Most Commented Childhood Poems (355)

Dance there upon the shore;
What need have you to care
For wind or water's roar?
And tumble out your hair
That the salt drops have wet;
Being young you have not known
The fool's triumph, not yet
Love lost as soon as won,
Nor the best labourer dead
And all the sheaves to bind.
What need have you to dread
The monstrous crying of wind?

The brain is the body’s power source for the mind
While used on a regular basis daily for either good or evil
It is never challenged when children are born to the
World, at that point it is looked upon God’s gift to
The parents. As time advances we discover the child’s
Full potential as the mind tends to decide whether the
Child has developed all that can be learnt by education
From schooling and the arts, sometimes the child becomes
A genius or may take a darker path of criminal activity.
This is were the mind enters this scenario. The child must
Realise by using the treasures of his mind the world will be
A better place for all. Choosing a career in medicine may be
One option healing the sick, another might become a teacher
Educating the next generation of children, all of this the mind
Will assist with inspiration and intelligence.
Then we have to view life as another child would envision.
The world could represent a different and eerie view of horror
Turning his back on society, may become a dictator as we have
Witnessed in our past centuries, using the mind to seek war
For personal profits, hurting families and friends, who knows
What damage will prevail. The outcome rests with our future
Families whether they choose a peaceful existence or war
Which no one will profit from. The treasure of the mind is there
To be used for the benefit of mankind, it must never be used
For man’s downfall.

John Ginesi (Author)
(c) 17/10/22

Children from different walks of life
Mix of laughter, play, without strife
Helping each other, so good to see
Different cultures, innocence a key

From countries, around the world they came
Seeking a new life, with needs the same
A tiny girl, asked if I came here too
South African, her pretty name a clue

Explained I came from London, I smiled
Like them had travelled, thousands of miles
Mixed with Kiwi kids, sitting so still
Listened to stories, having their fill

Older ones helping, was good to see
Treasure hunt or craft, enjoyment key
I learnt so much from them that week
Children teaching adults, ages and cultures meet.....

Light it up like Rambo
what ever happened to Sambo
victim of the mambo
from the land of banjo

His father was Black Jumbo
his mother was Black Mumbo
tigers round a tree they come-bo
to a pool of ghee they did go

Though nothing can bring back the hour
Of splendour in the grass,
Of glory in the flower.
We will grieve not, rather find,
Strenght in what remain behind.

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I remember, when I was about five, being bullied, I remember, Geraldine, like a saviour, came to save me, I was about five, she was only about eight,, but she was like a super hero to me, that was my sister, I love her,, I know I dont tell her, but , sometimes poems dont need to ryhme! And all you need to do is say how you feel! xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx all kisses for you !

most of time, clouds are, and were
have not see my kitchen ware, or dare to care?
just like the carrousel, up, and down, back and forth
undesired, under construction
belly's full, with no blend to be unblended
another day will count to this unfinished list
most of time, clouds are, and were.

They were children
Who weren't suppose to know
The ways of their elders.
Young and foolish,
Boy and girl,
Playing the roles of man and woman.

Learning their lines,
Setting the stage,
To rehearse each part
Until they perfected the craft
With a child they couldn't keep
And really didn't want.

In time the offers came,
With a price that sounded right.
Their parents played salesmen,
Their state played host,
The child played barter,
And their hearts played dead.

Many life tales have i written.
All of wisdom and adventure.
I tell you now of a place,
Of my adolescence.

Barren and abandoned.
Blasted landscape,
Crumbled buildings.
Stunk of unnatural death.

Time did not exist there.
No one dared set foot in that place.
Crafted means to kill populace,
long ago.

It was perfect.
No life, no authority.
Where vigilance ruled.
Where the spirit of man,
Was observed in full.

It claimed my life.
Damned to that hell,
Though we were wiped clean,
from the earth.