Childhood Dodoitsu Poems

mirrors turbulence of mind
documents dull daily chores,
poured feelings on blank canvas, 
friend we trust as true .

closest buddy in childhood,
confidant in teenage years,
my excitement, my...

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What a fun time of the year
picking apples for baked pies
playing in the falling leaves
winter is coming....

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Babies, they will cry and cry;
They have plenty of reason;
It must be hard to come here,
From the other side.

Leaving Heaven's not easy;
Especially to, come here.
But,...

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attracted to her fingers
and slippery as an eel
its one dead eye stares at her
— the silver dollar

lonely child spoons dirt over
the sandwich bag zippered shut
there’s...

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MIRROR                        ...

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When I was just a young girl
My daddy was my first love 
The way we worked together 
Things don’t really change...

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Winter

Winters whistling brisk breezes
Kids playing frost bitten toes
Fingers aching from the pain
Home bound warm relief!
Written 11/11/15...

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Snow is piled high, slippery
Ready for fun, get the sled
The children line up to go
On down the slick slope

Russell Sivey...

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Wafting on the morning breeze,
During manufacturing
Our whole town enjoyed the scent.
Maxwell House Coffee.

Freshness permeating air.
Aroma percolating.
Infusing memories of…
Grandma’s coffee pot.

June 3, 2012
Dane Ann Smith-Johnen...

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Blackberries big as my thumb

  Grew along our country lane

    I'd fill a pail for my Mom

    ...

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My grandma in her garden
picking peas, beans and carrots
and digging up potatoes -
roast chicken for lunch.

For Sara’s Pleasant Childhood Memory contest...

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I watched a little red ant.
It was running up the wall.
The circus clowns were laughing!
The wallpaper saw.

That red ant did not bite me.
But his distant...

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autumn leaves under new shoes
hesitant feet, eyes with tears
backpacks with sharpened pencils
minds ready to learn...

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Mom sure loved willow switches.
Those willows never wore out,
she’d make them sing forever.
Worse, I had to pick them out.

I needed to change some things,
mom did...

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He could not find the great sock
His own was small and lonely
On the dream filled night he saw
Father’s stocking hung

By Grace Williams, for the contest...

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