Most Liked Childhood Poems (355)

All for you it seems
that way.
Then i get told
teenagers only know
one way to be all
about ME.
When do they figure
out this does not
work.
They need to give
in order to get.
I guess when they
are ADULTS they will
understand are reasoning
for what we did and
appreciate it

Summer days,summer nights,
Summer roads, summer light.

Like summer love some are delights that don't get old.

Summer job, summer fun,
summer always on the run.

My summer's long my summer's short my summer's gone .

Long, long ago in school we played,
And history books were being made.
A sod of turf from bog so rotten,
T'is amazing how,
We have forgotten....

Cold feet, cold hands, class room bare,
Most of the kids with knotty hair.
On wooden bench we'd sit our bottoms,
T'is amazing how,
We have forgotten....

Teacher roar, Teacher shout,
In one ear, the other out.
The learning in our heads was trobbing,
But, its amazing how,
We have forgotten....

Eating lunch, with ice cold milk,
Those hard harsh days would make you think.
The soles of our shoes,
With holes from trotting,
Again, amazing how,
We have forgotten....

But did we really forget at all,
We remember a lot from when we're small.
The history,
The hair,
The heads that were trobbing,
I don't think there's a lot,
We have forgotten....


Liza Mc Beth....
12/3/05....

what a memory melody trip,
backward down the forgotten road,
peeling through layers of yesteryears,
remembering our friends and school.

what a trip down memory lane,
kids we fought and enemies made,
teachers yelling loud for our attention,
if only these Damm memories stayed.


what a waste to try and remember,
the girl I miss to ask for a kiss,
a game I should have won but lost,
and my buddies of school days are gone forever.

Wnen I was young, mind wondered as a child and I only thought as a child.
When I becam a teenager I thought as a teenager. I always wonder what it would be to grow up.
When I became an adult finally, I realize that I still had the mind of a child, and as a teenager.
But in my mind I was still an adult. I can not go back to those days as child or a teenage.
But still in my mind I wonder why I wanted to grow up so fast, because in my mind I am still as I was before I grew up.

Pack up your bags its time to go,
All the way back to Colorodo.
I'll ride my 4-wheeler andhave tons of fun,
until my mom calls for my fun to be done.
Then when I look back and see what I'll miss,
I take a big wiff of that Colorodo mist.

When I think back on my childhood
days, and the wild wonderful world
set before me, I sometimes wonder
why I had been lead into such a
fools paradise..
Cotton candy, and roller coasters, yo-yo's
and sling shots.. Really?
Camping in a tent in my back yard with
school buddies with flashlights listening
for any sounds of the boogy man.
School buses and homework gave way
to teenage years, and gradually young
adulthood
And as all dreams must awake, so to
must ferris wheels and bright lights
come to a grinding hault
For the boogyman had been waiting
in the shadows
He had come to kill and destroy and
there was no refuge in camping tents
with bright flashlights
I was now on the run hiding in the
shadows, and paradise had vanished
in the haze
And stooped down in some dirty alley
way I trembled and cried for my
paradise
But through the rain and cold the old
street lamp lighted before my innocent
eyes the world and all its wicked glory
You..were the boogy man.

I saw very little ahead of me
I just saw what had to be done everyday
In the school,in the play ground,in the house and in the kitchen
To study,to play,to fight,to argue and to clean and wash my house
I saw nothing and I heard nothing beyond the words that I heard or that I spoke.
I lived like a machine and I liked them,the machines,their grinding and deafening sounds.
I liked to hear the sounds of the bullets fired in the sky,the fighter jets conducting air raids overhead.
I used to get thrilled seeing people running with gleaming steel swords at each other.
I liked the coaching that I got in fighting and in drawing.
But I never could enter an army where I went nor did I become some artist.
Cause I saw very little of what I could be.
I saw very little of what I should be.
It was a dream city where I lived and
I haven't grown any further than what I was
When I left it a quarter of a century back
Some call me a wall,some a machine and others a rock
But I never could see what they meant
I am not the wall,but
There is a wall that separates them from me
There is a machine in me cause
I loved them more, when boys were chasing girls
I was racing and chasing toy cars and buses
And building aircrafts and sailing them in air
I still see nothing ahead of me but
machines and concrete buildings stretching as far as I can see
And thats all how far I can see
I do not see months,years or weeks ahead of me,but just
A few moments or a day ahead of me.
I like spades.I used it with my hands and I am not shy of calling it
So,to others.

If memory serves me correctly
I must have been about four
Left at home with grandmother
To watch and keep me safe

Being a child there’s something I said
Can’t quite rightly remember what
But she changed, demon possessed
With an axe she came chasing me

I fled for my life round the yard
With a banshees wail she gave chase
Had she caught me I would not be here
To write of this terrifying tale

Round and round for my life I ran
The axe whistled past my head
Thank God my father came home just then
To him for safety I fled

Now you might think this is a tale
But to the truth I’d gladly swear
Even now at sixty three
I remember like yesterday

Claps of thunder and wisps of coastal winds give signal to the storm approachin',
Drops of a bitter-sweet rain trace down my face...wetting my lips and clearing my frown.


I hear myself whisper - "A truce must be drawn"...between the warrior within, and the coward without.
The cobblestones echo my footsteps as the day seems to hasten below the horizon...
Magnolias and giant Oak canopy the path to the old plantation, and granite stones;
scribed reminders of former generations dot the grave just past the old barn...
now dilapidated and ignored from years of indifference.


I remember growing up here - the heat, the slow pace of life, the white sands, the Live Oaks and Palmettos and of course.....those Dixie Storms.They come...like sheets of celophane racing across the fields, soon to drench the ground and the cobblestone lanes; the rains mirror the fury of the gusts...tossing each and every raindrop like marbles dropped from a bucket - escorted by a celestial drum corps of thunder and cymbal claps...
How I do miss those Dixie Storms.


Gregory S.