Take 5ive. Themed Issue. Childhood Memories.
Childhood Memories
Childhood memories are like precious treasures hidden in the depths of our minds, waiting to be unearthed by a simple scent, a familiar melody, or a fleeting glimpse of an old photograph. They are a collection of the most innocent and carefree moments of our lives, filled with the laughter of friends, the warmth of family, and the wonder of discovering the world for the first time. These memories hold the power to transport us back to a time when the world was a playground of endless possibilities, where the smallest of things could bring boundless joy. Cherished and timeless, they remind us of the simple yet profound beauty of our early years, a foundation upon which the rest of our lives is built.
Jennifer Gurney
I doubt I’ll ever
be able to hear Stardust
without remembering
you humming along
as I practiced piano
at our first
neighborhood talent show
Susie and I sang –
raindrops keep falling
under a wet umbrella
my fourth birthday –
the entire neighborhood came
balloons on the mailbox
picnic tables in the garage
best party of my life
Grandma had
a plastic tablecloth
one side Happy Birthday
other side Merry Christmas –
child of the Depression
party line
black and white television
rotary dial
calling time and temperature
hand-crank windows
Lorelyn Arevalo
village pump
bucket in each hand
barefoot
on gravel path
thirst quenched
after mass
outside the church
eyes on red balloon
but the tummy
growls louder
hot afternoon
in the backyard
chasing dragonflies
when grandma whistles
for nap time
Anne Curran
his passing on
comes from another time in my childhood
when I remember him
tinkering at his workbench
bidding me 'good morning'
escaping boredom
I climb the plum tree
in our backyard -
from there I consider the world
on my own terms
mother and me
invite all classmates
to my birthday party -
a cacophony of fun and laughter
for an afternoon
standing on our heads
against the wardrobe door
my sister and me -
counting until we're dizzy
just chilling
feigning some illness
I listen for my father's voice
at six o'clock -
smart in tweed jacket
he comes to my bedside
David He
we played
soldiers with toy guns...
the war
without bullets
lasted until nightfall
a drizzle
at autumn dusk...
I still remember
Gran held her umbrella
wherever she went
sunlight dappled
through the willow...
my old mother
used to wait outside
for my arrival
Tuyet Van Do
siblings huddle
at end of the staircase
in silence
listening to
the sound of shell bombardment
sound of folklore music
across
the vast green fields
during summer holidays
in the countryside
hustle and bustle
of early morning market
on our street
vendors gather daily
to make a living
Giuliana Ravaglia
brocche di sogni
dipingevo nel vento
come onda serena
sul cavalletto in soffitta
il mio concavo cielo
jugs of dreams
I painted in the wind
like a serene wave
on the easel in the attic
my concave sky
sul davanzale
una lampada accesa
vegliava il paese
oltre le insegne spente
la luce d'un abbraccio
on the windowsill
a lighted lamp
watched over the country
beyond the darkened signs
the light of an embrace
meditavo la fuga
nell'ombra azzurra
della sera
aurora a rifiorire
come genziana fra le pietre
I was contemplating escape
in the blue shadow
of the evening
dawn to bloom again
like a gentian among the stones
Bonnie J Scherer
Friday night fish fry
battered cod or perch
and German style pancakes …
the best part
of being Catholic
adjusting the fit
of my roller skates
the key
to my freewheeling
life
long drives in the car
to our next vacation
dad caresses mom
softly touching
her shoulder
Ram Chandran
a seashell,
my dad gifted to me
when I was a kid...
I still feel the warmth of his hands
when I touch it now
' I am Mary'
she introduced herself
and my thoughts
went back to
my lovely fourth grade teacher
remembering those days
under full moon
dad and I chatting joyously...
and today no moon in the sky
and he is no longer with us
Tonia Kalouria
On-Point Refusal
“ Look at the pretty dancing girl!”
“Yes, dear, she’s a ‘ball-er-ina.’”
“I want to be one, too, Mommy!”
“Can I take ‘ball-rina’ lessons? Pleeease.”
