Childhood has no forebodings, but then, it is soothed by no memories of outlived sorrow.
George Eliot in The Mill on the Floss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Childhood Memories Sung to the Tune of Shawnee West Franklin Bison Blues
Some people have a childhood garden
Filled with green and growing things
Some people have a childhood garden
Filled with purple peonies
Mine is sere
Throughout the year
Nothing grows here
Some people have a childhood rainbow
A sea of colors all aglow
Some people have a childhood rainbow
Red to violet in a row
Mine is gray
Bow of clay
Without a ray
Some people have a childhood temple
Covered with a million treasured dreams
Some people have a childhood temple
A sunny Wat of Gods and kings
Mine is plain
Squats in the rain
Functional 'n sane
Where childhood memories abound
Life flows vividly around
Where childhood memories have fled
Hearts lie dead
My Childhood Memories
Childhood memories are often steeped in mystery.
The older we get the memories exclude
sometimes things we might find painful as we journeyed on.
I tried to visualise my childhood as a happy one,
though I know in my heart it was a very much lonely one.
Not only was I shy, but I never mixed very well.
I spent so much of my time nearly always on my own.
The only exciting time I can remember
was one summer I spent with friends of my father
whom I referred to as Aunt Elsie and Uncle Jim.
For the two months I spent with them
in a small town called Allison
hold some of the best memories of my childhood.
It was away from my parents
and into someone’s house that cared.
I went fishing every day
in the stream at the end of the garden,
made many friends
and had one of the most enjoyable times
of my childhood
that will always live within me.
5-6 June 2008
poem by David Harris
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Passing the baton.
It had to end.
We had all this.
So absorbed in all our comforts.
Photos, framed memories,
Holidays, various locations.
It lasted longer than
Either of us,
Secretly dared to hope.
Now we are just someone
Else`s memories.
Isn`t that the way,
Time immemorial.
We all think we
Are more important
Because we outlived 'you'.
How sad!
Feel the quality,
Not the width.
poem by Peter Vealey
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On the other hand....
Best friends from when we were young
still here with us today
can be possibly the best reminder of who we were
irregardless of if we’ve put that person away.
For that person and how they were,
what they thought,
said,
did,
or believed
is different from the person we are now
and different from how we are trying to be.
Childhood friends are like childhood toys,
some must be put away once they’ve outlived their use,
but the disposing
or distancing oneself
from such reminders of a past
can be one of the hardest things to do.
Because that grip upon who, how, what
or when you may have been,
is consequently made stronger
by who you keep labeled as “friend”.
Someone who was there with you
in times of hazy yesteryears
may not respect all which has fallen apart
which has been built back up
to get you to right now
and right here.
poem by Chris Weersing
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On Child Labour
Childhood years are something we treasure,
But there are those who have not achieved this pleasure.
A childhood they could not savour,
As they had to do rigorous child labour.
Can there be a gamble of greater sorrow?
Than giving up your childhood,
For some food for tomorrow....
poem by Sameer Daniel Gardner
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Childhood never returns
Memories remain
Childhood never returns
Deep in the heart
They always burn
Life takes a turn
When youth comes
Becomes more difficult
As one grows old
More responsibilities
One has to hold
The freedom goes
Tougher it becomes
With future in mind
Memories rewind
Old days were better
Everybody chatters
Give my childhood back
One remembers
God for that
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Memories of Childhood
memories so many,
arent they sweet like honey?
i remember my childhood days;
when me and my sister lazed.
the time when i rolled in mud,
or; the time when i fell down
the time when i saw a meteor,
or; the time when i went to school.
the time when i threw stones at cows,
or; the time when i was chased by a mouse!
old memories are filled with fun and joy,
things to be remembered and loved.
and; time came for me to grow up;
to sit in the armchair;
to remember............................
(stuffed in my mind)
my childhood memories.
poem by Aparna Subramanian
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Be Soothed
Be soothed,
By whatever you get patched up.
Be soothed,
By getting out of those tough ruts.
Be soothed,
By anthing that comes as luck,
That opens up those doors once shut!
