the form of our soft and sweet
Lovely dresses.
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpur India 24th May 2015
To continue in next…
The music itself is healing
Everyone loves music, in beautiful light tones
Please do not stop the music
An interaction between emotion and soul
Dreams in time and melody
Please do not stop the music
Relaxed and peaceful, still excited and happy
An important bodily experience with emotions
Please do not stop the music
Rhythm and harmony motivation for learning
Musical culture in early childhood
Please do not stop the music
01.08.2016
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Love and laughter go together
as do macaroni and cheese.
Like that noble dish of childhood
It’s a combo bound to please.
We laughed until the tears came
at gifted comics of our youth.
The golden age of radio,
it is called and that’s the truth.
My birth family would gather
after Sunday evening news
to listen to their silly antics
which could not help but amuse.
I had one older brother
who was a naturally born wit.
He could keep us all in stitches
and we never tired of it.
Later on the man I married,
kept me laughing all the time.
Laugher filled our lives with pleasure
though we seldom had a dime.
He and I sat nestled closely
as we watched the comics spoof.
Mad Red Skelton played a Santa
who kept sliding down the roof.
Our three beloved children
kept us laughing as they grew.
They all had a sense of humor
and could tell a story too.
Memories of my early childhood
are of laughter spawned from love.
Finding a mate who would laugh with me
was a blessing from above.
Day one out of the womb – had a full crop of hair,
black like my daddy’s (it later went more fair).
Early childhood – Mom kept my brown hair short
because I’d twist it into knots. What a silly sport.
Peanut butter and some gum in my hair might stick.
Never a long hair style could I ever pick.
Pre-teen years – at last I saw my dark hair grow.
Pony tails and pig tails were ways my hair might show.
Junior High, late 60’s, hair piled high like a hive.
A wonder that no bumble bees were seen in there alive.
My hair was also parted always on one side.
I’d wear curlers in a store. Did I have no pride?
High school days – hair longer. In boring math at school,
I sat there pulling off split ends. Must have looked a fool!
College days – used a cheap product from the store.
“Sun-In” gave me reddish-blonde. I used it four times more.
The 80’s – got a perm. The curls were tight. Had oodles.
Now I can have sympathy for cockapoos and poodles.
90’s – used extensions. A lot of folks I fooled.
Strawberry blonde seemed to be the color then that ruled.
New century. New color. My hair was very blonde.
There were two guys in a tram in Rio that I conned.
My friend who looked American knew every word they stated.
About my natural color those guys in Portugese debated.
They finally decided my blonde was natural.
I got a kick out of those young fellows’ folderol.
Later on, my hair got over-bleached. I showered, and
lots of strands of it crumbled right into my hand.
After that, while growing out dark roots about two years,
I wore a wig until uncolored hair went past my ears.
A co-worker , not knowing I wore a wig at school,
told me that my hair had never looked so cool!
By 2010, my hair was in a rut.
Only one side of it grew, so I’d always get it cut.
Turned 60 and got cancer. Ate better to be stronger.
Miraculously my hair AND nails grew a whole lot longer.
Since then till now, my daughter’s been my dear beautician.
She keeps the gray away and my hair in good condition.
Were my hair not dyed, salt and pepper it would be.
I love my gold-like hair, thick, and long and wavy.
Some people think a woman of my age should wear a shorter “do.”
Decades it took to get this look, so NO (and I’ll keep my cute bangs too!)
For all my life I've been alone,
From early childhood to fully grown.
I never seemed to just fit in,
No matter where, no matter when.
No one seemed to want me around.
They thought me a fool, just some little clown.
I wanted so much to be one with the others.
No one wanted me, not even my mother.
So I created a fantasy land,
Where I could heal and be whole again.
I became special in stories and books,
And I could be loved in spite of my looks.
Then I found a book unlike all the others,
Neglected like me with dust on it's cover.
This was no fantasy or fairy tale.
It was real and true, it was my Holy Grail;
For I found The Master within it's pages,
Filled with love and forgiveness, reaching out through the ages.
Now I no longer ache inside.
No longer alone I've no need to hide,
Within books and stories of fantasy.
I'm no longer a cast out for You wanted me.
~Michael Landon~
(Acrostic)
M-ichal was a very famous American actor,director,producer and writer.He was born
I-n Forest Hill, New York.During his early childhood and years he
C-onquered great challenges in many ways while
H-e grew up in Collingswood, N.J. but he made it throughout all of them,
A-nd developed a sense of humor,as a shield,against a world he thought often cruel
E-ugene Maurice Orowitz, was his real given name, but much
L-ater on, in his life he would change it to Michael Landon
L-ittle House In the Prarie,brought him more to fame all over,even when
A-nd years before he's starred as little Joe, in the popular t.v.serie "Bonanza."
N-eedless to say he was a great actor, and kind human being.He was very much
D-evoted to his family and every role that he worked and much created
O-n all his long years as one of the biggest and most celebrated tv stars ever
N-one of us will forget his engaging smile and heart warming role in L.H.I. the Prarie.
Dorian Petersen Potter
aka ladydp2000
Copyright@2015
July.17.2015
Years active: 1956-1991
(October 31,1991-July 1, 1991)
Lived: Oct 31, 1936 - Jul 01, 1991 (age 54)
Author Notes:
As long as I can remember growing up as a child, I watched him
in Bonanza,as the sweet and kind-hearted Little Joe.And then
later on I just loved him and followed him more in his
role as the most wonderful father, ever in his unforgettable role
of Papa Charles, in the Little House in the Prarie."
I just loved and admired Michael Landon all my life,and respected
him no matter what.He had so many wonderful qualities to dim all of
his flaws and faults in my eyes.In my heart is just one
of a Kind,forever,and will remain so the rest of my days.
