Long Childhood memory Poems
Long Childhood memory Poems. Below are the most popular long Childhood memory by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Childhood memory poems by poem length and keyword.
When I was a little girl unaware of life and evil,
Father would take me to the park with him;
I loved the ducks and how sweetly they floated there,
Father would sit on a park bench watching me feeding them.
The ducks would come to me without hesitation,
They knew nothing about evil or corruption;
Ugliness in the world did not exist in this peaceful park,
It was so soothing beneath the trees to just sit and talk.
Oh, to go back to those days of the innocent child,
Who would ask father question after question;
Under those swaying leaves and pretty ducks drifting by,
He talked to me about life and nature on that park bench.
I went back to the park recently to visit the park bench,
It still remains as I recall where me and father sat;
Lingering there I watched the ducks drifting and remembered,
A gentle breeze touched my hair and I imaged it was father.
Sitting on the park bench with me . . . .
___________________________
February 13, 2016
Poetry/Verse/Where Memories Linger
Copyright Protected, ID 16-756-382-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym
Submitted to the contest, Any Poem #37
sponsor, A Poet Destroyer
First Place
I found a treasure chest I thought I'd tossed,
filled with memories of my childhood days
and precious keepsakes I had loved and lost,
tea party guests, who were with me, always.
Filled with memories of my childhood days,
there were two brown bears that I'd befriended,
tea party guests, who were with me, always.
How often their seams had to be mended.
There were two brown bears that I'd befriended.
We sipped from a make-believe china cup.
How often their seams had to be mended.
Just a little girl, acting so grown up.
We sipped from a make-believe china cup.
I remember those mornings at sunrise
Just a little girl, acting so grown up,
Serving tea on the floor with sleepy eyes.
I remember those mornings at sunrise
and precious keepsakes I had loved and lost,
Serving tea on the floor with sleepy eyes.
I found a treasure chest I thought I'd tossed.
Feelings of Nostalgia Contest
sponsored by Eve Roper~Prompt 3
posted~June 30, 2020
Recalling being age seven, at breakfast around
the white, oval wood kitchen table.
Sitting on a telephone book so as to reach the
table, I was not able.
Mom, of blessed memory and always a fresh
tablecloth, newly pressed.
Nobody in leisure clothes allowed, so we all
were fully dressed.
Only the small radio played soft melodious
tunes,
Music that today, nobody could even croon.
My frisky wire-haired fox terrier played with
his toys.
Breakfasts, decades ago that I
both cherish and enjoyed.
Faces of sun and peace, in my memory live.
The early days of this poetess, her happy,
precious retrospective.
September 18, 2020
2:30pm PST
Edited. 9/19/2020
"How sweet to the heart are the scenes of my childhood"
Samuel Woodworth, 1785-1842
___________________
Have good and sad memories of childhood,
but let me just write of the some for you;
beside a flowing stream I often stood !
Holding father's hand before his soul flew,
I will treasure those hikes down lush green trails;
oh, recall my first kitty who spoke - mew !
I loved listening to all Grandma's tales,
and her chocolate chip cookies and pies;
I will never forget seeing the whales !
How can I forget my sisters sweet eyes,
oh, she never aged again since that day;
and hand-me-downs that Mom had to resize !
My childhood thoughts mingle in a melee;
as my memories dances a ballet !
____________________________
November 15, 2020
Poetry/Terza Rima/non imabic/Childhood Memories
Copyright Protected, ID 11-1304-982-15
All Rights Reserved, 2020, Constance La France
Rhyming verified on RhymeZone
Syllables verified on HowManySyllables
Grammar and Spelling verified on PS Grammar Checker
~ Once upon a long ago...
Three kids were raised on my family's farm
I am the middle child who spent more time
working in the fields with Dad, my Galahad,
for I found household chores such a bore.
Outside, in the fresh air, me and mon pere
worked side by side, talking about the future.
We pruned row after row of tomato plants,
fed chickens that were later killed, one by one
but when their blood was spilled, I was sick
Not a bite of them could I take while my heart
ached for the baby chicks I had raised.
