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Poems On / About CHILDHOOD  7/23/2014 8:48:25 AM
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Best Poems About / On CHILDHOOD
 
 
 
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  325.     

Our Childhood Reminiscences

But this is how we were when kids;
And this is how most passed childhood;
We dressed and played all kinds of games;
We never knew what risks, life brings.

Our childhood life was best of all;
Our parents met our every want;
What love they gave, we can’t repay;
Our lives went off in dreams and play.

Those pleasant days cannot come back;
The memories are evergreen;
As children we were angelic!
Oh, what a change when now adults!

Those were the days of real joy;
A little pain was there, sometimes;
To most, it was a care-free life;
We wish but can’t go back in time!

Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-27-2007
 
Dr John Celes

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  326.     

Childhood Sky

childhood sky is always bright
flying with colourful birds

one exotic hornbill missed
its way to jungle, flew to town
to rest on a neighbour's roof
exhibiting its full splendour
and forever painted itself in
my memory in refreshing
red yellow, horn and all

a migrating egret flew to
a tree right in front of our house,
stayed there like an old wise
white haired man before
flying away my heart with it

the varied coloured pigeons
that turned the roof into their paradise
mating on chimneys, their wings flapping,
crowning in triumph over a female

and their signature rush to build
their nest, holding a straw in their beaks
the way a scintillating professor
out to build a sky of knowledge
for his brood, would

a few of the pigeons even flew
a few kilometres back after having been
given to our cousins holding dear
our hearts high up in the sky

one magpie sang each morn
away on a little chimney provoking me
to speak with it in excited nurseries

a forlorn pigeon waited and
waited till dusk for its companion
to emerge from the ground
disappointed and flew away
a grey world of disappointment*

childhood sky is
always bright with tales
and rains down memories -
sweet, sad, and joyful
 
john tiong chunghoo

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  327.     

Beyond My Window

Beyond my window
The sky blooms in a voluminous garden
The sun attends,
And there my childhood goes wandering
In the thick forest of nebulous—
There is no time on me
And there are no scars—
Gravity is a funny thing that still spins
Like a top in the palm of my hand…..
My heart is not lost in a panting jungle
Of her red fingernails and long, curling locks,
Like chains made of unbreakable feathers,
For now she stalks me without even thinking about it,
A filmy poltergeist doing her life
Five states away near where the East Ocean breathes.
She eats its salts every day and doesn’t even think about it,
The way the world tastes inside of her….
Inside me, she is the romantic acid
Spurting through my soul, taking turns with time
And gravity to bed decay in me….
My house quakes with her and I am coming down,
Though beyond my window
Where the sun gallops, my childhood still plays.
 
Robert Rorabeck

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  328.     

Lies of the Lamb

The lamb, a childhood consort, has lied to me
She's sung songs that she cannot claim
She's sung of blue rivers, of green leas
Of bright suns and pleasant rain

The lamb, she's told me stories
Stories of innocence, of fair play
She's told me of a childhood with no worries
Of days spent grazing, of hours spent gay

But now the lamb is no longer a lamb,
She's a full-grown sheep, with a head of wool;
Though now everything she's ever said has convulsed into a sham
It's me who feels the naοve fool

Once my friend and now no more
She looks at me with saddened eyes
I look back with wisdom I ne'er had before
The sheep is to be slaughtered along with her lies
 
Samah Khan

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