Childhood Memory Poems - Poems about Childhood Memory

ROSE COLORED GLASSES

ROSE-COLORED GLASSES
“When you think about a show that you used to watch as a kid or as a teenager, you look at it through sort of rose-colored glasses…”Jordana Brewster
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In memory’s soft glow, 
the TV screen flickers alive,
time stretches like taffy,
the theme song lingers, a melody 
transporting me through the portal of childhood.

The laughter of a

for a childhood memory

porch swing
raining

no scares
free air

small girl
unfurl

back, forth
ghosts storm

lightning
blending

lost flash
backlash

time meant
ringlets

rocking,
rocking

When I Was a Boy

Boyhood was a one-night stand,
So brief and unforgettable,
Full of dreams,
Sweet —like a rooftop party,
Wild and loud,
When the world several feet below,
Full of envy, shouted at us,
“Come down quickly!
Quick!”
Boyhood charmed me and
Did not harm me
It was a different time,
A different boy-game
All was different
Including the falsehood of the time
Fibs were crammed with the essence of joy.
Mawkish, they

thinking back

rewiring of
rainbows across memories
~ child's play



Submitted on July 24, 2025 for contest ILLUSKU : ILLUSTRATED HAIKU CHALLENGE sponsored by JCB BRUL (using my own painting)

Childhood Summers

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

The Horse Stable

‘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,

Feeling Nostalgic

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

Changing Trains

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

Cocal

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

Fragrant Fumes, Pungent Memories

      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
     

Beautiful Mammoth Mountain Memories

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.

Blue cheese and old pickles

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

the streets of memory

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

      

To The Child In Me

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

Bullseyes

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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