Childhood Memory Poems - Poems about Childhood Memory

I loved my childhood summers In the mountains, where we stayed In a small, one-bedroom bungalow Where memories were made. We didn’t mind the lack of space; Outside were fields of grass With lots of friends to hang with - Oh, how quickly time did pass! In day camp we had arts and crafts; We swam and ran around And played on teams in...

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‘Live in the moment’ they say but it's hard on a winter's afternoon, inside, warm in a comfortable chair when the mind drifts, wanders off to find a park somewhere at the end of a childhood street. Dragonflies patrolling the hot, pine scented air and sunk in the shade, an abandoned stable thick in spider webs and behind a half door, a long,...

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Childhood memories come back on nostalgic track. With naivety I’m happy, find the child in me. ...

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I used to ride the train from school to home and back, every other weekend, in an old Pullman car built in the nineteen-thirties. It smelled like my grandma’s house— a little musty, like time had curled up and fallen asleep in the cushions. Too warm, always, but the clickety-clack over tie bars and rail frogs lulled me to sleep, rocking me gently as if the...

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Behold the shout of “SEA!” where ends the land down Manzanilla way on windward shore - on coconut road, on ribbons of sand and follow a trail of palms to its door. Upon wet beachcomber footprint I stood, coco lillies and beach flowers I’ve smelled, and miles of castaway island driftwood oft my mother’s...

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Ah, the fragrant fumes of paint drying on a picket fence followed by the grease-stained smell of turpentine on the brush Though doubtless matched by the aroma of oil spills gracing ...

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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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