Most Liked Childhood Poems (355)

Can I go back in time
To a sunny summer field
In its rhythm of peace
I watch as life slows
Peering over the dash
Through the windshield
I close my eyes and seek
Such memories like those
A child of the sixties
Far as a flower child goes
The last of my kind
The world will ever know
A lover of color patches
Sewn all over my clothes
Fading in some subtle hues
Into my dungaree blues

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.

There is still a chill in the air
Smell our clothes hanging bare
Out on the clothesline again
The frost still in the ground
When first showers of vernal rain
Making puddles in the street
Waiting for the sound of little feet
Tramping and stomping along
Sounds made louder by the slush
Nearby a shrinking pile of snow
Hear the laughter and pure joy
First dandelions made into a chain
A child’s smiles…. triumphantly
Splashing along as she goes
The songbirds first melody
Comes on the rising whips of fog
Stillness drifts o'er the orchard
Passed along all these lost thoughts
Buried in time just like among these
And all our memories also planted
Like seeds in our consciousness
Waiting patiently while love will grow
Waiting all this time to take us home

FROM PARENT TO CHILD

I gave you life, but I cannot live it for you
I can teach you things, but I cannot make you learn
I can give you directions, but I cannot always be there to lead you
I can allow you freedom, but I cannot account for it
I can take you to church, but I cannot make you believe
I can teach you right from wrong, but I cannot always decide for you

I can buy you beautiful clothes, but I cannot make you lovely inside
I can offer you advice, but I cannot accept it for you
I can give you love, but cannot make you lovable
I can teach you to share, but I cannot make you unselfish
I can teach you respect, but I can't force you to show honor
I can advise you about friends, but I cannot choose them for you

I can teach you about sex, but I cannot keep you pure
I can tell you the facts of life, but I can't build your reputation
I can tell you about drink, but I can't say NO for you
I can warn you about drugs, but I can't prevent you from using them
I can tell you about lofty goals, but I can't achieve them for you
I can teach you kindness, but I can't force you to be gracious

I can warn you about sins, but I can't make your morals
I can love you as a child, but I can't place you in God's family
I can pray for you, but I cannot make you walk with God
I can teach you about Jesus, but cannot make Jesus your Lord
I can tell you how to live, but cannot give you eternal life


Based on an Extract form Author: Medard Laz (from the book "Love Adds a Little Chocolate")

"Dear Diary," how do you get everybody to be so trusting?
To tell their deepest secrets without withholding.
They just open up and allow their thoughts to be free,
Not worrying if you will judge them,they just let it be.

You come in so many colours to show you are not bias by race,
You never rush but allows one to express at their own pace.
Your pages scribble,cried on,torn but you don't complain,
Misspelled words,naughty thoughts cause you no pain.

Advertised on a bookshelf waiting to be sold,
Each word written makes the purchase worth more than gold.
For once we write," Dear Diary,"
Then after that it becomes our greatest duty,
to keep this precious book carefully,
Disguised in absolute privacy.

"Dear Diary," Oh how you listen to us grow,
Keeping our inner thoughts that no one else can know.
Our dreaming,
Our losing,
Our winning,
Our every emotion blatantly displaying.

And with each day,each year, you have kept intact,
It is such a pleasure to turn your pages and look back.

To that first day when with shaking hands I trusted you entirely,
And began life's journey,
With the trusted words,"Dear Diary..."

My eyes are brown not blue

They may not be an ocean or a lake to swim in.

But they show my soul is down to earth

Though blue can be exciting and true

My eyes are brown not blue.

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

It's Saturday morning the excitement grows,
From the tips of my fingers to the tips of my toes,
Jump out of bed and run down the stair,
Avoiding my mother with the brush for my hair,
Bolt down the cornflakes place the bowl in the sink,
She asks me a question but I've no time to think,

I ask her to hurry she hands me a tin,
That's the admission, the price to get in,
Be it beans or soup or a quarter of tea,
That was the price, that was the fee,
A knock at the door, I know who'll that be,
Oh those were the days my posse and me.

We strolled down the main street with sixshooters in hand,
In our heads, the meanest gang in the land,
We handed over our bounty to a nice man called Joe,
In ye go lads we've got a great show,

The house lights were up, ah but then they went dim,
The stamping of feet, it made such a din,
On came the lone ranger with tonto his mate,
I thought he was magic, I thought he was great,
The cartoons that followed I loved most of all,
Till that's all folks, indeed that was all,

Its now forty years on, my the years they have flown,
Instead of a sixgun I now wield a phone,
Now as the lights dim and I sit in my seat,
I have to stop myself from stamping my feet.

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.