R.I.P. Michael! You're very much missed.
CONGRATULATION! – CONSUELA CONTESSA SEXTON
Constant you endeavored for a greater way.
You have achieved the ultimate and you should celebrate.
However, if you are not in a partying mood,
Lay back and relaxed because it’s all good.
The status you have acquired well gleam through.
I am so proud that my niece has finished her university schooling.
A Bachelor of Arts in Early Childhood Development from my alma mater.
I am so proud of you niece.
This is from your Aunt Verlena Sexton-Walker.
___________________________________________|
Penned May 03, 2015!
In my mind is a place of unbearable beauty,
So agonizing to recall the charm;
A place, so lovely and pretty, rows of homes,
And lace curtains billowing in the breeze.
The place of my early childhood
My family left this home far behind, we moved,
But in my mind this place remained beautiful;
Many, many years have passed, life has gone forward,
And I return for the first time.
The beauty shattered in my mind.
Replaced by the reality of an inner city ghetto,
Devastated, rundown, ravaged rows of houses;
Boarded up, crumbling, gone to waste and ruin,
It is almost to much to fathom.
Yet there is a shadow of the beauty.
And as I view the destruction of time passed,
Houses fallen and given way to neglect;
I realize my memory is no longer a valid thing,
Closing my eyes, I recall the loveliness.
A time I had placed on a pedestal.
Gone, gone, gone is the existence of beauty,
Only and forever living in my wandering mind;
In the mind of a child, happy and safe, playing,
Where nothing horrible ever happens.
The place of my early childhood.
__________________________
March 10, 2014
Poetry/Verse/The 'Beautiful' Ghetto
Copyright Protected, ID 03-548-451-10
All Rights Reserved, 2014, Constance La France
Light of Heaven
~~~
Oh light of heaven, lifting light of mine
In early seven, I felt your salient shine
Thru windows pane, and morning mist
Within love of radiant reign, you did exist
~~~
Surrounding showers with luminescence
Admits paradisal powers until adolescence
Lyrical living light of magical morning sun
With squinting eyesight, thy will was done
~~~
Now the present day I wait for your return
Old and grey my heart will always yearn.
April.22.2018
AN EARLY CHILDHOOD MEMORY
ANY RHYME FORM
Sponsored by: Line Gauthier
Helping my father and uncles when I was ten,
felled a tree, on break then ready to go again.
I walked around the corner of the truck
as someone pulled the cord and I got stuck.
Now that chainsaw’s engine didn’t start,
but it didn’t have to, to rip my skin apart.
Right through my jeans, but not too deep,
saw my flesh before it began to seep.
Dyed my t-shirt like a canvas with the body’s ink,
those cells made a mosaic from red to pink.
To my surprise, I was left with no pain,
but anesthetic’s steel lacked the mercy of the bar chain.
Skilled hands drove a cutting needle’s threads
through clotting cascades and capillary beds.
On my right thigh, a scar’s pledge,
for every kind of limb, Stihl has the edge.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Contest: Any Rhyme Form – An Early Childhood Memory
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Written: 04.20.18
Heirloom events are often solemn occasions
Weddings, high school or college graduations
Grandfathers take sons or grandsons aside
To bequeath his pocket watch with pride
Slowly he'll raise the timepiece to his ear
Pause and listen to the ticking gears
He'll dangle the chain, click cover to open
Reverently hold the beloved token
Peering at crystal face with serious affects
Both mentally count second hand’s ticks
With nod of head, grandfather might relay
Special words of wisdom in his own way
I remember with fondness my own ceremony
Granddad’s advice more valuable than money
“Thing about time sure to help you through...
Is be where you are whatever you do”
Thanking my Granddad, we shook hands
In hindsight I know I did not fully understand
Years swiftly passed with many tick tocks
Today I give my son Granddad’s pocket watch
Original Written Jan. 17, 2016
Revised April 20, 2018
Early Childhood Memory Contest -
By Line Gauthier - Any Rhyme Form - April 24, 2018
First Place
Early childhood footsteps found
On cliffs at sunset time,
Near rolling waves that spray and pound
At the end of foaming gold.
Resting in a rocky chair
While flights are heading Northerly,
I smell the ocean in the air
And watch the surging sea.
The wind it blows into my face
While gulls their courses take,
Calming as the stars appear
And people wishes make.
in my mind is a place of unbearable beauty
so agonizing to recall the charm
a place so lovely and pretty, rows of sweet homes
with window boxes of bright flowing flowers
and lace curtains billowing in the breeze
the place of my early childhood
where children played and lived safe
until that day, that dark day
the day my sister Suzanne died
hit by a passing truck, suddenly
and my world changed forever and ever
my family left this home far behind, we moved
but in my mind this place remained unbearably beautiful
many, many years have passed, life has gone on
and now I return for the first time
the beauty in my mind shattered beyond belief
replaced by the reality of an inner city ghetto
rundown, devastated, ravaged rows of boarded up
crumbling houses, gone to waste and ruin
it is more than I can fathom
but yet, yet there is a shadow of the beauty that was
and as I view the destruction of a time passed
houses fallen and given away to neglect
I realize my memory is no longer a valid thing
closing my eyes, I imagine the loveliness that once was
a time that I had placed upon a pedestal
gone forever in reality
only and forever existing in my wandering mind
this unbearable beauty of a place and time . . .
__________________________________
May 17, 2013
Poetry/Narrative/ in my mind only
Copyright Protected, ID 05-478-741-17
All Rights Reserved, 2013, Constance La France
Submitted to the Standard contest,
A poem that took more than a week to write,
Sponsor, Poet Destroyer, Judged 05/2013
First Place