Summers Past
climbing trees
skinned up knees
the smell of fresh mowed grass
roller kates with big yellow wheels
showing off
racing down hills
playing games of truth or dare
falling from trees
but you don't care
barbie and ken making out
mom walks in
starts freaking out
bee stings and mosquito bites
all those silly childhood fights
fireworks that light the sky
tricking little sis into eating mud pie
peeling a sunburn was oh so cool
hey no running at the pool
boys were rotten
girls were dandy
pop rocks
and that hard rock candy
slinkys and silly puddy
running through sprinklers
getting muddy
and the smell of fresh mowed grass
counting the days til school starts again
too bad childhood has to end
poem by Lori Hopkins
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Related quotes
Rainy day...
Rainy day
Cool evening
Porch sitting
Unusual for mid August.
Where is the usual summer evening traffic?
My thoughts drift
into my childhood past.
They come up blank
and I simply do not recall
what I did on summer evenings like this.
I just remember –
the smell of freshly cut grass
the catching of lightening bugs
devouring Good Humor ice cream
friends trying to invite themselves
into my backyard pool
playing a game called “Murder In The Dark”
in the backyard of the house across the street
when the sun went down.
I wonder
what summer evening games
the kids in my old neighborhood play now.
I wonder where
the kids I played with are now.
Should I visit the old neighborhood,
will I find our childhood spirits
still running around the streets?
Return my Childhood
If I get a chance to bargain
Will ask the Almighty again;
‘O God! If thy really could
Give me back my childhood.
I want back my those days,
Innocent acts and plays,
Tricky games and cycle race,
Showing friends masked face,
Digging pits in soil of land,
Drawing sketches in the sand,
Running after the butterflies,
Watching planes in the sky,
Playing with the puppy,
In parties becoming happy,
Hopping in the streets
Going to buy sweets,
Doing things not known to me,
At times crawling on knees,
After school watching cartoons,
Little sleeps in the afternoons,
Doing independent activities,
Free from all responsibilities,
Free from all kind of tensions,
Asking confound questions.’
Childhood is morning of life
From here life begins thrive;
No hardness, no tough heat,
Childhood is innocent n neat.
‘Return my childhood,
O God! if thy could.’
(c) S. D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Childhood Is...
Childhood is hanging your pictures on the refrigerator, and tea parties you always have to cater.
Childhood is chasing butterflies and picking flowers,
playing with blocks and making towers.
Childhood is hating nap time,
and thinking everything is always MINE
Childhood is crayons and coloring books,
Playing hide and go seek in all the right nooks.
Childhood is falling asleep to your favorite lullaby,
wishing you had wings so you could soar into the sky.
Childhood is only crying over a scrapped knee,
or being stung by a bumble bee
Childhood is thinking boys have cooties,
or your mom making you wear itchy booties.
Childhood is ruining mommy's new leather,
and making friends and keeping them forever.
Childhood finally ends,
When you start to grow up,
And not having to drink out of a sippy cup
poem by Shenika Vermaak
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It Was Good Then
I go back to my childhood
And images come flying at me
These water color memories
That have faded to a certain extent
With the passage of time
Fade no more
But become no brighter.
I remember things in
Sunshine yellows
And frosty blues
Minty greens
And lavender hues.
I remember smells.
Is it even possible to remember
Smell?
But, I swear I do.
Days had their own smell
Skin had its own smell
Sticky with sweat
From playing outside at high noon.
The grass, flowers, and air
Were scented.
By some far away perfume
Carried from place to place.
I remember the feel of grass
Between my bare toes.
I remember laughter.
I remember the gnarled trunk of
A tree under my hands and
Shoeless feet
When I climbed all the way to the top
And was not afraid to look or
Climb down.
I remember being a gypsy child
Going from place to place
Town to town
Without fear.
I remember making friends
I remember innocence..
I remember
Security,
Something I have forgotten since.
