A Sixties Childhood
Scrumping apples and kicking footballs
climbing trees and scaling walls
playing marbles in the street
I wonder what became of my mate Pete?
Lots of picnics in the sun
Uncle Stan being so much fun
chasing Butterflies and catching frogs
throwing sticks for our two dogs.
Fishing for Sticklebacks in the stream
licking lollies and eating ice-cream
doing wheelies on my bike
I wonder what became of my pal Mike?
Father playing Cricket on the village green
Mother always washing and keeping the house clean.
the garden colourful with a beautiful scent
and a man in a suit collecting the rent.
Watching T.V. in black and white
all gathered round on a Saturday night
it being so quiet on the day of rest
me and my sister in our Sunday best.
Fell out of the tree hurting my legs
dangerous hobby stealing bird's eggs
Woodpecker, Wren, Starling, and Thrush,
Mother says I'm as daft as a brush.
Now here I sit alone in my chair
with varicose veins and thinning white hair
running and laughing and full of such joy
oh how I wish I was that little boy.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Related quotes
Catching Frogs and Sticklebacks
Looking back on those childhood years
What a wonderful time we had
Who could climb the highest tree?
Got no fear when just a lad.
No time to say I'm really bored
What with Football and Cricket to play
Tomorrow we're all going bird nesting
Found out where there's eggs of a Jay.
The summer days always seemed so hot
Lasting from June till late September
Catching frogs and Sticklebacks
And chasing Butterflies I do remember.
Scrumping apples from down the lane
And knocking doors and running away
That's as bad as we all got
Fairly tame compared with things today.
No such thing as a play station
D.V.D'S, Computers, or Mobile Phone
You were too busy out doing stuff
When it got dark that's when you went home.
So forgive us for stealing those apples
And the birds eggs from out of the tree
But like I said whenever I got caught
Honestly mister it was him and not me!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Yesteryear
My early days at nursery school
running around and playing the fool.
Getting meningitis and almost dying
and then waking up in the hospital crying.
Eating oranges with ice cream as well
and scrumping for apples down in the dell.
Playing 'knock down ginger' on the door
building camps in the park and so much more.
12 inch records on the radiogram playing
TV's with black and white films displaying.
Skinny dipping and giving the girls a fright
then sleeping on the river island overnight.
Being sacrificed on the rocks at Stonehenge
then chasing my friend to get my revenge.
Playing cowboys and Indians behind hedgerows
and going to Saturday morning picture shows.
Rag and bone men walking down the road
and the muffin man carrying his tasty load.
Crazy dancing to 'Rock around the clock'
and then playing 'Tellstar' on the duke box.
Sputnik flying around in space so fast
and seeing a man land on the moon at last.
Playing the transistor radio in the park
and listening to pirate stations was a lark.
Ban the bomb marches and Teddy boy rowsers
in their psychedelic socks and drainpipe trousers.
A great knuckle duster and flick knife fight
and the giant street fires on Bonfire night.
A bunch of penny bangers and a jumping jack
and the amnesty when we sent our weapons back.
Then spending a sleepless night in a police cell
with all these memories and many more to tell.
Uncle Fred and The Sand Dance
Your Uncle Fred
on Christmas Eve
at Gran's house
when you were a kid
did the sand dance
wearing an old fashion
man's striped nightgown
and a red fez
(he got that in Egypt
during WW2
Gran said)
and brown
open toed sandals
and Uncle Ed
turned the handle
of the windup gramophone
where an old
78rpm record
was playing
and there were
glasses of sherry
being consumed
and cigarettes being smoked
and you sat watching
clapping your hands
and Gran would get up
afterwards
and do her Can-Can
like she used to
as she young woman
on the stage
and Granddad sat there
quiet saying nothing
looking at
the people gathered
sipping his sherry
watching his wife
lifting her legs
her white fuzzy hair
going to and fro
as she moved
and you wanted
to have some sherry
but your mother said
no you have lemonade
little boys
don't have sherry
so you sat
with your lemonade
watching Uncle Fred
and his dance
and the music coming
from the old gramophone
and the smell of sherry
and beer and cigarette smoke
and Uncle telling the adults
one of his old army jokes.
