Childhood Memories

Published: April 2020

Poems About Reminiscing On Childhood

24 Poems About Reminiscing On Childhood

Growing up is inevitable. No matter how much we want to hold onto our childhood, life is going to move forward. At some point, our childhood becomes something we look back on instead of something we’re currently experiencing. Each generation’s childhood is marked with different characteristics. No matter how old you are, it seems that every generation believes life was slower and sometimes better than daily life today. This is a collection of poems about those simpler times. The poems are filled with sentimental longing for the days gone by. What fond memories do you have from your childhood? For a moment, take a stroll down memory lane and reminisce about the good old days. They might be just a memory now, but what a beautiful memory they are. They are a reminder of glorious days, the days that made you who you are today.

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    I have been writing stories and verses for as long as I can remember. I married in 1982. My wife of 29 years passed away 6 years ago, which left a void I'm still trying to fill. I have returned to writing as a way to overcome my loss and keep my mind alive. Getting published is not a main concern. I love to write. I'm hoping some will identify with what I've written here. Next month I turn 72, so I'm not looking for fame. I hope you enjoy my poem.

    Kid Stuff

    Reminiscing On Childhood

    in Aging Poems

    Many, many years ago
    When I was just a kid,
    And I had just began to grow,
    There's stuff I had and did.

    I'm thinking back on all those things
    That life saw fit to give me.
    If I can't remember everything,
    I hope you will forgive me.

    Chocolate candy cigarettes
    And big bubble gum cigars.
    Mini Bricks and Red Ball Jets,
    Hopscotch and Dinky cars.

    Mercurochrome and iodine;
    Band-aids in a can.
    Your watch required a daily wind,
    And Etch-A-Sketch was grand.

    In school, the teacher had to see
    Just what you had to do.
    You held one finger up for pee;
    You held up two for poo!

    Marbles, Slinkys, Lincoln Logs,
    Ker Plunk and Pick Up Sticks,
    With Yo-yos, you could "walk the dog,"
    And ice cream came in bricks.

    Arrows all had suction cups
    And guns had rolls of caps.
    Paddle Balls and Tonka Trucks
    Big red lips were wax,

    Bumps on heads, being black and blue,
    Was minor when compared to
    Being sick with cold or flu!
    Have fun? You're not prepared to!

    Measles, mumps, and chicken pox
    Always seemed to flare.
    They opened up Pandora's Box
    And caught us unaware!

    With medicine and care from mom,
    Our time in bed was cut!
    But I can't remember anyone
    Allergic to a nut!

    Nancy Drew and Hardy Boys
    And also Brothers Grimm.
    But Mark Twain was my pride and joy!
    I never could resist him!

    Hide and seek and tag were there.
    New energy we found!
    No more teacher scorns to bear
    When summer came around.

    PF Flyer running shoes,
    Steel roller skates had keys.
    There were phone booths we could use
    If there's emergencies.

    Rolling down a grassy hill
    In parks was a delight.
    Nicky Nine Doors was a thrill,
    But only played at night!

    We rode our bikes with playing cards
    Flapping on our spokes.
    We played in all our friends' backyards
    And told our "Knock Knock" jokes.

    Climbing fences, climbing trees
    Were common things to do.
    Getting bruised or skinning knees?
    That was nothing new!

    Two wheel scooters, kiddy cars,
    We had Soap Box Rallies.
    Baseball teams and monkey bars
    And close by bowling alleys.

    In winter, there were snowball fights
    And snow forts for protection.
    And when a bitter wind would bite,
    Few kids raised objection!

    Speeding down a snowy slope
    On sleds and blown up tires.
    "Is it too steep?" We all said, "Nope!"
    We wanted to go higher!

    In our teens were Levi jeans,
    Duck and pony tails.
    Sock hops were a common scene
    Where dancing would prevail.

    Bobby socks and poodle skirts
    And continental slacks.
    White buck shoes and fancy shirts,
    Guitars and wailing sax!

