Long Childhood friend Poems
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While I dillydally in my spring garden
I smell the lavender before noticing the buds
Dusk in a symphony of lavender hues
Summer can wait; so can my coronation
Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender's green
When you are King, dilly dilly,
I shall be Queen
Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
'Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so
I pick a sprig to put into my pillowcase
To sleep, per chance to dream
A chance to see you again
Healthy, vital
My childhood friend and confidant … my king
The man I fell in love with
Before Life intervened
My thoughts melt into the lingering dusk …
I don’t understand friendship.
Why do people who play as your friends all through your childhood
then turn around and hurt you.
Then turn back around like nothing’s ever happened, and play nice.
It’s happen too many times that I now know who’s not my friend.
Even if it was just about me sitting next to them, or her inviting me to a party.
All they do is turn right around, cause they suddenly doesn’t have room to sit anymore.
And she thinks I’m crazy.
Childhood friend, 5 days apart, best friends forever.
Been friends since birth…
We were the tomboys together, resisting the girl inside us.
The years start flying past us as we grow, me to be more of a tomboy with the brothers
And her with the prissy girls, making fun of the girls like me.
We’re both 14… I call her up to hangout thinking we’re still best friends.
She’s too busy to hangout ‘cause she’s going out with her friends.
Slowly we stop talking to each other.
Did I say 5 days apart… my bad I meant 5 thousand years apart.
We see each other at church camp and we’re put in the same group.
Normally I’d be thrilled, but I knew that she’s not the same friend I knew.
In the day she’s the prissy girl, but by night… she’s the know-it-all for all sexual knowledge.
She’s done it more than once… but I’m just now hearing about it? Why?
What happened to my best friend?
Where did she go?
Who’s my friend now?
Were I enamored by a pleasant fragrance,
like a magnet, I would draw sniffers to me.
If I were covered with filth, I would draw flies.
A profaned loud mouth would draw angry ears.
A childhood friend drew many girls to himself.
On the other hand, they showed no interest in me.
I inquired of him a reason for the difference.
He said, "Some guys have it; some guys don't".
To my annoyance, he never said what he had.
And I only knew that I did not have 'it'.
I think 'it' was some innate magnetism.
Perhaps he had no idea what 'it' was.
I only knew that magnetism was inside of him.
He didn't put 'it' there and couldn't give 'it' to me.
101222PSCtest, Our Innate Magnetism.
Unseeking Seeker
Once upon a time not that
long ago. Lived a beautiful
young lady named Princess.
Who lived in the inner city.
Her eyes were hazel. And
they changed with whatever
she chose to ware. Her smile
would just light up any room.
Princess's skin was smooth
like silk and it was a lovely
mahogany shade.She had
thick dark wavy hair. Not only
was Princess beautiful on the
the outside she was beautiful
on the inside as well. One day
she said “ Moma, why did you
and daddy name me Princess?”
“Baby I told you that story a
million times.”
“ I know moma, but I love to
hear you tell it. Can you tell
me again please?”
“ Me and yo daddy named
you princess because you are
a princess. You are our little
princess.
Her moma has been gone for a
a while now, but she never forgot
her mama's words.
Folk around the neighborhood
said she lived in make believe,
because she told everyone that
she was going to be a real prin-
cess one day. She would often
say “ I was born to
be a princess”. On one particular
day a childhood friend said “ Girl
you good people in all, but ain't
nobody from the hood gonna be
no princess. Get yo head out
the clouds girl.”
Princess was very smart and
she excelled in school. Her
G.P.A was so high that she
got a full scholarship to study
abroad in a well known school,
to study philosophy in another
country.
She excelled in her philosophy
class as well. Princess was in
a new country and she was still
loved by all who came in contact
with her.
In her second year she met the
most handsome guy she had
ever seen.
“Hi my name is Sebastian Wil-
cox.
What is your name beautiful?”
“My name is Princess Scott.”
The two became inseparable.
They fell madly in love. And
one day before graduation he
asked her asked her to marry
him. But he had a secret he
was a prince,who left a king-
dom close by to find his one
true love.
THE END
3-11-27
Alexis Y.
2000 miles is a long way, and 50 plus years is a very long time.
It spells the time and space that have separated me and my two best
childhood friends. Back then, whether it was hay, ammonia, cowboys,
sling shots, or rubber tires, somewhere in the mix were my two friends.
Presently, there is a loving memory of Dennis and Johnnie. They were
absolutely my best childhood friends and everyday playmates. Dennis
was called "My terrible looking friend" because he never kept clean.
Johnnie was the toughest of the three of us.
One of the beautiful things about friendship is that 'the institution
of friendship' ever grows and thrives. That is to say that we lose some
and gain others. The losses are not by design but simply a fact of life.
My friendship with Dennis and Johnnie, by no plan or purpose, discontinued.
Life happens and forces us in different directions. But new friends appear.
Relatively new friends like Ruhtra Serrot, who is a very good friend.
Compared to Dennis and Johnnie, I have not known him for very long.
I think that I have known Ruhtra less than ten years.
Some friendships develop and mature over time.
Some others seem to defy the very essence of time.
They form and fashion themselves into 'deep roots'.
That's the type of friendship that I am experiencing
with my friend Ruhtra. I'd say that he is 'Rare Air'.
All due respect for those who believe in luck, but I believe that friends
are a blessing from God, and still others are 'Special Gifts' from God.
I and my family have been gifted with such friends, and they are rare.
080222PSCtest,
I want a lived-in face—
a body that curves and stretches,
each line a crease carved by laughter,
grief, survival.
I love life etched into skin.
We are the narrators of our days,
our bodies the pages,
our faces the margins,
annotated by time.