poem by Terry Collett
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Wile Watching the Black and White TV
Your old man
came into the lounge
where you were watching
black and white TV
and your mother was standing
talking to an uncle
it's the baker
your old man said
he wants his £50
what £50?
your mother asked
the £50 I owe him
well pay him
your mother said
I can't
I don't have it
you watched
the cowboy film
with half interest
you took a glance
at the debtor
well tell him
you'll pay him
next week
your mother said
I told him that
last week
your old man said
what did you want
to borrow £50
from the baker for?
your mother asked
her cheeks getting flushed
to buy my new suit
what new suit?
the one I'm having made
you noticed
your old man's
moustache flicker
and he stroked it
as he did
when cornered
your mother
breathed heavy
and you looked
at the uncle
ok
the uncle said
here's the £50
go pay him
what you owe
to get him off your back
but you better pay me back
or I'll bust your head
sure I will
your old man said
going out of the room
clutching the money
in his palm
your mother sighed
and the uncle
put away his wallet
into an inside pocket
and you saw that one
of the cowboys
on the black and white
TV screen
had been shot
and died
the other looked angry
and ugly
and mean.
poem by Terry Collett
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Our House
Father wears his sunday best
Mothers tired she needs a rest
The kids are playing up downstairs
Sisters sighing in her sleep
Brothers got a date to keep
He cant hang around
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house it has a crowd
Theres always something happening
And its usually quite loud
Our mum shes so house-proud
Nothing ever slows her down
And a mess is not allowed
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Something tells you that youve got to get away from it
Father gets up late for work
Mother has to iron his shirt
Then she sends the kids to school
Sees them off with a small kiss
Shes the one theyre going to miss
In lots of ways
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
I remember way back then when everything was true and when
We would have such a very good time such a fine time
Such a happy time
And I remember how wed play simply waste the day away
Then wed say nothing would come between us two dreamers
Father wears his sunday best
Mothers tired she needs a rest
The kids are playing up downstairs
Sisters sighing in her sleep
Brothers got a date to keep
He cant hang around
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our ...
Our house, was our castle and our keep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, that was where we used to sleep
Our house, in the middle of our street
Our house, in the middle of our street
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Time When Mother Left For Ozamis
i remember now
it was at that time when mother packed her clothes
and left my father for good
back in the little village where mother
was raised by grandmother
as a naive girl
keeping things to herself.
she dwells in a house of silence.
it was at that time when father said
that he loves her very much
that losing her would mean his death
but mother was no longer in the house
where we grew.
and of course, mother did not really believe him.
she died ahead of him, and he got drunk everyday, and
he put her picture on top of his chest and he cried all night long
staring at her face, black and white, her hair her mouth.
he died a year after and he was buried just beside her pantheon.
i still wonder if mother would believe him.
the silence is overwhelming. no one sweeps the heaps of leaves
and no wind is strong enough to clean the mounds filled with thick grass.
come summer time, i see white daisies blooming, and a black butterfly
hovers to stop a while. I watch closely this new turn of events.
it is like poetry. Some metaphors. Symbols, and hints. Love's mouth
wanting to say all over again, what the heart has constantly hidden.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Love! ! !
I Love riding my bike
Playing with my sister
Playing with my cat
And Pizza
I Love playing frozen tag
Playing dinosaurs
Watching T.V.
And hot dogs
And I Love you too.
I Love fluffy brown dogs
Cute little cats
Tiny baby hamsters
And Monopoly
I Love going to camp
Going fishing with dad
Going shopping with mom
And spagetti
And I Love you too.
