Childhood Memory Poems - Poems about Childhood Memory

Drinking from clear, gurgling streams, catching frogs, unfolding dreams, without iPhones, watches or clocks, sitting high on granite rocks - my memory is unwinding a young boy exploring and finding pumice and obsidian flakes in the mountains over Mammoth Lakes....

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I shudder while peering at sepia photographs, showing visits to my maiden Aunt Hilda’s house. Even though I was very young it was clear she didn’t tolerate children. I was to be ‘Seen and not heard.’ Pa said I wasn’t to utter a word. I loathed being pushed and forced to kiss her. Aunt's wrinkled leathery skin looked like she’d been pickled in...

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as I walk streets of my childhood For the one last time the picture show of the past plays inside my mind as I reminisce about the time when I wore a younger man's clothes It`s so easy to grieve for what once was once while walking along the streets of memory past ...

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I write this to you, the child in me that hasn’t grown up yet. You may remember, the yonder blue hills from the hazy horizon cascaded gently down the emerald gradient of the rhythmic undulations of alluring landscape, that carved the contours of the charming hamlet where your endearing home was once cradled, nurturing you in the...

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when I was a kid molasses sweets or "bullseyes" were a tasty treat... you'd get two for a penny and if you had a quarter...! a short time ago I had my first one in years... just one simple taste and my childhood rushed to mind... ah, the sweetest memory...

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We’d fill our buckets to the brim-- my brother, sis, and I-- and rush the juicy berries home for Grandma’s cobbler pie, our oatmeal, or for Mama’s jam . . . sweet scenes from days gone by. Those berries came to mean much more than something good to eat. They symbolize my innocence before I was to meet the complex workings of...

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The rusty swing set sings in the wind. It hasn't seen much use Since we were children. Nineteen sixty is when it began. My older sister Flo is a mentor and friend, she is twelve and I am ten. We loved that swing set. so, did our friends. Weel never forget that it was aqua blue then. On the yard swing We could Climb, fly, and glide. Like a...

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I open the book of time once more and again where pages are engraved in my mind the worn old pages- all tattered and yellow oh, here is the house of my childhood and my memories come twirling ...

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“Rash and inexperienced” frees thoughts within my mind of traipsing deepest Africa retrieving melon rinds. Bi-colored python rock snakes and wondrous fever trees delights in my imagining from phrases such as these… How is a rudyard kippled? I’ve often wondered that. Perhaps Limpopo’s man-of-war and I could have a chat. Though pachyderms and heffalumps can make the mind run wild, enchantments hang on every page of Just So Stories,...

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Sue and Sage were sisters. They searched the sandy shores, solely for the treasure, hid by pirates years before. Sue would smile as Sage would sing. Searching for silver and golden things. never seeing the silver they sought just spending time laughing a lot. Soon the sunset sent them home. With such sweet memories but no silver or gold....

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Our fun-filled childhood years were free from fears Vibrance of innocence was then at its peak We learnt as we played day after day Dancing with life cheek to cheek Our ego was then not in focus Soul presence was aglow in the heart Each morn at dawn we communed with God Breath by breath feeling within bliss ignition start In those...

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"If you dream for a mind at peace and a heart tranquil seek that old rusty gate that opens wide into your childhood memories ...." ...

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Our old fashioned kitchen ways, way before the modern malaise, those family favourite, radio days, Swinging Blue Jeans, Johnny Ray, Martha Reeves and Marvin Gaye, those sentimental songs they played. Our old fashioned kitchen ways, without plastic meals from trays, those salad days of mayonnaise, with fablon coated, hollandaise, and chicken roasted, lyonnaise, experimental honey glaze. Our old fashioned kitchen ways, mum singing songs of praise, inside that gravy,...

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In fields of gold beneath the summer sun, Where laughter danced and time was never done, We chased the butterflies in endless flight, And dreams took wing on fleeting rays of light. Through woods alive with whispers soft and kind, Where secrets bloomed like flowers in the mind, We built our...

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Grandma Teresina Cavicchio, best pizza fritta maker in all of Marianna, PA. Probably the whole world! Her fried pizza dough, dusted with powdered sugar, bellissima! Lightly browned outside, creamy in the inside, it was the stuff of mouth-watering dreams. My three sisters and I lined up in Nonna’s kitchen, chanted, “Pizza Fritta, good to eat-a, give me some, it is a treat-a!” Her apron white with snowy sugar, her ample arms...

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