Friends Childhood Poems | Examples
These Friends Childhood poems are examples of Childhood poems about Friends. These are the best examples of Childhood Friends poems written by international poets.
In the City of Downey, where I was born,
my mom gave me options, and I was torn.
She said, "Here are your choices. Listen kid -
we can go to Giza to see the great pyramid,
or maybe you want to see the Great Wall,
or the Sistine Chapel or the Taj Mahal -
but wait, look out the window. It's getting dark.
We just have time for Rio San Gabriel Park.
There's a lion drinking fountain where you can drink.
How about that son? What do you think?"
So, we got in the car, drove two minutes to see
The Big Yellow Lion Fountain of RSG.
I'll tell you friends, that's as good as it gets,
and to this day, I've had no regrets.
The goo from eating a chocolate or two.
Pizza spread with cheese and bread.
A popsicle colored red and blue.
Mixed with dirt and wiped down the sides of my pants.
Without another glance.
Momma said," don't wipe your hands on your clothes.
Wash them off in the sink.
Otherwise, your clothes will stink!"
Took off my pants.
Washed them with soap.
Left them in the sink.
"Oh no you don't!" Momma said.
"Wash your hands, not your pants!"
You could have been clearer.
So, I washed my hands.
Pulled my pants out of the sink.
Put my pants back on.
Went out to play.
My friends and I are making mud pies today!
By the time we entered the halls of
High School, something had changed.
We saw each other at a distance, in the
Hall, across the campus. If we were still
friends, we certainly were no longer close
And buddies as we once had been, such a short
While ago. We were Yates, Yank, Fonzy, Bobbie,
Jordan, and me, Cj.
We cared for each other, but time and space,
new place and new faces changed all that.
How amazing to think that after elementary
school, we dispersed and went our separate ways.
I heard that Fonzy died some 50 years ago. I spoke to Bobbie once by phone some 25 years ago, but have not seen any of them for nearly 60 years.
Oh how refreshing it would be just to see
Any of my long lost buddies just one more time.
I got over it when I realize that
It was not going to happen.
Cap guns, bee bee guns,
red wagons, choo choo trains,
But never a bike.
A nice warm shelter,
Security from frets and fears,
Plenty of good healthy food,
And one big lovely family,
But never a bike.
On a beautiful red two-wheeler,
Smiling and riding in the wind.
This was my childhood dream,
But in reality, never a bike.
I rolled vehicle tires,
Pretending them to be cars.
Black or white-walled tires
Were lots of fun with my friends,
But for me, never was there a bike.
Dad built us a treehouse.
It was the perfect hideaway with friends.
Hours of fun even alone.
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: 1st place 2026
Memories of 1987, wondering what happened to the friends.
Thought we were friends till the end.
People began splitting up,
to take it to the next level in a pick up truck.
All the fun was gone.
It was all done.
Found my best friend with someone I thought I loved.
I learned it wasn't from above.
Time to grow up and get on our own.
Lives changed and we knew it and live to the bone.
Getting first jobs,
watching out for the snobs.
Living in a new path,
wondering about the rath.
Time for a change.
It felt very strange.
Dust to ashes, ashes to dust -
old bicycles turn to rust.
The boyhood friends I found -
buried in the ground.
My favourite time in childhood
was pre-school as the only one
playing in my own little bedroom
with my toys and myself for fun
These days, I realised one thing
communication was a real defect
realising I had a stammer, so real
caused me trouble whoever I met
So I really loved life on my own
loving my own company O so sweet
learning to be content and happy
lying on the floor was my comfy seat
We had two cats and a dog
they were great friends for me
love to cuddle them in my arms
watch them run around so free
These days were special memories
ones that I look back with joy
it's amazing now at seventy-one plus
I wonder what I could say to that little boy
Candy purchased in bags
Confections made at home
Chicks wear corsair costumes
Caboodles of children come
Cachinnation long gone
Candidly say to friends
Confit carrots given
Looking back at life lived through yesteryears,
when we dwelt in the now, engaged in play,
they were fun-filled days bereft of dark fears,
as rapture in our heart grew, day by day.
Fragrance of lilies and honeysuckle,
exuded from our aura a soft glow;
we were quick to forgive, prone to chuckle,
at the foibles of friends with us in tow.
When our ego surfaced, soul felt betrayed,
garden of our mind with thoughts polluted,
so we now regret why from love we strayed,
lost in lust, pulse of innocence muted.
God granted us free will, which we misused ~
Let’s be a child again with bliss suffused
I rode the steed of memories to where my childhood lay,
Dreaming through the dusty lanes as laughter echoed far away
Of fairs that buzzed with colour, and joy that never dies
Of carefree games with friends beneath the sunlit skies.
But when I reached that faded lane, the world had turned to stone,
No laughter rang, no faces showed—just silence, cold and alone.
The fair had packed its magic up, and friends moved on,
And I stood there—a stranger now—where once my soul had shone.
I watch him
gathering days in arms,
like handfuls of sand,
spilling, pouring,
into an hour-glass
with never a grain lost.
His voice, once sweet and melodious,
cracked,
now fed on adult's breath.
His steps impress, they sink deeper into the dirt,
confident and sure-footed with knowing.
He no longer looks back
to make sure I’m still
there to care and watch.
In fact,
his furtive glance away,
shows I'm about to become
somewhat of an embarrassment to him
when in company of his friends and mates,
though he's too kind, good and shy to admit it.
So I just, let him go,
just stand and watch
at a distance,
when I can,
amazed at what
my son has become,
when let go to grow.
Laughter of children and the dull clatter of small feet on aged wood. The congestion of men's voices with talk of crops, rain, and "remembering when". The faintly drowned-out sound of a stray hand unafraid to tickle long unused ivory. There, the aroma of well-planned dishes lay in wait to ambush and overwhelm the senses of those who will partake. The pride of a husband as his wife is washed in praise for her contribution. A communion of kind souls, the fellowship of close neighbors and friends. A vision carried on from a not-so-distant past. Where one could marvel at the magic of a fond smile and find comfort in a firm handshake that wordlessly informs, "you are a welcome sight".
she sang her cereal into the ground; her puppy howled with appreciation
enjoying her daily dancing and skipping to and from kindergarten
where she could make messes, paint, and play with friends
her teacher sneaked her into a tent and let her draw during their nap times
she had found the perfect place to spend her days, where she felt loved
where her creativity was appreciated
Their smiles beamed, for they dreamed together,
sharing Barbies, goodies, and even hands.
Aware of my aloneness, it seemed I wasn't there;
even Brown Bear didn't understand.
Staring into a disquieted mind, I sulked my secluded self.
Translucent tears stained my face a pale gray,
as bleak as rain clouds, blocking sun's reach.
Furrowed brows, droopy cheeks, and thin lips
transformed me into a monsterous beast.
Is this hideous, shunned image who I am?
Affixed friends would glow and float into true beauty
like sun painting the beach.
Their smiles were like whispy horizons, eyes glazed like sand granules, feet gliding like waves to the shore.
Are the pretty girls worth so much more?
3-6-2025