I Love playing baseball in summer
Hockey in the winter
Soccer in the spring
And hamburgers
I Love having my birthday
Having friends over
Going to parties
And onions
And I LOVE you too.
Another poem writen by my son when in grade 2
poem by Tracey Collins
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I’m going to Paint my Best Picture Ever
As soon as I wake before my coffee
I’ll grab that canvas brush and oils
To paint a fantastic sky,
With a couple of crows squawking in the blue
Then a mountain with snow on it top
An’ the sun shining on it
With a little road at the bottom,
Now for a bus stop with a little boy waiting
With his dog on a lead, then a little puddle
For boys love to jump in em’.
Just finished lots of black and white cows
Feeding in this huge green paddock,
With horses frolicking fresh from the stables
Running and kicking chasing, hope I get it right
Better paint a fence near the road an’ add a few sheep.
Now let me see ah....Trees lot of trees green as green
To the left and to the right with birds flying all around,
Oh in the distance near the foot of the mountain
I’ll paint the school bus coming down the road
That boy has been waiting for ages.
I think that’s it, oh I’ll add a couple of butterflies,
No flowers its winters end and
They are still pushing up underground.
Now let’s look at this picture and see
What the mind can see.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Like Alice Does.
Alice sits brushing her hair,
stroke following stroke,
her husband sitting
on the edge of the bed
watching, studying her
hand and brush going
downward and out and
downward and out, and
as he watches he suddenly
remembers his mother
doing likewise and he
standing by the doorframe
of her bedroom, sees her
hand pull the brush through
her tight black hair, and
hears her sobbing voice
over the old white radio
playing some country song,
and senses an uneasiness
fill him like a wetting of pants,
and his mother gazing at him
in the mirror before her with
her red rimmed eyes and he
knowing as she lifts the brush
threateningly, that that way
pain comes and danger lies.
poem by Terry Collett
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A Day In Park
swings, slides and sand
the park so peaceful early in the day
the sun rising, shadows casting across the grass
the breeze flow so soft, quiet and free
the ball diamond so peaceful and empty
soon the sounds of children laughing and parents chatting
the park comes to life with all to enjoy
dogs playing catch, kids flying kites
grills cooking and picnics galore
the fields so full from footballs to baseballs
playing catch, to playing tag
reading on a bench, laying on a blanket for a tan
the park so pictureous and a masterpiece
It's art and spirit so priceless
we never have enough parks for all to see
to be free and play
Parks nature's playground for us to play
poem by Michael Peterson
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A Colourful Family Tree
This world is made up of colours and,
I am glad to come up from a colourful family tree.
There are many colours around us and,
You can enjoy the colours in your bathrooms too;
For nature is full of colours!
Like the human beings,
I an brown in colour and my mother is a black woman from Africa.
I have many relatives all over the continets and,
My father is a white man from the U.S.A.
Four of my aunties are from Australia, Japan, Brazil and the U.K.;
Four of my uncles are from India, Mexico, Canada and Denmark;
So i grew up among many colours of this world.
A colourful family tree is what i came from and,
I am very glad to meet various colours in my life time;
For a long the lines of my growth,
I have come to love all the colours around me.
Colours are very beautiful and we need them around us,
They are in your offices and your houses too;
Yes, we need all the colours to beautify things around us.
Black is beautiful and white is beautiful too,
For we were made from the Creator with colours!
And i am very glad to be part of this family tree.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Those were the Days
Oh for the days of ginger-beer
The days I hold so very dear;
Still vivid in my memory's eye
Games of hopscotch and eye-spy.
Saving jam-jars for the school
Catching 'cockies' in the pool;
Longing for my Christmas toys,
Making lots of childish noise.
Oh for the days of spinning-tops,
Playing robbers, playing cops;
Playing chiefs and indians too,
Paper feathers, paper glue.
Bouncing on the bed upstairs
After whispering my prayers;
Still I see myself at play,
So close but yet so far away.