To this day, I don't eat a lot of eggs.
How many times did I fall from the hay loft...
Quite oft, and from the swing in the tree
Another treasured childhood memory.
Beneath it I cried and then dried my tears,
overcoming fears, and through the years,
Dad kept replacing the rope swing in the tree,
of the barnyard meadow, just for me.
The tree's still there on my family's land
I painted it last Autumn when I visited the farm.
The fields are no longer tended and plowed
Rows are fallow on what was once hallowed
ground to me. There are no kids playing there
no longer a rope swing. Everything is changed,
rearranged to suit the needs of the new owners
who kindly understood when I asked if I could
paint the old rusty-roofed barn of my childhood
where I once rode my horse, and of course
played hide and seek with my sister and brother,
once upon a long ago ~
"Imagine a lovely garden, tea for two,
and this story.... "
When I was but a child,
My father he was my whole world.
On the night that he died
That world as I knew it... unfurled.
My mother and I were not close.
I was Daddy's little girl.
I had my father's eyes of green,
I had his hair, in wild curl.
I was a child, I saw him die.
No one should have such a memory.
My life that night forever changed.
I saw what no one should ever see.
Suicide is an ugly word.
It was never spoken about that night.
Truth was hidden from all who asked.
How could he think this solution right?
A childhood memory from long ago
Still brings tears when I recall
The night my father chose to die,
To run from life... and us all.
~~~ Francine Roberts~~~
14/08/2011
for Constance's " I Fancy Another
Sad Poem" contest
Near the horizon the blue hills cascaded in waves,
Over the emerald slopes of rhythmic undulations
Surrounding the hamlet where my home was once.
The flotilla of ivory cloud drifted in cerulean sky where
Amplified joy of my childhood soared with the kites I flew.
Liquefied pearls flowed in the meandering crystal brook,
Girdling the verdant meadow, and from its gentle slope
I sent out paper boats to sail to the distant sea unknown,
Carrying the rainbow tinged teenage fantasy of mine.
Flash from the past glitters even in the twilight hour,
Lingers to brighten up the fading corridor of memory.
As I walk the last mile for the unknown destination,
Suffused with the seamless satisfaction life gave me,
Highly adored childhood treasure I preserve in nostalgia.
December 9, 2020
Contest : Any New Acrostic About Nostalgia
Sponsor : Line Gauthier
the swinging sixties never swung
as much as people said
but for me, the bands
and the songs they sung
linger on inside my head
I rocked and rolled to morningtown
on a wagon with one wheel
and followed tracks
that took me down
to fields that felt unreal.
a jungle snake both sang and hissed
when a man climbed on his cloud
then a windmill turned
in the autumn mist
and a policeman laughed out loud
in a warm and gentle wonderland
on a train whose whistle blew
a swinging star
introduced his band
and sang a rainbow too
God only knows when I look back
why the miller told his tale
and I can’t explain
why grocer jack
turned a whiter shade of pale
but I'm thankful for those days back then
before the years rolled by
those were the days
in dreams and when
there was spirit in the sky.
imagery&rhyme
&
symbols of sound
in the poetic
found
in childhood memory
assonance&allusion
a fusion
embodied
blended
perceived
received
as
a
human experience
an inward
quality
to colour
forever
indelibly
frozen
imprinted
unerased
introspections
spots of time
of
yours&
mine
And oftentimes, as in a symphony,
a sound distinct emerges from the waves,
within this cove, this rocky gallery,
strange echoings through a honeycomb of caves.
At times quite muffled, undefined, and then,
with clarity we hear, but only when
the boisterous wind allows a brief respite,
resounding peals of laughter and delight.
The rock pools chiselled out for childhood pleasure,
still resonate, as, in the house above,
a mother views her bathing brood at leisure,
contented in a place so much beloved.
Such gleeful sounds are music to her ears,
These shrieks and whoops will echo down the years.
This sandy cove through time will surely sing
and Howick Pools fond memories will bring.