    Computers? What on Earth were they?!
    Well, they would show up later.
    And none I knew could dare display
    Cell phones or calculators!

    Many things I've mentioned here
    Are still with us today.
    But lots of kids, it does appear,
    Ignore this great buffet!

    What happened to the world I knew?
    Have kids today stopped growing?
    If time machines were really true,
    I know where I'd be going!

    Dick, Jane, Spot and Puff
    Are nothing now but jokes.
    But maybe I have said enough,
    So I'll say, "That's all folks!"

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    Ah, blissful childhood memories. Raised in a rural community, most relatives and friends lived on farms. Being a town kid, homemade fried chicken dinners in an oversized farm kitchen, that...

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    It is about Christmas back in the fifties and sixties. It tells of a young boy's excitement on the Eve of Christmas.

    A Christmas Long Gone

    Christmas In The Fifties

    in Christmas Poems

    I lie here awake, afraid to sleep.
    I've prayed the Lord my soul to keep.
    My stocking is hung on my bed,
    Really brother's long sock instead.

    But Mum said it would do for now
    As she kissed my cheek, kissed my brow,
    She tucked me in on Christmas Eve
    When I was young and still believed.

    Was that a footstep on the stairs?
    My brother's snoring really scares.
    Will he get down that chimney tight?
    Will I get my first glimpse tonight?

    I lie awake, for ages and ages,
    Skimming last year's Beano pages,
    Under my blanket torch alight,
    Getting sleepy, losing the fight.

    Woke next morning, screams of glee.
    Missed him again; how could that be?
    A bulging sock suspended there,
    An apple, an orange, maybe a pear.

    Cadbury's chocolate! What a delight!
    Three new pennies: shiny and bright,
    A piggy bank with its own key.
    It wasn't much but meant all to me.

    The front room always looked divine,
    A roaring fire, the smell of pine,
    Tinsel draped on the real fir tree,
    Foil wrapped chocolates just for me.

    Silver baubles' reflections revealing,
    Paper chains strung on the ceiling,
    Needles dropping on linoleum
    Swept up daily by tidy Mum.

    Lone present 'neath the Christmas tree,
    Wrapped really well, was that for me?
    This was as good as it could get,
    I've got a new Meccano set.

    Ripped off wrap all over the floor.
    One present each, but that was more
    Than we could expect; times were hard,
    Some mates didn't get a Christmas card.

    So ten young children eat the grub
    Which cooked while Dad was at the pub.
    He'd already had a drink or two,
    But then, it was his holiday too.

    Poor Mum would have to slave away,
    No fun for her on Christmas day.
    Times were tough, yes, I agree,
    But at six years old, it worked for me!

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    My poem tells the story of a time I long for, a time that was free, open, and welcoming to the kids in my neighbourhood. We knew our neighbours and all the kids. They were an extension of our family. Our modern world had lost that community spirit, and I feel very sad about that. My poem expresses that loss.

    The Olden Days

    When Life Was More Community Oriented

    in Change Poems

    Back in the day, life was so clear
    Families gathered and shared in the cheer
    We spent our Pounds, Schillings and Pence
    A time when our society had more sense

    A time when children played in the streets
    When everyone knew you from the top of your head to the shoes on your feet
    Days when your neighbours would lend a hand
    When hand-me-down clothes made you feel grand

    Respect was abundant and a pleasure it was
    Now our society has forgotten it because
    We think we are so advanced in our mindset
    In my opinion, we've lost our best bet

    Doors were not locked but open to welcome
    Now they are all locked up, unfeeling and unwelcome
    I wish for the days of my childhood
    When going to church did your heart good

    The days when we spoke so fondly of life
    Those days have passed us, now filled with strife
    We've turned our backs on the important things
    We miss all the love that knowing God brings

    Wouldn't it be grand if we could have those virtues
    I believe if we did, it would solve some issues
    Wish we could go back to those bygone ways
    And revisit the values of the bygone days

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    Looking back to many years now long passed and remembering the happy, innocent times we had when we were children, we were so lucky as we lived on a post war prefab estate with over 200 children almost all of the same age. We lived next to a large green belt area called Barn Hill. It was a child's playground heaven, consisting of lots of woods, open grassland areas, and a pond.