I remember
Childhood
Water color memories.
poem by Rabia Minhas
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Children Playing
Children playing in the street
Dirty face and dirty feet
Skipping ropes and singing songs
This will last all summer long
Fresh air as there playing out
Keeps them fit as they run about
Games they play I know so well
As my journey back to my childhood dreams
Remembering the days no money about
All us kids just played out
Ancient games our parents would play
I still remember to this day
Skipping ropes tug of war
And playing tag I adored
Playing out from dawn to dusk
Happy were we school was done
Dinner time what did we care
With so many friends out there
Mum calls us in its getting late
And homely food on a plate
Slept like a log without a doubt
My energy all burnt out
Just what will tomorrow bring
Our gang is talking about building a swing
These pleasant days I remember well
Because many times in my childhood dwell
To see a smile on a Childs face
The world is a happier place
07 09 2010
Chellaston
poem by Jim O'Donnell
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The Lost Days
running around, southing,
jumping on bed,
crying for petty things,
making paper boats in rain,
getting wet,
jumping in the poodles of water,
running falling, getting dirty
feelings safe in the arms of mother,
lying on the floor,
watching the ceiling
trying to figure out dragons and fairy
from the water patter formed by seepage
looking for rainbow, trying reach it
looking at stars, making a wish
those little games
imitating birds and running after dogs
climbing trees and getting scratched,
watching fishes in pond
throwing stones in water
i really miss those good old days
poem by Anjesh shekhar
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Days of April
O, my days of April, I've pined for you so long
And waited to see your gardens return where they belong
O, my days of April, which find me with a fellow
Do you see my new smile outglowing daffodills yellow?
O, my days of April, you leave me sleepless in your splendor
You find me beneath the shaded trees in his arms tender
Marveling beneath the orange sunlight that covers the grassy hills
Feeling the blissful breeze travel where it wills
O, my days of April, his voice hums like your honey bees
It often sends my heart on happy little sprees
And as we swim through the land of lavender seas
I thank you for the days you bring such as these
O, my days of April, he smells like your fresh rain
That waters the mowed grass in the thirsty plains
His eyes shine like the diamonds you leave on the blades
I hold them to my memory to escape December days
O, my days of April, remember you'll live forevermore
Your cloudless days and golden rays always will knock at May's door
And your flowers will bloom so high they almost reach the gables
But remember us, remember us, my sweet days of April
poem by Whitney Albright
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Sometimes I imagine
Sometimes I imagine
that my D Jacobs painting
of a red brown earth road
that in winter
runs through the yellow green veldt
past a few oak and blue gum trees
to the purple blue mountains
in the distance
is a Pierneef,
but what draws it nearer to me,
is that I almost feel
the sand beneath me feet,
can smell the tussocks of grass,
try to catch the shades of the trees
one by one,
see a graveyard
in the distance next to
a few bushes,
look at the bright blue sky
and get emotionally involved
with this painting
as it brings my childhood days
back to me
and it jumps right
into my heart.
[Reference: Painting by D Jacobs that belongs to me.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Meat
Fibrillose like a centipede and counting backwards
From the laundry or the arcade,
Following the bred crumbs and the beer cans until your
Hair was yellow again.
And you were just a freshman emptied into his class
In a school that was just finding its legs,
While cicadas skipped themselves discardingly amidst
The over red blooms of the bromeliad
Outside by the archipelagos of landscaping where the
Bicycles hid
And the grass was mowed just as orderly as housewives
And they had firedrills that took you outside so you could
Be all by yourself until the pretty girl who played
Soccer who you would never make love with
Came over to occupy a space near you, both of you bared
To the sun- underneath an important sapling
Until you skipped school to go to Spain and Michigan,
And the fair came around selling you the caesuras of unnatural
Haunts that seem to give you angels, only to Indian give you
Back to yourself, until you became and echo
That resounded with the spent fireworks of an obsolete religion
Rising and dying repeatedly like an orchestra of red devils
Playing baseball and the meat of your own hand.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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The Oddball In The Window
The boy sat at the window
Looking out at the other boys
Laughing and playing their games
Enjoying their childhood days
The boy hopes that they will cherish
Those blissful moments of youth
That have been stolen from him
Moments gone forever from his childhood days
He’s not crippled in body or mind
He’s not allowed outside to play
Those boys point and stare at the boy
They call the oddball in the window
His parents have imprisoned him
To wrap him up in cotton love
He is just to much a gift from god
He is their only precious child
The parents say it’s for his own good
He’s such a delicate child
He just sits at the window
Jealous of the children running free
He will never laugh with other children
He will never join in their games
He never smiles in photographs
He’s not enjoying his childhood days
He’s grown up now; still sitting at the window
His parents can’t get him to venture outside
Everyone passing takes time to point and stare
At the man they call
The oddball in the window
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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The City And The Town
this is what the city has to offer
neon lights, ambulance screams,
loud music, beer and ale,
a small room, a busy life,
a little sleep,
exquisite dinners,
late shows, gags, gigs.