Be soothed,
By whatever you get patched up.
Be soothed,
By getting out of those tough ruts.
Be soothed,
By anything that comes as luck,
That opens up those doors once shut!
Many people living here are positive.
And some of those people live their lives to give.
With some of them heard never ever complaining...
About their strolls through pouring rain.
Be soothed,
By anything good you do.
Be soothed,
By being proud you can move.
Be soothed,
Some people can't even do that.
Be soothed,
To know you aint flat on your back!
Be soothed,
By whatever you get patched up.
Be soothed,
By getting out of those tough ruts.
Be soothed,
By anything that comes as luck,
That opens up those doors once shut!
Be soothed,
By anything good you do.
Be soothed,
By being proud you can move.
Be soothed,
Some people can't even do that.
Be soothed,
To know you aint flat on your back!
Many people living here are positive.
And some of those people live their lives to give.
With some of them heard never ever complaining...
About their strolls through pouring rain.
Be soothed,
By anything good you do.
Be soothed,
By being proud you can move.
Be soothed,
Some people can't even do that.
Be soothed,
To know you aint flat on your back!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Our Past Lives On With Us
We may not be in prison yet we are not truly free
For of our past we are prisoners that's how 'twould seem to me
Bad memories always haunt us they never go away
Until the Reaper claims us they are with us to stay.
For many childhood memories are full of mental pain
Their heavy cross of sorrows through their lives with them remain
Children of war and famines they cannot forget their past
Their living nightmares with them linger though few other things seem to last.
Children of abusive parents bad old memories in them stay young
They live remembering their traumas and die as the unsung
Their innocence stolen from them in their childhood of tears
Bad memories still with them undimmed by the passing years.
We may not be in prison though it would seem to me
That we prisoners of our memories of our past we can't be free
Until the Reaper claims us good and bad memories with us stay
Our past seems to live on with us and it never goes away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Memories
Memories of good times
Memories of bad times
Memories of our love
So many memories
Memories of us crying
Memories of us laughing
Memories of our commitment
So many memories
Memories of us hugging
Memories of us kissing
Memories of those late nights
So many memories
Memories of how we met
Memories of how you left
Memories of what you said
So many memories
Why did you leave me
with so many memories
Did you ever realize
that my memories are yours
Everything we did together
stays within our memories
I remember getting hurt
Do you hurt too
Let's make a new memory
that we can both share
Let's love again
in our memories
poem by Adam McKim
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My Childhood Garden
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
lush and green
it was so happy it made me scream
my joy and hopes
and all my mopes
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
with the ups and downs
when i jumped i could not touch the ground
with my purle ponys
it made it homey
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
flying high
with the little lies
the grass fine
up in the sky my kite
my childhood garden
my childhood garden
now in the past
i now know that it can never last
now as i get taller
it was differnt when i was smaller
my childhood garden
poem by Danielle Eager
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Thief of childhood
A thief take away my childhood.
He suck my childhood from me,
Slowly, slowly, quietly, quietly.
Every day when I was playing.
Every day on the play ground of my dream.
It was useless for him but he wants it.
Now my heart has only sorrow but no pleasure,
And nothing left in me.
So I planned to kill this thief of
Childhood of every child
But I can’t because it’s the time.
poem by Mohammad Tabish Hussain
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This Journal Of Mine
I have written a book of memories,
It is stored inside my mind,
And recorded on its pages,
Are many stories all entwined.
Journeys through my childhood,
And on into my teenage years,
Then reaching full maturity,
Sampling a variety of careers.
It only takes a few seconds,
This journal of mine to access,
Encountering joy and sorrow,
Tears of pain and happiness.
Experiences and adventures,
Lots of hellos and goodbyes,
People all intermingled,
In my conscience, which personifies.
These memories are forever,
Full documents of all my days,
Filed away for my future reference,
Enabling entry by the use of replays.
I have written a book of memories,
Into which I just love to delve,
And wander back to times gone by.