    Childhood Memories

    Remembering Fun Times Of Childhood

    in Change Poems

    I was happy when I was a lad.
    It wasn't all good, but it wasn't half bad.

    We played with sticks we played with stones;
    we built ourselves dens that we called homes.

    We explored the woods, we climbed the trees,
    and we played with marbles on our knees.

    Conkers in season we threaded with string.
    If your opponent missed, your knuckles would sting.

    We built trolleys with old pram wheels.
    We were often too busy to go home for our meals.

    We made catapults, bows and arrows and spears,
    quite often resulting in painful tears.

    We scrumped apples, plums and pears;
    of getting caught, we had no cares.

    In fact, we were often caught, and our ears clipped,
    no smart replies - we never lipped.

    During the long school summer holidays when the sun shone bright,
    we played outside from morning to night.

    War games, tin can tommy, hide and seek,
    Such fun we'd have, what havoc we'd wreak.

    Raiding allotments, pinching what grew.
    We'd get a good hiding if our parents knew.

    Round blazing open fires on logs we would sit.
    In the pitch-black night our faces it lit.

    We'd have singsongs and tell tales of ghosts,
    of things we had done, exaggerated boasts.

    Now looking back, such a long time it seems.
    Sometimes I wonder was it all in my dreams.

    But then I remember all the things that I did
    could only be done when I was a kid!

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    Childhood is an important stage in everyone's life. It's when we start to develop, learn new things and discover more about the world we live in. We start to have aspirations of the future, imagining the endless possibility out in the world. I wrote this poem as I felt it was important to highlight the good things of childhood. Although every word is not as it happened, my childhood is something I wouldn't want to forget, always embedded in my mind.

    I Remember

    Memories Of Childhood

    in Growing Up Poems

    I remember-
    of days so long in the past
    when I wished I would grow up so fast.

    I remember-
    endless races we had to school.
    Coming first ensured you were cool.

    I remember-
    the sudden hot summer's rain,
    dancing 'round and 'round again.

    I remember-
    playing in the luscious grass
    with all my friends in my class.

    I remember-
    the spooky monsters under my bed;
    Mum and Dad said it was all in my head.

    I remember-
    when I grew to be as old as ten,
    my dad made me a tree-house as my den.

    I remember-
    hide-and-seek was the best game,
    but as we grew up it became so lame.

    I remember-
    Haribos were as good as gold.
    I will have as many as I want when I am old.

    I remember-
    when I wanted to be a king
    with a large throne and a diamond ring.

    I remember-
    my first camping trip
    or my first time on a ship.

    I remember-
    when I broke my wrist
    all the fun is what I missed.

    I remember-
    Mr. Cuddles, my first teddy bear.
    I loved him so much and took him everywhere.

    Now that I am grey and old,
    My childhood memories I have told.

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    The childhood of a person might be a mixture of both pleasant and unpleasant memories. Mine is dominated by unpleasant memories, but I love to read and listen to the pleasant experiences of...

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    I was just missing my childhood days, so this was the outcome!

    Golden Days

    Precious Childhood Days

    in Growing Up Poems

    Those were the days...

    When I used to get up late,
    Never cared about the day and date.
    All I ever did was play
    With building blocks and molding clay.
    Now I keep stumbling to find a way
    To bring back my childhood days.

    Used to write the alphabet
    With white chalks on a slate,
    Waved a silly goodbye every day
    To the dog roaming in front of my gate.
    Now I keep stumbling to find a way
    To bring back my childhood days.

    Near the corner of the park, at the end,
    We fought tiny wars with our friends,
    Were so carefree, never had to pretend,
    Had all the food in lunches our mothers would send.
    Now I keep stumbling to find a way
    To bring back my childhood days.

