Long Childhood memories Poems
Long Childhood memories Poems. Below are the most popular long Childhood memories by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Childhood memories poems by poem length and keyword.
Once we were Seven
Once we were seven now only one
Six gone before me
Now I’m alone
No one to reminisce with
Questions left to myself
Childhood memories but no one to share
They left me each of them, one by one
And with each passing
Came sadness and tears
Charlotte was first
We were closest in age
She teased and tormented me
But she loved me, I knew
The second to leave was my sweet Barbara
Independent, fearless, gentle and kind
Mysterious Edward I hardly knew
His passing a surprise cause we did’t know
Then it was John my protector my friend
He was my hero when I was young
Big brother Dale our tough marine
A virus took him a little to soon
The last to go was my big sister Donna
My mentor, my cheerleader
My very best friend
It wasn’t their choice, that I know
They’d be here today but they had to go
It’s a feeling of emptiness when you’re the last one left
Once we were seven
Now only one
Cathy Strackbein 08/07/25
Preserving Childhood memories
Those years are like dusty boxes of old books
Each book classify as a quantum leap for me.
My first steps that led to many things,
I kept thinking of my small bottle of goat’s milk
Flavored with Grenada nutmeg to tone down the taste:
Perhaps after my father saw the look of disgust on my small face,
After my first tastes, in comparison to the cow’s milk
Lactose intolerance was the key word in those days.
Little did anyone knew of it…then..
Which was worse the cod liver oil, on Sunday Morning?
Or the nauseating feeling, of the repeats of the oil in one’s mouth
1950s hardly a child escaped mumps, measles, whooping cough or chicken pox.
Childhood disease was most feared, especially amongst the poorest.
So the old folks did whatever, it took to protect us ..
I was always searching, for my next chapter, as soon as I was out of
The danger zone to record, one line at a time
to the simplest things such as choosing the
Best pebbles, the loudest night crickets, to the most
Beautiful butterfly for my collections:
I think I had mention this before once I caught a snarky bird
And try to cage, the poor thing, until my grandmother beg of me
To let it go free, freedom for him was a squeak of happiness,
I could be wrong, but I think the bird return a favor to our household…
There he was picking away at the bananas on the kitchen counter,
Perhaps he saw the danger, that windy morning
A nearby kitchen towel was left to close to the burning stove,
Freedom for him was a squeak of happiness for us on that day
I must indeed say:
Preserving my childhood memories,
not only came from on top of that Hill
But from what that bird taught me,
About a kitchen window that opened with a slight squeak"
freedom
?
When I try to recall my childhood memories,
My heart elates with those stockpiled in my unwritten registry.
I used to enjoy walking under the trellis of “vines”
The rich “hued” pink and purple blossoms
With their sweet perfume that was really good to “inhale.”
Once, found a bunch of dragonflies moving in a “glide.”
A strong desire tempted me to catch a helicopter.
Ran after and succeeded to “hold” the scaled wings together.
With a big "gasp" stood there silently.
I watched at its striking pods for a while.
It was startled with the feeling of being hijacked,
As the new “clutch” deprived it of its liberty.
I found no happiness.
Slowly, I made my “clasp” loose and let it go
It swayed its wings happily and tried to “soar” high,
But came back and circled me twice with its humming.
My little heart tried to “grasp” the meaning for its actions
It might be appreciating me.
I clapped my hands wishing it good-bye.
Experienced a new kind of joy and realized
“By making others happy, one can enjoy real happiness”
Writing Prompt - Grasp - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Date: 03-07-2021.
Placed: 2nd
Golden light shimmers, dust motes dance,
reflecting in my husband's gentle heart.
A still pond, calm and deep,
where childhood laughter plays a part.
He carries food, warm and bright,
hot idli's, crisp dosas, spicy chat.
Through streets of childhood, memories light,
her eyes, star-filled, like a child's glad hat.
Her belly, a tiny, budding world,
filled with hopes and dreams, so new.
He brings back tastes of days of old,
a carousel of joy, revived and true.
Each tiny dish, a whispered prayer,
to nurture a future, soft and strong.
His love, a constant, gentle care,
a symphony of righting all that's wrong.
Her pregnant glow, a moonlit scene,
by his devotion, beautifully shown.
Each offering, a loving, precious mean,
a heart of gold, forever known.
