Memories Childhood Poems | Examples
These Memories Childhood poems are examples of Childhood poems about Memories. These are the best examples of Childhood Memories poems written by international poets.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ hoard of treasure ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ against the door,
Full of ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ lifetime's garnered store -
¦¦¦ pleasures crowned with ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ zest,
¦¦¦ sorrow ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ penance blest,
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ remembrance ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ of yore
¦¦¦¦¦ like a new evangel, ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ halting ¦¦¦¦ toward the best.
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ barren after years
¦¦¦ bring ¦¦¦ joy or sorrow, ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ knowing not, who cares? ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ we ¦¦¦¦¦ find ¦¦¦ pleasures and ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ remembered childhood ¦¦¦¦ thro' tears,
The best ¦¦¦ Heaven and ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ Hell.
(Blackout of Sonnet III by William Shakespeare)
You dig then you dug you dug then you dig
trying to find the secrets I have hid
Deep in to my body and into my soul
you keep on digging but you leave no hole
you keep on digging trying to find
a gap in my shield I have left behind
Why are you digging what are you looking for
what are you hoping to find behind my locked door
Are there bad memories that your hoping to find
is that why you keep digging in the recesses of my mind
you can keep on digging but I wont let you find
the hurt and the pain I want left behind
Forevermore: is there such a place
does it perhaps exist on a star,
or, lost in clouds of lavender lace,
a secret saved inside a glass jar,
memories from a time very far
Forever more is in childhood’s tales
There it flies on a butterfly’s wings
It’s never found amid windy gales
but always found in castles of kings
And is in the notes a mermaid sings
Forevermore is the promise made
when love lifts those to walk on clouds
and dance midst colors of silver shade
Where only loveliness is allowed
and happiness is ever endowed.
I will find you in forevermore
We’ll wander through lilac-edged skies
On a bird’s wing, we’ll fly high before
sending whispers in crimson disguise
to golden rays in morning’s sunrise.
Note: When I posted this poem earlier, it somehow got deleted.
Tall oak trees played a special role in childhood joy for me.
The swings suspended from their limbs were sources of great fun.
My parents wouldn’t let me go too high, yet I felt free—
just like a soaring little swallow basking in the sun.
snow loudly crunched
on my bittersweet walk
through yesteryear made memories
of my brother and me
in snowball wars
The Granite State still sharp and tall,
beyond our old, fractured stone wall.
The maple leaves we used to chase,
have now left an empty, quiet space.
The winter froze the lonely lake,
with memories I cannot break.
We laced our skates in freezing air,
but no one else is waiting there.
The April sun now thaws the woods,
of changing, distant neighborhoods.
The muddy boots and melting snow,
are ghosts of things from long ago.
Lost days of....
jumping in puddles,
making gourmet pies,
drinking water from the garden hose.
we rode our bikes everywhere
dairy treat knew us by our first names
streetlights were our curfew,
on weekends we explored-
no technology needed.
we were carefree to live
eating grandma's homemade cookies still hot,
sunbathing on towels in the backyard,
playing at the beach at cedar point.
we lived on Cherry Kool-Aid and adrenaline
home cooked meals at friend's houses-
where your parents were my parents.
these may be lost days,
but memories keep childhood spirits alive
Warmest childhood memories of
my favourite aunt's country kitchen
with her homemade sourdough bread
and fresh clover honey gathered
from her very own bee hives
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
cardboard cathedral, fortress of dust~
you held a kingdom where spoons became swords.
you turned nothing into everything:
a dollhouse, a toy soldier’s battlefield.
beneath beds, you gathered ghosts and were
keeper of marbles that were small planets
and feathers with memories of wishes.
you were proof- childhood fits in a 13x8 shoebox.
~ ~ ~ ___ ___ ___~ ~ ~
~ ~ ______ ~ ~
____/ |____
~ ~ \_______/ ~ ~
creased with childhood smile
paper boat on old pavement
memories ripple
It lay cool against my wrist,
a gold chain with tiny stories.
Each charm was a miniature world
of special moments~
a birthday,
a summer,
a secret wish.
When I moved, they chimed softly,
a music only I could hear,
reminding me that even small things
can hold whole chapters of a life.
The little heart clicked softly
when I moved,
as if remembering
something for me.
I’d lift the bracelet to the light,
watching memories glint and sway~
small keepsakes of a girl
who believed
magic could be worn.
an accompanying memoir vignette can be read at: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/simply_charming_13718
Rich, with a hint of chocolate.
Every piece is decadent.
Delicious, creamy, and with white frosting.
Varies among cream cheese, buttercream or boiled.
Every birthday I would ask for one.
Layered high with boiled frosting.
Velvety smooth on your tongue, great for
Easter, Christmas or any holiday, and
Traditions of the past.
Cheerful and fond memories of my grandmother.
Always making bakery grade sweets and
Keeping her recipes hidden, written in French.
Every memory of her baking brings me joy!
Tiny train...tiny memories...
how toys bring us back,
travel great distances
without actually moving --
how replicas resurrect
the plastic solders and tanks
in an attic trunk, my favorite
gun -- dry, bet the caps still
bang...?
Should these shaky old hands
pass them on? Or let them
desire their own -- to see what
future dusty attics will hold
after a fresh settling of years?
Spears, arrows, muskets, laser
blasters -- does anything really
change? Christ has not returned
despite our subsequent crucifixions....
Yet, love gives me hope....
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.
The cry of the cicada childhood memories