    Though it's impossible, I'd like to try
    To press a button and go back in time.
    Far from the business of loss and gain,
    Away from the feelings of grief and pain,
    To be that naughty girl once again,
    To live that good life once again.

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    When I used to be a child, I always wanted to get older so that I could do whatever I wanted. But now, I wish I could have that childhood of mine once again. I wish I could go back to that time again, away from all the complexities of the world, of which I was unaware when I was a child.

    Simpler Times

    • By Ayush Sharma
    • Published: December 2019
    Wishing To Be A Child Again

    in Change Poems

    Take me back to those simpler times
    When all I sang were nursery rhymes,
    When stealing chocolates was my only crime,
    When sleep used to come early, at nine,
    When my fears were much more sublime,
    When I was unaware of society's paradigm,
    When I actually used to mean, "I am fine."
    Please, take me back to those simpler times.

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    This poem is very relatable. I remember always wanting to act like an adult and dressing up like one. Looking back, I should have enjoyed being a kid for as long as I could. Let this remind...

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    A nostalgic look at life through the eyes of a child via a cardboard box.

    The Box

    The Innocence Of Childhood

    in Growing Up Poems

    As I look back to when I was but a boy,
    I'd have to say a cardboard box was my favorite toy.

    There were no action figures in this day,
    and computer games were still many years away.

    The box was my pirate ship leading me to my stash of gold and doubloons.
    It also served as my rocket ship, flying me to the moon.

    It was my speedy race car, and I was Richard Petty.
    On other days, I was Mario Andretti.

    It was my castle where I was the king.
    I was also a professional wrestler, fighting in the ring.

    The box also served as a fort.
    From there, I would fight off enemy ships that were coming into port.

    It was a boxcar, and I was a tramp.
    It was a tent, a place for me to camp.

    That box was my best friend as it would take me to many different places.
    From flying in the cosmos to distant lands filled with alien races.

    A simple cardboard box, but still my favorite toy.
    It was made of wood, pulp, and glue, but it brought me hours of endless joy.

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    I've always loved Christmas, but I've never recaptured the magic of childhood Christmases; that is until I had a child of my own. A childhood Christmas is the best Christmas - full of innocence and wonderment, and seeing it through the eyes of a child once more is a true gift.

    My Childhood Christmas Memories

    in Christmas Poems

    My childhood Christmas memories always make me smile.
    I'll often drift to long ago and stay there for a while.
    Remember singing carols long before the date?
    Of counting days from Halloween, I really couldn't wait.
    Recalling cherished carefree times that advent used to bring.
    The infant class nativity, the songs we used to sing.
    The being good, the secret smiles when making Christmas wishes,
    The showing off to Santa by drying up the dishes.
    "Eat your food, the elves are watching" was often said to me,
    And though I'd quickly turn my head I never got to see,
    And it always snowed at Christmas, least that's what I recall.
    Standing by the fireside glow, watching the snowflakes fall,
    I well recall the bustling shops, not frenzied like today.
    The kindly smiles and gestures that set you on your way,
    I crave the smells, and seasonal sights, the tastes that were sublime,
    The long gone folk who touched our lives so much at Christmas time.
    The sleepless nights on Christmas Eve, a mix of joy and fear,
    While listening out for Santa Claus (I heard him every year),
    And sleep might come eventually, though fitful if at all.
    Then up I'd jump on Christmas Day, the greatest time of all,
    Waking up the family to see if he had been,
    Closing eyes and walking in to see the festive scene,
    Running to a pile of gifts, "I can't believe my eyes."
    "How did you know I wanted that?" and "What a great surprise!"

    And then one year the magic did not seem to be as strong.
    To believe in Father Christmas was childish and quite wrong,
    So I never heard his sleigh bells on Christmas Eve again,
    Nor saw snow at Christmas, just wind and sleet and rain.
    And so it was for many years, my childhood Christmas gone.
    Grown up responsibilities was the order from now on,
    Until that is the greatest gift, a child to call my own.
    Her Christmas Eve excitement by me was so well-known,
    And as I kissed her goodnight last year and closed the door,
    I swear I heard his sleigh bells upon the roof once more.