As I draw back the needle
that familiar smell of alcohol
takes me back through the years
this cloudy substance
swirls like the emotions of mind
...I remember the smell
of rubbing alcohol as it mingled
amidst the scents of applesauce
cooking atop your stove
while you stood there
trying to steady yourself
on the walker, and wooden legs
the fresh basil and tomatoes
sitting on the counter
amongst the extra apples
I gathered that morning
as they laid scattered
atop the fresh fallen dew
I was so proud
as i sat there
sipping pastina
anxiously awaiting
for a taste
from your wooden spoon
I still prefer my applesauce
warm, unsweetened
just as memory recalls
I never saw you grow old
nor did you ever see me
grow past the age of nine
yet I have always felt you near
more so now
as draw back the needle
and inject it in my leg
I feel it linger
in the slow burn
like memories
I close my eyes
and see you there
needle drawn
beneath the scents
of rubbing alcohol
and applesauce
as it simmers
atop your stove
yet my lips
only taste bitterness
of fallen tears
as they tumble
through recollection
of past
August 7, 2019
NA Rerun Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton
Originally Written on August 1, 2019 for Cornucopia Cooking
I remember the days of yore.
Entering my house, out came my knight,
my sable-coloured spaniel.
Licking my face, giving me great delight.
He jumped up and down with joy
and I’ll never forget the smell
of my lovely lively dog freshly washed.
He was so glad; my pride would swell.
Mother would come to search for me,
a hug, a kiss and always a blessing.
The smell of Bouillabaisse Soup,
impregnated the house and her dress.
How I loved the smell of my mother’s cooking
when I came home from school.
It would not take me long to wash my hands
and at table expectantly sit at my stool.
Dad would come later, chewing his cigar.
I got used to the smell though I never tried one.
And after our short repast we would depart
to play a game or laugh as him I outrun.
Everything welcomed me home.
A final drink of camomile in my favourite mug,
Thus, at night I would sleep tightly,
the smell of clean sheets so cosy and snug.
Alas time went on and I grew up
got a job and met my love.
Now we live in our brand new house,
but it smells differently.
Like the air freshener that wafts above.
It can’t be helped. My parents died and
so did my spaniel. Time has its laws
Life changes all but
I’ll never forget how warm my old home was.
Came the question as to where it began
Heard somebody say it’s the platters man
Of all childhood memories that’s the first
So filled my heart thought it would burst
Got me daydreaming saw myself on stage
Even penned the lyrics page after page
My name in neon lights a stunning sight
Inviting an audience in colours so bright
Then a kind of hush as I started to croon
Party’s over take down that pretty balloon
My voice quietly yet earnestly captivating
Emotive melody arrangement fascinating
Applause still lingering I start my next song
Please stay with me that’s where you belong
If you leave me now what would cupid say
He brought us together forever and a day
An enchanted hint of a smile on every face
Reminiscing another time or another space
Cherished and memorable songs like Yesterday
Me and Mrs Jones found a place to hide away
What a blissful and entertaining dimension
Migrating smoothly just an easy ascension
Wish that I could still deliver song and rhyme
The Platters said it soulfully It’s twilight time
Sunday was patent leather shoes, white anklets with lace
Starchy petticoats, flouncy lavender dresses with huge bows in the back.
Sunday was Sunday School, where everyone in the church knew us.
Singing so loudly in the pew during church our mother was shushing us.
Sunday was roast beef and potatoes with chocolate or lemon meringue pie.
Sunday was a day for Daddy to stay home all day, show us his sense of humor.
We looked forward to this day all week long; it was almost our favorite day.
It would have been our very favorite if Saturday had not been cartoon day.
Sunday was singing along with The Lennon Sisters,
Sunday was singing along with Mitch Miller
Sunday was eating homemade donuts and popcorn for supper.
Childhood Sunday memories make me smile to this day,
Fifty years since I had one of those childhood Sundays.
Fireflies, I called them lightning bugs.
I have my own nostalgic memories of them.
Childhood memories of being with my Uncle Walt.
We would hurry through dinner and chores,
and then go outside on warm summer nights.
He would catch one, but only for a moment.
He taught me to appreciate nature, not abuse it.
We would keep one in a jar, watch it for awhile.
Placing it on the front steps and turn off the light.
Excitedly watching the flashing lights off and on,
like miniature flashing bulbs, lighting up the steps.
We would then let it go, even though I begged not to.
My Uncle always reminded me there would be a next time.
Such fun, magical memories!
I dream of
my childhood
and the love !
Mom has made a picnic
and unfurls a blanket
in a green forest thick
beside a rippling stream
where birds twitter and tweet
and we pick raspberries _
eating- O, they are sweet !
And here I am with my dad strolling
on an adventure expedition
down forest trails rocky and rolling
and another memory flashes
mom and dad are above in Heaven
all that now remains are their ashes
and here I am playing on the swings
and then- on a fair merry-go-round
around and around till I have wings !
________________
June 30, 2021
Poetry/Rhyme/Childhood Memories
Copyright Protected, ID 06-1368-023-30
All Rights Reserved, 2012, Constance La France
Written for the Premier contest, 3-6-9 Poem
sponsor, Emile Pinet, Judged 07/31/2021