but i have enough of all these,
i went to the little town
and have this wooden house,
beside a river, there are flowers
blooming and vegetable gardens,
and tranquil horizons,
a beautiful sunset
a brighter sunrise,
crustal clear rivers,
home fishing, and mountain treks,
and fresh smell of green grass,
and cool shades of trees,
mountain shadows,
full moons and singing birds
love calls, and fresh fruits
direct from the trees,
wild chickens, and
horses to ride and carabaos
to pasture, goats to feed
and turkey chases,
a very peaceful sleep at night
under the moon
lamp-lit room and some cicadas
in concert with the frogs
and crickets and worms
and then the rain
starts to fall
you hear the sweet hum
of the nearby river
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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On my way to school (ballad attempt)
It was a pleasant day
walking down the road
too bad it's so early
carrying a heavy load
on my way to school
As I walk down the same street
taking in what I see
quiet birds are flying by
as if they want to flee
on my way to school
then I see a body
lying on the ground
looking cold and brittle
its face showing a frown
on my way to school
I get to the ravine
and smell the fresh air
and hearing the running water
thinking life is fair
on my way to school
I arrive at my goal
tired as can be
the day has only started
and I already want to sleep
because of my journey to school
poem by Venus Fire
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Childhood Days
Childhood days! !
Beautiful childhood days.
No hurries, no worries
Like pure delightful bays
We sat with dad
With mom on our side
Playing and shouting
With full our might.
All our wants and all our wishes
May be from toy train to chocolate pieces
Were granted us with some good kisses
all the toys and all the choices
shouting on the top of our voices
The tricky studies with playful schools
Cracking silly jokes like a fool.
Alas! now everything has gone
With nothing so cool..
Burdened with load of task
Bearing our hobbies under work's mask
we lay aside for societies societies cruelty
Someone give us back our childhood days
And freed us from this life's routine maze...
poem by Divya Agarwal
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My Canadian Chronicles 19
Sitting in the sunshine
enjoying the silence of the day.
Relaxing, as all my worries
seem a million miles away.
I don’t want reality to ever kick in
as I sit enjoying the sunshine
on a peaceful summer’s day.
I am enjoying all nature’s natural sounds
like the birds chirping in the trees.
Enjoying summers stance
as the smell of new mowed grass
perfumes the summer day.
It is just like heaven
relaxing on a summer’s day.
13 June 2009
poem by David Harris
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Silly, Silly Fool
(kenneth gamble / leon huff)
Such a silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i
Oh, i, just a silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i
Hey, I should have never fallen
Back in love with you
Knowin how you get a pleasure
Breaking my poor heart in two
You made it sound so convincin
When you said
Im your woman, youre my man
Now I really need you
And I sit here a loser again
I guess Im just a silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i, oh i
Im such a silly, silly, silly, silly, fool am i, mmm
I should have never trusted
In my heart to lead the way
Now my mind is all busted
Thats a fools price to pay
You made it sound so convincin
When you said youd never, never go away
I should have never listened
To anything you had to say
Im such a silly, silly, silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i, yes I am
Im such a silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i, oh
Such a silly, silly, dilly, silly, dilly fool am i, oh yeah
Im such a silly, silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i, oh yes I am
Im such a silly, silly, dilly, silly, dilly, silly fool am i, oh yeah
Im such a silly, dilly, silly, dilly, silly fool am i, oh
Silly, dilly
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Guy Made Me Stronger
I lived my life like every other girl i screamed coodies and ran away when saw a boy close by, Grew older experienced that a boy is something what girls run after not run from, starting to notice running after boys starts to break your heart apart into million of pieces, i ask myself why can't the guy i am running for just stop running and turn around and wait for me to catch up to him but instead he keeps running to the girl that doesnt deserve him.
