#childhood poems on Hello Poetry

Inewdip 2h

Messed up hair with little time to care,
Endless laughs and a smile to spare.
No lies no worries just a soul so bare,
A part we lost along the journey somewhere.

A heart that yearned a butterfly's touch,
Eyes that searched for a rainbow's blush.
Sparks of joy at the wind's soft brush,
Memories linger - too light to clutch.

A time when dreams were bigger than fears,
Hearts weren't heavy and strange were tears.
Happiness was the moon in the darkest of the night,
Hopes were the sky and a life ever so light.

I look back at a girl that has the same eyes-
Eyes with stars winking at me with a smile.
I reach for her warmth though time denies-
Somewhere, someday, I think my stars died.

#childhood #memories

Vedanta Anagha 1d

Morning Cartoon

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!!

My past is something like no one care,
A beautiful childhood,
Where morning is just begin,
Rush to open television
In the sharp morning of 5
A world where I get my peace to reside.

BY VEDANTA ANAGHA

I wrote this piece to remind me and all of others that, past become so past we didn't able to that. Did you still remember that time when your favourite cartoon show was coming early in the morning at 5 am. When everyone is sleeping you rush to open your television to watch that show, to me it was "Poo-Bear" and it's so frustrating back then when instead of your cartoon show any **** online Shopping show was going, when it ends, it's you time to go to school. I am not old but I am not that kid anymore too. I am an Adult. I wish to leave in the past. Watching TV at the summer morning. I know you all remember.

#past #memories #memory #childhood #cartoon #anagha #television #peace

butterfly 3d

evie

i want to feel soft like the warm underbelly of a puppy.
i want to walk in long grass like a little girl, feel the wheat
tickling my legs as i pass.
i want to keep ladybirds in jam jars
and read with a torch under the covers past 11pm.

i want to giggle about things that don't really make sense
and make fairy houses out of twigs and leaves
and scrape my knees from falling off my bike.

i want to run through sprinklers in multicoloured swim suits
and eat warm toast with butter when it rains outside the window.

i want to wear mismatched hats and scarves
and read books upside down,
drink hot chocolate from mugs with faded cartoon characters
and eat coco pops, only on the weekend.

i want to wear my hair in two pigtails, one high, one low,
and i want you to make up a song and perform it to me,
whirling your skirt in the garden, doing handstands,
picking me daisies and placing them in my small, starfish hands.

your life is in boxes now, impermanent.
moving books and bags and clothes horses,
your socks in neat piles in a suitcase.
i'm sure some still have holes.

i love that you're my sister
and i miss that you were once my world.
when the end of the garden was the furthest distance between us,
when we spoke through tin cans joined by string
instead of on the phone.

a string stretching miles,
years.
i wonder when i will next braid your hair,
soft like a puppy's fur,
soft like warm laughter,
soft like our gentle childhood,
closed tight in a jam jar,
tucked into bed somewhere far away.

#childhood #sisters #girlhood

Gerry Sykes 3d

Hobby Horse

I was sat at the front of the cast iron horse
and with Tom and his sister and Nicky behind
we had rocked till the plaything went hight as we could
when it smacked on my jaw with its hard metal head.

An incisors had cut through my lip, and so blood
freely flowed from my mouth to my chin, where it paused,
and then dropped on the crown of the dangerous nag,
dripping sticky and red on the skull of our steed.

Soon my daddy had  lifted me up from that mount
and we drove to the doctor’s to suture my lip
where a needle was painfully pulled through my skin
and it felt as though cables were stitching my gob.

                                  –––

Did our play in my youth, though unsafe, have more thrill
than does zipping on wires over bark covered ground
or the climbing of ropes that are hung from a pole
and of swaying with swings that don’t go all around?

Every age has its dangers, unique to itself,
and so children will always find dangerous fun,
though as parents we worry as much as ours did,
now the  playgrounds are safer whatever we fear.

Another story from my childhood. With Peter Bowron's help the poem is now in anapestic tetrameter. This better captures the rocking motion of the horse.

The Original version is below with a da DUM da da DUM da da DUM da da DUM meter (iamb followed by three anapaests )

I sat at the front of the cast iron horse
with Tom and his sister and Nicky behind.
We rocked till the plaything went high as it could
when smack on my jaw went its hard metal head.

Incisors had cut through my lip, and so blood
flowed down from my mouth to my chin, then it gushed
and dropped on the crown of the dangerous nag,
so sticky and red on the skull of our steed.

My daddy then lifted me up from that mount
and drove to the doctor to suture my cut:
the needle was painfully pulled through my skin
it felt as though cables were stitching my gob.

–––

Did play in my youth, though unsafe, have more thrill
than zipping on wires over ground swathed with bark,
and climbing on ropes that are hung from a pole,
or swaying on swings that don’t go all around?

Each age has its dangers, unique to itself,
and children will always find dangerous fun,
so parents still worry as much as they did,
but playgrounds are safer, whatever they fear.

#childhood #accident #parents

Rudo 7d

In search of an unmeshed warmth

Watered out into this cold, cruel world
My parents are still trying to survive
Can I blame them for wanting not to?
I don't either.
Want to lose what I love.
Home.

What's the cost if what I love harms me?
Isolate again insearch for home.
Where my soul can finally rest.
My human can thrive without love's conditions.

My mind loses its grip.
Who I had to be is no more.
My heart numb.
Overwhelmed.
Trying not to care.
Making myself invisible.
Still yearning for deep relief.

I've tried creating a home in falsehood
Belonging to causes & thoughtforms.
Soul is now their prize, imprisoned.
These mental bars amplify the internal echo.
My ancestors' screams through every DNA strand.

You can't fully experience what you don't give yourself first.
Overflow all that energy they want from me from within.
Protect our essence.