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    At 93 years old, I have many sleepless nights, and I find comfort in remembering my childhood home on the farm. Having lived through an era of the greatest changes in history, I feel grateful to have witnessed it all.

    Remembering

    Poems About Happy Childhood Memories

    in Aging Poems

    When sleepless I lie,
    As the hours slip by,
    I go walking the paths back home.
    I hear the meadowlark's song
    As I amble along
    In this fanciful way that I roam.

    As my memories clutter,
    A tractor's soft mutter
    Is providing new chocolate brown fields
    For the ground to be seeded
    When spring planting is needed.
    A plan for which all nature yields.

    A tinkling cowbell
    Tells me all is now well
    With the herd contentedly grazing.
    Mother cows keep an eye,
    While their newborns race by
    With a speed that is simply amazing.

    Thunderclouds overhead
    Start to fill me with dread,
    For I know that soon it will storm.
    I cannot complain.
    In fact, I love rain
    As long as I'm in where it's warm.

    As my feet stir the dust
    I know that I must
    Leave my childhood memories behind.
    Still, it's a comfort to know
    That wherever I go,
    They will always be there in my mind.

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    My poem is about summer days and to appreciate the life around you.

    Summer Days

    • By Zoe E. McCabe
    • Published: June 2019
    Simple Joys Of Summer

    in Summer Poems

    The sun, it fades in the moonlight.
    The stars, they fade in the daylight.

    The cold breezes are strong in winter and spring,
    And the warm, sunny days are what summer brings.

    The ice cream van's song plays a tune as the children play on the sand,
    The joy on their little faces as their parents put money in their small, little hands.

    I remember the time when my dad put me on his shoulders as we surfed in the waves,
    And all the times he would put on a song and we would have our own little rave.

    I remember the time when I made sand castles with my friends and the joy we all had.
    I remember the summer days, and not a memory of those bright, sunny days was bad.

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    I was reminiscing about the early days of television before the advent of the remote control, recorders, twin tuners, streaming, etc. We now take for granted the technology that allows us so much choice (some would say too much choice) as to what we watch and when and how we watch it. No more abandoning your coffee making and sprinting back to the living room to shouts of, "It's on!!"

    Our TV Set Was Black And White

    Childhood Memories Of Watching Television

    in Humorous Poems

    Our TV set was black and white
    And on its spindly legs it stood;
    More deep than wide with dials that clicked,
    All curved glass screen and grain of wood.

    The screen was all of twenty inches,
    Far away, way over there.
    But you dared not creep up closer,
    Lest your eyes would soon turn square.

    A whole four channels from which to choose
    Until they bid goodnight and closed;
    From late night until mid-morning,
    Static noise and screen of snow.

    If you wished to change the channel,
    Across the room you had to trek.
    Then risk the loss of decent picture,
    Rabbit ears were not high tech.

    An exercise in mad frustration,
    Swiveling, angling to and fro.
    Yes! Stop there! The picture's "perfect,"
    Right until you let them go.

    If your show aired once a week,
    Then one whole week you had to wait;
    No binge watching or recording.
    If you missed it, bad luck mate!

    At times your programs overlapped
    And that dilemma left you vexed -
    Miss the end of the one you're watching
    Or the beginning of the next?

    All those ads with corny jingles,
    Some of them were hard to take;
    No fast forward and no pausing,
    Just enough time for a bathroom break.

    Or maybe not!...it was a gamble,
    So it really must be said,
    Though black and white it might have been,
    At times it had me seeing red!

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    Hi Raelene. Thanks so much for taking the time to comment on my poems. I really appreciate the kind feedback.
    Kind regards, Cynthia

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    Prolific poet Barbara Crooker recaptures on a flat canvas (paper, words) the three-dimensional world of her childhood. The poem takes a deeper emotional turn towards the end.