Let me recall when I was twelve!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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What omniscience has music! So absolutely impersonal, yet every sufferer feels his secret sorrow soothed.
quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memories Of The Roeside
Scenes of a childhood,
Long years ago,
Surface in memory as vivid as snow:
The Mullagh, the Dogleap,
The Wet Wood and the Dry…
Memories of the Roeside
Bringing tears to each eye.
And where are the friends
Of those days before?
Do they share the fond memories
Which I have in store?
Do they think of the Marshfield,
The old Wireless Lane,
Nicholl’s Brae, The Flat,
And the high Rock of Kane?
Do they recall the summers
By the Wee Rock at the Mill,
Or the sports in the Avenue
With many a thrill?
And what of the ‘characters’-
Ah, too many to relate;
It being good fortune
To share partly their fate…
Oh these memories of childhood,
Of school- days, of youth,
I cling to like life, as precious as truth.
And to those still living, my friends of the Roe
I drink you a toast to times long ago.
poem by Liam ó Comáin
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Somewhere Someone Will Listen To Them
I don't expect anyone to be familiar,
With my memories.
The ones I keep fondly close to me.
How could they be?
When memories affecting me are mine.
Although I am told about myself all the time.
As if my life hangs from a grapevine.
And those experiences,
That came to jolt my emotions...
Are the reasons why some may find me,
Not the one they 'thought' they knew.
Or the one they comfortably gossiped about.
And I know for those with nothing else to do to choose,
This can be quite disappointing.
As long as they are soothed,
By others approving their deceptions too...
There will always be a place for those two-faced.
Somewhere someone will listen to them twist truths.
With an accepting done of their irresistible dysfunctions.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sorrow Under Mist
Mist -
Giving wispy vapour to the breath,
Cool calm to autumn afternoons,
A hovering air of mysticism
Over brooding lakes -
Was different here,
Affording company, closeness -
A caring arm around her shoulders.
In the eyes, a once-clear oceanic blue
Wavered under water -
Tears telling torrid truths
She couldn't face -
Like the glowering image in the mirror
You don't see in your mind's eye
Of compensation; delusion.
We see her sitting on the concrete steps
That led down to the dew-laden garden.
She's peering up, sensing her diffuse companion,
Refreshing in its chill; giving crispness
To the stealth of dulling evening.
But the bite of air couldn't lift the sorrow
Of pale youth in love,
Shouldered by a not-in-love and scoffing eye.
Rejection hurt;
Hurts -
Wrenches deep -
Emotion that we can't deny!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Sorrow Rain
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow sorrow
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Innocence was stolen
You stolen my innocence
As a young child
The painful memories
Filled my childhood with
Tears, hurt, and pain
The unbearable pain
The hurt
You put me though
You lost nothing
You gain power
I lose my innocence
Lost my life
Lost my happiness
Gain nothing but pain
My childhood forgotten
My childhood lost
My childhood stolen by a man
that was my moms friend
You voilatd me
You molesed me
More then I can count on my hands and feet
You took the innocents out of the child
And left pain
poem by Tiffany Johnson
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She Wrote About Our Mother.
She wrote about our mother and it took me far away
And many, many years in time back home to Claraghatlea
And as I read her letter I fought to choke the tears
For Millstreet, Cork and Ireland and happy childhood years.
She wrote about our mother long under Tanyard soil
And memories flooded back to me of one with ready smile
Of woman who worked hard for us for no reward or pay
The heroine of our childhood years of happy by gone day.
She wrote about our mother with sense of love and pride
And memories flooded back to me and tears welled up inside
For one who done her best for us her very best she tried
And I still feel she is with us her spirit never died.
A letter from my sister in east Rockaway in New York
Reminding me of childhood years in Millstreet County Cork
She wrote about our mother whose passing left a void
And memories flooded back to me and tears welled up inside.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Epic Memories
Childhood memories
and
old photographs,
different games,
and
enjoyable days,
those perfect timings
with you
'Mannae',
all are perfectly abiding...
But
where you have gone
bro,
where to find you,
all these immortal
and epic memories
reminds me of you....
DEDICATED TO MY COUSIN WHO IS NO MORE.
poem by Tanveer Sharma
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