poem by Jojo Stack
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The smells of Football
Football has it's own smells
from the grass on the pitch
to the aroma from the Hot Dog stalls.
In the dressing room there's sweat
strong odour coming from ointments
being rubbed into aching muscles.
On the terraces you smell beer
years ago there was tobacco too
on Boxing Day the whiff of cigar smoke.
As a boy my mothers washing powder
making my kit smell nice and fresh
and getting rid of mud and grass stains.
The smell of leather of a new pair
of football boots and new ball
and layers of thick black polish.
At the half-time break in a match
onto the field came a large tray
full of sweet smelling and tasty Oranges.
These are the smells of Football
the odours of the Beautiful game
and for some the sweet smell of success.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Seasons In The Sun
Goodbye to you my trusted friend
We've known each other since we were nine or ten
Together we've climbed hills and trees
Learned of love and ABCs
Skinned our hearts and skinned our knees
Goodbye my friend it's hard to die
When all the birds are singing in the sky
Now that the spring is in the air
Pretty girls are everywhere
Think of me and I'll be there
We had joy
song performed by by Westlife from Westlife
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Girls & Boys
Lying in bed, touching my skin
Oh God I wish you weren't sleeping
I long for your lips, to kiss me again
Don't you know my body's aching?
(Breathe)
Seems we always have a little price to pay,
Price to pay, I'm Falling in love
It all starts, starts to fade
Bad girls, and bad little boys
Won't last forever
But Good girls, and good little boys
Will make love together
I look at your face, As I lie awake
My body's slowly moving closer
My hand on your leg
My mouth on its way
Oh baby, I'll just turn you over
Seems we always have a little price to pay,
Price to pay, (uh) I'm Falling in love
It all starts, starts to ache
Bad girls, and bad little boys
Won't last forever
But Good girls, and good little boys (boys)
Will make love together...
Love together, love together,
Love together, love together,
Love together...
Do you like this? I like this
I want you alright
Do you wanna touch me?
I like this
Can you handle this?
I like this
We're gonna slow it down,
Just a little bit
I'm lying in bed, touching my skin
I just can't take it baby
Open your eyes, whisper to me..
Do it again, do it again
Bad girls, and bad little boys
Won't last forever
But Good girls, and good little boys (boys)
Will make love together
Bad girls, and bad little boys
Won't last forever
But Good girls, and good little boys (boys)
Will make love together
Love together, love together,
Love together...
That's good, do you like this?
Yeah, gonna slow it down
We'll make love together
song performed by by Britney Spears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Have To Walk Away Again Looking For The Fresh Air
one finds a hard time nowadays
looking for fresh air
i step over a good view of the rice fields
from an Asian perspective
the rice fields are flowering
dews still sticking on the blades of grass
the sun is slowly rising from the mountains
a lot of fog hang on the sides
coconut trees are towering
not much winds today from the sea
a middle aged farmer stands under a tree
with his sweater on and his long bolo on his side
smoking his cigar
the woman in the house is cooking mud fish for breakfast
meanwhile she goes out and
starts a fire under the mango tree
burning a rubber tire
to drive some insects away
which she thinks are destroying
the tiny white flowers of
the tree
i smell the smoke coming from the cigar
it is floating in the air
the smoke from the rubber tire burning
is choking me
somehow that is what is being done to this world
brought about by ignorance and superstition and bad habits
i have to walk away again
looking for the fresh air
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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