We are art—
life’s sculptures—
one arm or two,
too thin, too wide.
What old lies we’ve swallowed
about beauty’s mould.
Perfection?
That polished cage—
stitched with labels.
I wore the names—
Chanel, Louis Vuitton—
as if they could spell beauty
on a tag around my wrist.
I spent myself chasing flawless,
burning joy like cash,
saving nothing for self-love.
I was lost chasing the dream—
of thigh gaps sold as grace,
quiet hunger wrapped in silk,
airbrushed lies reflected back
in mirror-glass approval.
And in all that gloss,
I missed the glow
of my own skin,
weathered, soft,
and holy in its truth.
They told me I was richest when untouched,
when time hadn’t left its mark—
but youth is cheap.
Real beauty accrues.
Each scar, each stretch,
a kind of interest paid in grace.
I long for truth.
Gray hair, wrinkled hands,
a tooth gone missing like a childhood friend.
My curves have curves,
but my heart is open,
always has been.
My mouth will sing
even if a note is off.
Even if pieces are missing—
it matters not.
Confidence? Still a struggle.
But intelligence…
oh, that disarms me every time.
A woman or man who can think—
who listens with their eyes,
and speaks with care—
now that’s divine.
Beauty or the beast—
it matters not at all.
Each one a masterpiece,
every rise and fall.
Kittin of San Jose, how charming is your look,
silky satiny skin, bright eyes and your voice meeow,
every day I fall hopelessly in love with you !
even before I get up from bed in the morning,
I hear your footsteps on the stairs descending,
lured by, probably the mouth-watering aroma of breakfast waiting!
Hearty and healthy breakfast done, you head towards computer room,
checking emails is the first thing, begins our schedule
“Work from home” is the norm nowadays, so no driving in hefty traffic,
iPhone calendar reminds a business meeting at ten in the morning.
You get busy with master’s proofreading proposals,
in between a few bites of “dry food” grabbing.
Hi Dear Kittin, you remind me of my childhood friend “Tintin”
I was obsessed with, in my teenage years,
designing chips, now my expertise,
I share the skills with you, a brilliant colleague,
together we stand as reigning partners,
champions in a challenging market,
City of San Jose, silicon valley of America,
a competitive economy,
victorious pair - scientists of tomorrow’s world -
appreciate you and me!
In the garden of the almost blossom
stood Heirarchy the leader of the Neverwere
He paused as the Varenbirds disappeared within themselves
as they circled high above.
The velveteen sunrise shimmered above the diamond mountains
fractures of blue and reds dazzled his eyes for a moment
he slid his rough hands across his brow as he lowered himself to the ground.
His thoughts bounced across the unmoved water
a school of Labrinths.trapped within its depths.kept his gaze for a few moments.
He lay his head on the firegrass, its flames gently swayed against his gentle skin.
For any watching a man enjoying the joys of day but for those who knew him they could see the torment of a good man forced to war.
As he lay prone in the licking flames, he slowly closed his eyes
and took a deep breath.
His hand now felt the hold of another.turning on his side to bathe
in Summerias golden eyes, as she disarmed him with her crooked smile.
From his depths he could not contain the joy in his returned smile.
Still so silent, his thoughts of the Sluzen beast the silent killers who
roamed within the wilderness on the outskirts of the citadel.A remembrance of a childhood friend consumed by the Sluzen as they defied the warnings.
Many a throat had been slashed by his assassin bride, a warrior of some repute, but here in the beauty of the slivered sunrise her softness
was unquestionable.
With hesitation he began to speak, a finger touched to lips stopping him mid word.
No my love just lie back with me and let the morning be born
He lay back stretching his hand for his love
as fingers intertwined he closed his heavy eyes once more.
This moment of calm that hid his turmoil, if the Neverwere were to be
the only course was war
Gentle sounds of rainy days,
Cool dampness on a counterpane
The memory of my childhood years, beneath a quilt of poetry
Stirs longing for that healing grace, that comes again upon the page...
A mother's touch with vapor-rub
Some toasted bread, a tender face
A playground out beyond the dew..
The dampened swing, my misty view..
A shadow was my childhood friend, and sick-bed days a game
Imagination flew so high, my carpet ride to magic lands
My tattered book of childhood poems, still takes me by the hand
.................................................
My first introduction to poetry...Robert Louis Stevenson's Childhood Garden of Verses
(A sick-bed keepsake that kept me company)
this is a story of a woman.
work hard for the living.
used to work in the evening.
her face is filled with glitters.
inside the cave of dragons and beasts...
she is my beloved childhood friend.
she made a letter one day we met.
to let the people know 'bout herself.
she left it my wallet one morning,
and this is what she's telling....
she was only 15 when she left our town.
try to experience a life she dreamed about.
she dreams to change her life somehow.
but trouble had came and wreck her life.
thought this man can save her from the dark.
but the wheel of fortune did not fave her.
she was thrown inside the carcel.
she became famous in a world of fools.
dancing alone with a pair of shoes.
naked and wounded, her soul is abused.
too many years passed,
our roads had crossed.
I saw her picture in front of a door.
her hair has colors,her face is old.
I went to witness what a world she holds.
so many people are watching over,
their eyes are glimmer and craving.
I look up and see what's amuse them.
A question risen up in my head.
why is she dancing with just a pair of shoes?
that night seemed long, we drove away.
we felt each moment, our soul had mate.
I've drowned in a passion I dreamed to own.
I wake up that morn, I'm all alone.
holding a letter she wrote all night long.
this is the story of a woman,
wearing just a pair of shoes.
she is not different from you.
she is a princess of her dad.
she's an angel, she must be love.
Written by: Aiyah De Torres
Entry for WOMEN ONLY Poetry Contest
** 4th Place Winner**