Your wholeness is home.

#soul #retrieval #homelessness #ancestral #trauma #childhood #survival #mode #birth #rebirth

NostalgicFeeling Sep 24

The "Easy Child"

I've always been one to not cause
a trouble,
I've been the one to often
struggle,
I was the one no one had to worry
about,
Now all I ever wanna do is
shout.

6/2/25

#child #childhood #empty #sad #trouble #easy #shout

neth jones Sep 23

. . . . s t o n e . c o t t a g e

.
returning to my childhood home in thought
returning to mallard quacks tolling
and the hour toiled
                    by ever thirsty church bells
cold damp rock house with ammonites
and belemnites coiling in the walls
and a cooling ichthyosaur
futilely trying to swim in the silty soil
struggling to catch prey
                      beneath the foundation
            its darkness is rummage
.
a flush lawn  planted nilly and obscene
monkshood  mint  cotton grass and ling
warm mentions an evening fire
                     and the family room
i'm mooding through the memory
               and it grooms apart  organic
birthing  not  river  not  smoke
rat sized earwigs take to the air heat
over the boiling tar garage roof
and i return home back through time
child swinging on thick vines suspended
by the yew over the stream
the willows dapple and paddle
the fir trees return
fierce sproutings of involving shade
ridding the house
of the intruder new extension
riding time back
and the caravan my parents
            would later park on concrete
                             is swallowed
the storms of a bad year return the old wall
at the property edge
and the cottage reforms an ancient pace
                          with its surroundings
.
it's no longer my families claimed place
re-seemed with ghoulish history
the workhouse returns
           and files with hard poverty
the wall punches through
         in what will be the kitchen
and the cottage runs through long
with the neighbours space
dormitory takes the whole upstairs length
and the legend of the garment thief
drops ghost and rumour to live again
and then all this too flees out of history
.
rushing back through time
          and this all sinks into the levels
swamp life takes over
and the ammonites
           moisten with anticipation
prehistory is sprout   to begin
.

[02/04/25 is the date of early notes. Parish Rash was the title. leave this version for reference : mallard quacks and the hour tolled by church bells/cold damp house flush lawn planted obscene/warm memories an evening fire and family room/i'm mooding through the memory and it grooms apart organic/birthing not river not smoke/earwigs take to the air over the tar garage roof/and i return home back through time/the fir trees return fierce sprouting ridding the new extension/that my parents had now still to add/and the caravan my parents would later park on concrete/the storms of one year return the old wall at the property edge/lean it back up and refill in its mortar /and the cottage reforms an ancient peace with its surrounding/it's no longer my families claimed place/reseemed seam seem with ghoulish history]

#nature #home #memories #childhood #somerset #dorset #history #prehistory #cottage #garden

Kaycee33 Jul 31

Broken Hills

Oh how the Smoky Mountains,
And the Carolina Piedmont meet,
Water that carves through stone,
My, how these gentle streams,
The shining rivers owe,
Oh how a hay ride in Tenesseee,
Floods me in a dream,
Deep enough for the Tenesseee river boat,
For all her beauty, I know she will cheat,
And leave me all alone,
The surprise in her eyes,
As her valley wraps my sides,
When I flow from her beautiful hold.

My lord! the Virginia rolling hills, at the base of the Blue Ridge,
And the fathers are still in the home,
Though they welcome me in,
I do not want to ruin their mandolin,
When the Jack Daniel's begins to flow,
Like a bobcat that lost its will to live,
To the Blue Ridge--
To starve away while they play below.

Dam, how high this Catskill road climbs,
And span these turbid childhood ravines,
So much trust, we put in rust,
The red and dying maple leaves,
But if we must, return to dust,
Carve my name in only these,
The surviving iron, that spans this deadly stream.

She let's me down, on shadowed ground,
Of the Worcester Plateau,
She is an icey mother,
These hills still in winter,
With lightning during snow,
These broken hills, that melt and freeze,
So no children can ever skate,
My lord! Look at all the lime young leaves--
So tender and ready to break.

#childhood #appalachiantrail

Kaycee33 Jul 2024

Snowy Hills

My room overlooks snowy hills,
On a house sky high,
I hear my father descending stone stairs,
my mother creaking up attic pine,
My father coming to pick me up saturday morning,
My mother in the attic on a saturday night.

I once saw a mans foot dangle from the clouds,
The roofer above my room outside
A discounted price no doubt,
Tho the roof is above the pines,
The front door is below the stone,
Cant build like that anymore, due to code.

Barely remember anything below eight,
I guess my father used to stay out late,
Sometimes I would awake to the summer day,
With knocks at the door for brunch,
Down the stairs flying I would go,
Only opening to the night, the stone and the cold,
The meanest dreams I know.

The snowy hills can play tricks,
Like the day I saw a fox,
Outside looking over the pines,
Something distant, rubbing my eyes,
Coming so close I see it trot.

I know she is carrying memories,
When I hear those creaking stairs,
I snuck up to the attic once,
And those windows rattled in that jetstream air.
I found a photo, diagonally ripped in half,
A hand on the shoulder of a boy about to laugh,
It looked like the boy was smiling to the darkness,
Due to the album being black.

These snowy hills can be cruel,
From the attic I can see that fox,
It comes so close, in that leafless distance,
Then it suddenly stops.

#childhood

Bella Sep 21

elemental love

every night my heart breaks
as i lay this new day to rest
and with it,
this new her—
new
for a moment and gone
in an instant

i remember when it was us
and life moved through me
into her,
and the portal into other realms was
open
as synapses fired and gathered
her soul
and now—

she belongs to the world
as much as i do;
the trees,
the oceans,
the embers,
the wind—

#mothering #grief #heartbreak #growth #childhood #elements