Oh for the days of birthday jelly,
Watching popeye on the telly;
Bird-nesting upon the rec',
Dad insisting: 'Wash your neck! '
My torch of red and white and green,
Rolling out my plasticine;
Bats and stumps and cricket-balls,
Sweet young days at old St Pauls'.
(Written Aug 1996)
poem by John Carter Brown
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Half my father
Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
And I was born
Their only son
By my tone of skin
And by my eyes
You can tell
That there is a divide
And by my blonde hair
It is there for you to spy
Am I the new American?
My mother is German
My father polish
I learned three languages
As I grew older
Both of them
Did love me well
And of each country did tell
That I could draw
From each well
Am I the new American?
My father is Chinese
My mother Spanish
Both crossed over the Rio Grand
I am in the make of my father
But I have my mother’s brown skin
Am I the new American?
poem by David E. Patton
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The Aerodrome
So now the aerodrome goes up
Upon my father's fields,
And gone is all the golden crop
And all the pleasant yields.
They tear the trees up, branch and root,
They kill the hedges green,
As though some force, malign and brute,
Ravaged the peace serene.
There where he used to sit and gaze
With blue and quiet eyes,
Watching his comely cattle graze,
The walls begin to rise.
What place for robin or for wren,
For thrush and blackbird's call?
Now there shall be but flying men
Nor any bird at all.
'Twas well he did not stay to know,
Defaced and all defiled
The quiet fields of long ago,
Dear to him as a child.
But when the tale was told to me
I felt such piercing pain,
They tore my heart up with the tree
That will not leaf again.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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The Aerodrome
So now the aerodrome goes up
Upon my father's fields,
And gone is all the golden crop
And all the pleasant yields.
They tear the trees up, branch and root,
They kill the hedges green,
As though some force, malign and brute,
Ravaged the peace serene.
There where he used to sit and gaze
With blue and quiet eyes,
Watching his comely cattle graze,
The walls begin to rise.
What place for robin or for wren,
For thrush and blackbird's call?
Now there shall be but flying men
Nor any bird at all.
'Twas well he did not stay to know,
Defaced and all defiled
The quiet fields of long ago,
Dear to him as a child.
But when the tale was told to me
I felt such piercing pain,
They tore my heart up with the tree
That will not leaf again.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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Once upon a summer's day......
Sweet voices, sound like little bells
as children frolic on the dells
picking yellow buttercups
and four leaf clovers for good luck.
With chubby, tiny hands they forage,
in the grassy lush green woods
ferreting out treasures
within the sunlit lands.
A melody of summer sounds
hums peacefully and sweet.
Blackberries and fruits are plenty
for a happy tea time treat.
Dogs are romping in the meadows,
fetching sticks and licking hands
giving such delightful pleasures
now, here comes the ice cream van.
Chocolate lollies, ice cream cornets,
ice cold drinks are what they need,
begging mother for some silver
to go buy a snack to eat.
Dodging wasps that swarm about them,
waiting for the chance to sting,
pretty butterflies abounding,
now the birdies start to sing.
Dusk is coming, sun is setting,
little legs are tired now,
soon the homeward track they're treading,
craving for a comfy bed.
Bath time, bed time, night time stories
of the daytime fun they've had.
