Childhood Poems

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.
...

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.
...

I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
...

Her arms semaphore fat triangles,
Pudgy hands bunched on layered hips
Where bones idle under years of fatback
And lima beans.
...

If you don't know the kind of person I am
and I don't know the kind of person you are
a pattern that others made may prevail in the world
and following the wrong god home we may miss our star.
...

XLIII

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
...

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
...

Childhood, sweet and sunny childhood,
With its careless, thoughtless air,
Like the verdant, tangled wildwood,
Wants the training hand of care.
...

Suddenly, from all the green around you,
something-you don't know what-has disappeared;
you feel it creeping closer to the window,
in total silence. From the nearby wood
...

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
...

It would be good to give much thought, before
you try to find words for something so lost,
for those long childhood afternoons you knew
that vanished so completely -and why?
...

How advanced they are, these children of the future,
Like small adults, within their tiny frames,
They grow up in a fast 'speed driven' culture,
Where 'learning pressures' change their kind of games,
...

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.
...

How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary childhood's mandragore,
From his pretty eyes have sunken
Pleasures, to make room for more- -
...

As once the winged energy of delight
carried you over childhood's dark abysses,
now beyond your own life build the great
arch of unimagined bridges.
...

Knows he who tills this lonely field
To reap its scanty corn,
What mystic fruit his acres yield
At midnight and at morn?
...

When I die choose a star
and name it after me
that you may know
I have not abandoned
...

Long ago, I was wounded. I lived
to revenge myself
against my father, not
for what he was--
...

The green village, the colored city, the ever familiar locality
Each path, tree, house, turn, each native I have left behind
But creepers, hedges have entangled with my leg and hand
The green crops fields, green hills, fruit trees, call me back,
...

In their faces a colourless gaping of life's adversity:
the hopeless grief of a hellish existence;
Malnourished, starving, filth and olfactory horrors;  
Their humiliating nothingness clothed in rags;
...

Childhood is a time
when innocent eyes scan all
aspects of the world
and perceive Truth and Beauty.
...

Childhood childhood
Where did you go?
Childhood childhood
You were unable to grow
...

A man who spent his childhood in the wilderness s well-polished to undertake the obligation that fate unfolds tomorrow.
...

Oh! Children's day Oh! Children's day,
Childhood memories on my way.
I remember when I was a child,
Those beautiful days I can't define.
...

I wake and pull the curtains to see winter's snow has fallen. Church bells ring, children laugh walking with sledges to the big hill with each step expectation of joys of childhood fun.As I stoke the fire and think of snowball fights, and snowmen, my lost childhood now in the distant past.
Michael Cochrane ©
...

Headline and tabloids full of nonsense she gets so pestering finding out what the headline wrote about her she burst her bubble for a moment what bloody hell you, ding it you want to start a war I end the war I'll inform your Mama and sue your tabloid headlines you've written whom you referring she gotten too many boyfriends you dimwit they're my kiddos and plus they're my childhood brother's and blood brothers.

You dammit don't drag them in you sicko.
...

She twentyfour then leaving the clubhouse dim as she walked out she an artist that no one knew only one does that is her childhood friends came wondering if something had happened but yet she realized she remembers once she stepped out of the clubhouse since she volunteers at the Al khor international school brtish stream she was then 25 she can only speak English does it makes her an English She speaks Spanish does it means she a Spanish she grown up a heartbeat of roses a golden vocal been searching by her childhood brothers a dute need a comeback it's so quite ever since she gone memories live on through the childhood memories she since how all her childhood brothers approach the landmark in the city heartbeat of Doha Qatar people mistake her as indian but true she has blood of a royal of jordanian and indonesian but resmbol of her late grandmother who live through her a last wise from a late ghosts that has gone in past prayer is in her mute sadness of her eyes and heartbeat can read by the brothers that she knew her life fill colour and kindness rose her life to others a duet need a comeback it's so quiet ever since she gone memories live on through the childhood memories since she about to leave all her childhood brothers approach the landmark in the city heartbeat of Doha Qatar people mistake her as Indian caused her beauty resmbol so many nationality but true is she has blood of a royal Jordanian and Indonesian but a resmbol of her late grandmother who live through her last wise from late ghosts that have gone in a past prayer is in her mute sadness of her eyes and a heartbeat can read by the brothers that she knew her life fill a colour, and a kindness rose her life to others.
...

Sometimes my memory of childhood breaks like a wrist. I find myself trying to forget where I come from to eat the pain of never being loved carefully. No one ever showed me what it was like to be gently folded before being put into a box. So now, I struggle to find the places where my creases fall.

Sometimes my memories of childhood are broken glass shattered in different parts of my body to remind me where my trauman comes from. Today my trauma comes from the bottom of my feet, yesterday it came from the palms of my hands. Tomorrow, it will probably find its home sitting in the middle of my chest pulling on my lungs bringing me back to the question that I always seem to ask myself. Why do remember disasters? I remember disasters simply because they raised me.
...

When I found kindness and comfort
I started to open up
My grey shadows slowly started to disappear
as happiness and laughter took over
...

Forget not the way you passed, say sages,
But I hate those childhood days, and I try
To ignore them, not in my recklessness,
Did it purposely, and no more regrets.
...