    The Fifties

    Childhood Memories Of Summer

    in Summer Poems

    We spent those stifling endless summer afternoons
    on hot front porches, cutting paper dolls from Sears
    catalogs, making up our own ideal families
    complete with large appliances
    and an all-occasion wardrobe with fold-down
    paper tabs.
    Sometimes we left crayons on the cement
    landing, just to watch them melt.
    We followed the shade around the house.
    Time was a jarful of pennies, too hot
    to spend, stretching long and sticky,
    a brick of Bonomo’s Turkish Taffy.
    Tomorrow’d be more of the same,
    ending with softball or kickball,
    then hide and seek in the mosquitoey dark.
    Fireflies, like connect-the-dots or find-the-hidden-
    words, rose and glowed, winked on and off,
    their cool fires coded signals
    of longing and love
    that we would one day
    learn to speak.

    Published in Radiance (Word Press, 2005).

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    This one brought me back, way back. I lived that kind of life, and I look back on it fondly. Time seemed to move so slowly back then. We were rushing to grow up. Little did any of us know...

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    There are times when I look back and remember happier times.

    Endless Summer

    Memories Of Happier Times

    in Summer Poems

    Oh, for those cloudless days of old
    when holidays went on forever,
    clear blue skies were lit with gold.

    Grass seemed so much greener then,
    days fluttered by like butterflies
    in the garden playing with friends.

    Fields were full of wildflowers
    we picked and pressed into a book,
    books were read for many hours.

    Those trips away beside the sea,
    ice cream and donkeys on the beach,
    and surfing through the waves with glee.

    We built our castles in the sand,
    whilst kites reached heights of happiness,
    it seemed those days would never end.

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    I live in Houston, Texas, and always looked forward to going to see my parents for the weekend in Cuero, Texas. It was my escape from everything and be a kid again.

    Weekend In Cuero

    • By Leland Parker
    • Published: July 2010
    Poem About Joy Visiting Childhood Home

    in Home Poems

    Drivin' around to the back of the house,
    Gettin' out, walkin' in, almost unannounced...

    The TV's are on and so are Mother's beans.
    Cornbread's in the oven with Daddy's greens...

    They both look up with smiles on their faces,
    Sendin' away all of life's hard traces...

    I couldn't wait to get on that big ole couch,
    Layin' around kinda like a big ole slouch....

    Not worryin' about what all's been going on,
    Because now I'm in Cuero, yes, I'm at home...

    Evenin' soon comes and Mother is in bed, watchin' TV in the mirror,
    Daddy's in his chair noddin' his head.

    The only time that it was ever rough for me there
    Is when my brothers had a couch and I had a chair...

    But we always did have a wonderful time.
    Daddy winnin' at dominoes as he marked the last dime...

    The weekend goes by so comfortin' but fast,
    And now they're gone forever, because forever doesn't last...

    But I can still go there, and a weekend can still start,
    Because these memories are not in my head, but in my heart.

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    That was beautiful.
    So simple and plain and it turned out amazing.
    The last four lines were gorgeous, amazing, beautiful!
    Though time has passed and gave you struggles, you inspire me...

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    This poem is about remembering a favorite childhood place. Grandpa's ranch is a place a girl fondly remembers as her favorite place in the world. Her soul can roam free in the natural world.

    Ranch Of Memories

    • By Atusa S. Hangafarin
    • Published: February 2006
    What Places Do You Remember Fondly From Childhood?

    in Home Poems

    My feet pressed against the dusty roads.
    The cool breeze skimmed my face.
    The air's fragrance, a mixture of fruit and flowers, traveled through my nose.
    Down the slopes I would race,
    My hair spreading all around me.
    The dogs raced down too.
    This fantasy became reality,
    A dream come true.
    Some people may just call it a walk or a hike,
    But it is independence for me.
    Some people prefer to take a bike, but I let my soul fly free
    On my grandpa's ranch.
    Across the trees,
    Across the flower patch,
    Through the breeze.
    This is the place I love to go.
    This is the place my soul flies free.
    So many memories I cherish it holds.
    This is where I get to see my family.
    My grandpa's ranch, my favorite place in the world.

