Childhood Poems

Popular Childhood Poems
by Patrick Kavanagh

And sometimes I am sorry when the grass
Is growing over the stones in quiet hollows
And the cocksfoot leans across the rutted cart-pass
That I am not the voice of country fellows
Who now are standing by some headland talking
Of turnips and potatoes or young corn
Of turf banks stripped for victory.
Here Peace is still hawking
His coloured combs and scarves and beads of horn.


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by Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then- in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life- was drawn


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The Mores
by John Clare

Far spread the moorey ground a level scene
Bespread with rush and one eternal green
That never felt the rage of blundering plough
Though centurys wreathed spring's blossoms on its brow
Still meeting plains that stretched them far away
In uncheckt shadows of green brown, and grey
Unbounded freedom ruled the wandering scene
Nor fence of ownership crept in between
To hide the prospect of the following eye
Its only bondage was the circling sky


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I Am Waiting
by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

I am waiting for my case to come up
and I am waiting
for a rebirth of wonder
and I am waiting
for someone to really discover America
and wail
and I am waiting
for the discovery
of a new symbolic western frontier
and I am waiting


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For My Daughter
by David Ignatow

When I die choose a star
and name it after me
that you may know
I have not abandoned
or forgotten you.
You were such a star to me,
following you through birth
and childhood, my hand
in your hand.


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Recent Childhood Poems
My Hands
by Humberto Gómez Sequeira-HuGóS

Thanks to my hands,
I can touch the darkness
that envelops my consciousness
and turn it into the light
with which I open the spaces
where I wake up with the eyes
of the child who taught me to cry.

HuGóS | 1-25-2023 | 8:10 PM

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Mis Manos
by Humberto Gómez Sequeira-HuGóS

Mis manos

Gracias a mis manos,
puedo tocar la oscuridad
que envuelve mi conciencia
y convertirla en la luz
con que abro los espacios
donde despierto con los ojos
del niño que me enseñó a llorar.


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by Jess McCarthy

long grass tickles my chin
denim shorts with the butterflies stitched on the pockets
my unicorn t-shirt sticky with ice cream
the steady breathing of my old dog stretched beside me
the smell of freshly cut grass
smoky bonfires
the droning of some distant plane
a soft song from the birds
the chirp of a cricket


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A Grandpa's Studio
by Robynne Eller

In a land beyond the sea,
Rooted beneath the earth,
Lived a wise, white lindworm.
Within his grotto could be found,
Life's trinkets and treasures to greet the weary traveller.
At first, his precise position cannot be drawn by the eye,
But instead the timbre of striking keys and scents of shades and spirits.
In the innermost of this inky pit, sits an empty canvas,
Perched proudly on its pedestal, illuminated from above.
My presence revealed, the lindworm nudges me a pallet full of pigment --


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Good dad persona
by Marra Makinen

You'll probably never see this
Never read this
You probably don't even know
That I'm a writer

You were proud of me
For as long as it was convenient

You supported me
For as long as it supported your good dad persona


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