Sleepy heads on plumped up pillows,
say goodnight to mum and dad.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Fortis Green
Mum would shout and scream when dad would come home drunk
When she asked him where hed been, hed say up the clissold arms
Chatting up some huzzy, but he didnt mean no harm
Sunday morning drives, just to get away
Ramsgate or southend, it would always be a laugh
Paddling by the sea, trousers rolled up to the knees
Walking by the sea, full of dreams, eating ice cream
Grandmas burnt her cheeks getting brown, turn her over
Fortis green, memories of days when I was young
It can only be a memory. a time that now has gone
Theres uncle frank tellin stories from the war
Frightening all the kids, yet wed heard it all before
While the bombs were droppin round, there were parties underground
Aunt lils at the gin, while mums singing songs
From the 40s when variety, max miller was going strong
All the characters are gone, oh, what a blooming shame
I wish that it could be like it was in the old days
Sat on aunties knee, toasting bread in the fire-place
Fortis green, memories of days when I was young
It can only be a memory. a time that now has gone
Memories of fortis green, when I was just a lad
Collecting bottle tops, threepenny bits. fishing with my dad
Sisters in the doorway, snogging with her bloke
Scared to put the cat out case I put him off his stroke
But she wouldnt be denied, I got a shilling as a bribe
I used to do my courting on an old kitchen chair
The girls were all so sporting, but I only really cared for my little katie-sue
There was nothing she wouldnt do
Sunday after tea we would listen to the wireless
Hancocks half-hour, luxembourg. wed sit for hours
Fortis green, memories of days when I was young
It can only be a memory. a time that now has gone
Fortis green, memories of days when I was young
Collecting bottle tops, threepenny bits. fishing with my dad
Thats it
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uncle Arthur
Strikes the bell for 5 oclock, uncle arthur closes shop
Screws the tops on all the bottles, turns the lights out, locks it up
Climbs across his bike and hes away
Cycles past the gasworks, past the river, down the high street
Back to mother, its another empty day
Uncle arthur likes his mommy
Uncle arthur still reads comics
Uncle arthur follows batman
Round and round the rumours fly, how he ran away from mum
On his 32nd birthday, told her that hed found a chum
Mother cried and raved and yelled and fussed
Arthur left her no illusion, brought the girl round, save confusion
Sally was the real thing, not just lust
Uncle arthur vanished quickly
Uncle arthur and his new bride
Uncle arthur follows sally
Round and round goes arthurs head, hasnt eaten well for days
Little sally may be lovely, but cooking leaves her in a maze
Uncle arthur packed his bags and fled
Back to mother, alls forgiven, serving in the family shop
He gets his pocket money, hes well fed
Uncle arthur past the gasworks
Uncle arthur past the river
Uncle arthur down the high street
Uncle arthur follows mother
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shattered windows, Colors of white
Across the street is a new house with a room painted red, with no holes of white.
Next to me, a house purple, with its color pealing off, with holes of black and white
At the end of the street, an old house once yellow, what now remains white.
The sound of a hammer building a house, entering a place with a color unknown.
On the street,
Windows covered with ice
Some shine with light.
Some broken
Some fixed
Some lost, out of sight.
A house, two blocks from here.
Shines with lights of yellow, red, and green everywhere.
A wall keeping the wind from blowing anywhere.
The house next door, at the dawn of the day.
Paints its room black, and peals the color away.
The wall crumbles.
The wind blows across the colors of yellow, red and green
Breaks all the windows.
Turns the yellow to blue, red to black, and green to white.
The house two blocks away.
Adds a line of yellow red and green everyday.
To allow the house of blue, black and white to shine for us some day.
poem by Linda ErikssonBique
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Hill top
On the hill top of camomile and dandelion flower colours.
I hear a song with rabbit hears, coming from a church near.
Adoring the grass, adorning the air,
Exploring the maze of spice edge.
Thirsted by the long walk over the hill top
I am drunk of dew on Sunday bloom.
I rest on shade of snake bunch shape,
and sunshine day.
Where the cloud accompanies the constant sing of bird.
And lady bird claiming on a greenish mould brick wall.
Dressed by nature of black spot, red body and white look.
Of Sparrow bath in the green grass, with toys of worms & muddle soap.
I m seat on the higher hill, watching, mouldy tree shape,
And kids from far house playing with their bucket and spade.
Digging the sun out, into the smile on their happy face.
While the mother watering the flowers of her youth love.
Happy day, peacefully made of fresh air, whispering.
On my body, cover in clay smell,
Like the sand in my hands from the soil, full of space,
Infinite moments
Concealing my sorrow.
poem by Luca Menin
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