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    I dedicate this poem to my cousin, Megan, because when I was younger, we would always play together in her backyard in the field of flowers.

    Child Memories

    • By Erika Romenesko
    • Published: May 2008
    Poem About The Joy Of Childhood Friendships

    in Childhood Friend Poems

    When I was a young girl,
    We used to play
    Out in the field
    Of flowers all day.
    There were roses and daisies
    And lilies, too.
    We used to trade them,
    Saying from me to you.

    At lunchtime we'd have
    A picnic in the field.
    We'd go get the basket
    And eat a good meal.
    There were muffins and chocolates
    And berries, too.
    We would even get
    A cookie or two.

    Oh, the life of the young ones
    Was such a beautiful phase.
    We would look at the field
    And happily gaze.

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    Beautiful poem. My aunt passed away yesterday. She was 85. A couple of years ago just by chance, we caught her on video as she came across a swing. She said, "I want to swing." We were all...

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    I wrote this poem about all the experiences of my childhood and the joy it brought being out in nature.

    The Beauty Of My Childhood

    • By Jennyfer M. Patterson
    • Published: March 2018

    in Beauty of Nature Poems

    I am from morning dew cold against small bare feet
    and birds chirping a beautiful song
    From nature that sounds like the most beautiful orchestra
    I've ever heard, opening my tired eyes to the world.
    From a carpet of dandelions dancing with the wind.
    I am from soft green grass and innocent blue eyes
    yearning to watch the sunrise.
    From watching the sun paint the sky in red, orange, and yellow streaks.
    From squinting as the sun sparkled on a fresh blanket of fluffy, white snow.
    I am from campfire stories and long starry nights.
    From watching the sunset and a full moon rise from behind the stars.
    From whispering the moon a good night and closing my eyes.
    I am from a little seed, but now I am a flower.

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    Today's poem that uses the "I am from..." line is an instruction I was given for an essay in a retirement center's writing class a while ago. I wonder if that's what prompted Patterson to use...

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    While going through hectic times for a couple of years, my little mind lingered to the innocent, ecstatic days of my childhood, which provoked me to write up this short poem and many others like it about life, the changing times, the changing people, and the way it all affects us! I would love to be able to live our old days yet again and do the things we missed out in the past!

    Childhood

    • By Aniket Jangam
    • Published: June 2016
    Missing The Simple Joys Of Childhood

    in Poems about Life Struggles

    Going back to the time, doing all that I want,
    Just living up my life, getting all that I can't!

    Great was the childhood, innocent were the smiles.
    Walking through the woods was better than today's long drive of miles!

    Getting nostalgic at the sight of old places,
    Feeling the magic of love, affection and kisses.

    Wish I could be selfless and joyous once again
    And forget the mess that ends up only in pain!

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    Memories of fun at grandma and grandpa's.

    Home Away From Home

    • By Terry Wheeler
    • Published: February 2006
    Memories Of Grandma And Grandpa Poem

    in Home Poems

    I remember when we were little kids
    and would stay at grandma and grandpa's house all night.

    We would get scolded when we talked in
    bed until once again the room would
    grow quiet.

    Just when we thought we were out of trouble,
    one of us would think of something funny to say.
    We could hear footsteps coming down the hall.
    That meant grandpa was on his way.

    Now grandma and grandpa could be quite stern,
    but never could they be mean.
    Mostly it was a lot of love that came
    from them; that is what we had seen.

    Finally we would settle down for the night, and before we knew it,
    it was the next day.
    We weren't so anxious to get up
    because we had talked the night away.

    Grandma would yell, you kids get up,
    Get out of bed it's time for you to eat.
    We could already smell the biscuits,
    bacon and eggs, we knew we were in for
    quite a treat.

    We were right because when we saw the
    table set with all the goodies galore.
    It only made us want to stay a grandma
    and grandpa's house more and more and
    more.

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