“Ha-ha. Oh, my, no, dear — you’re too fat.”
Jackie Chou
my mother
cutting the fruit
into chunks...
I will always be
the apple of her eye
passing
a street trickster
I told mom
I wanted the job
of his monkey
watching
its final wiggles
my first
and last time
stepping on a worm
at age six
playing with Barbie
but not Ken
my discomfort about
changing his clothes
learning
that the little match girl
dies in the end
first time I cried
about a book I read
Richard L. Matta
walking the beach
far from the break
mom tells me
at the age of four
I was almost swept away
beach walk
all of us build
a sandcastle…
mom and I dig a moat
dad and sis welcome waves
Nityu Yumnam
on the shore
child’s footprints
inch by inch
i revisit the adventures
of my childhood
returning late
from work
on the balcony
louder than silence
echo of father’s worries
lost in wilds
echoes of my name
in the trails
of tears
father’s voice
tumultuous times
everyone’s plate
overflows
while mother’s
parched
Sarah Das Gupta
Raking the dry hay
into sweet-smelling piles
red poppies, blue cornflowers
their dry skeletons
memorials to the dying summer
Running through deep snow
the dogs sinking down
then leaping upwards
like crazy hoops
in a surreal wonderland
Lakes of bright bluebells
stretch through Spring woods
armfuls of flowers
carried joyfully homeward
by happy girls
Father Christmas
stumbles in the night
he trips on an abandoned shoe
'What the heck's that?'
stifled giggles from the darkness
Burying a dead mouse
in a miniature grave
a tiny jar of buttercups
marks the special place
where it ascends to a mouse heaven
Diane Funston
grandma watched the soaps
called them her stories
after school
I grew hooked too
cuddled in the big chair
summer vacation
playing board games
sorry
but my favorite
was green ghost
running through lawn
under the sprinklers
when wet
felt so wonderful
the sun would dry us
Debbie Strange
with one chiff
of the church organ
this sudden
girlhood fear of fire
and brimstone
my first kiss
beneath a bower
of honeysuckle,
steeped in the folklore
of everlasting love
screeching siblings
with their arms akimbo,
defending
bunkbed territory
like sandhill cranes
unseaworthy,
the ship that carries
our memories . . .
I prefer your version
of childhood to mine
Nani Mariani
thank you mom
for your patience
bedtime story
about diligent ants
now I understand what you mean
still talking
every room in this old house
for me..
image of a family unit
while at the dinner table
memory
in memories
counting stars
dancing round and round
like Cinderella
Jerome Berglund
searching
for order a rabble
of geese
in the sky pell-mell
drifting, shifting
night clouds
look upon me
with disdain
still this habit
gazing up
loose dog
several houses away
am I going
to have to deal
with this
Kathabela Wilson
sitting
on the convent floor
five years old
out of my little red shoe
I shake a dime
out of
the popcorn bag
I share my clouds
with friends
if you can name them
shoe store Santa
mom brings me to tell him
how good I've been
big white beard and a twinkle
I don't recognize my dad
Great Poems
of the English Language
the bedtime stories
dad read every night
still on my bookshelf
Taffy and I
had cocker-spaniel eyes
covered by bangs
her long ears my long braids
we were twins when I was ten
Peter Larsen
first camping trip
my sister shy of using
the one-holer...
I am drafted as
seven-year-old sentry
tent's up
coals are red and ready
I wish supper weren't
canned corn beef hash
and yucky canned spinach
the Lone Ranger
gallops over the prairie
"hi yo, Silverrrr!"
the radio sound man
clops his coconuts
Mom teaches me
how to make flower leis...
hibiscus all gone
I string bougainvillea
and stain our necks purple
parents yell
upstairs over my head
front door slams...
forty-two years later
I learn about "Jane"
Jacob D. Salzer
in the woods
I try to catch my father
on a small bicycle
as salmon swim upstream
never giving up
playing board games
with my family
around a single lantern--
the warmth of our laughter
this cold night
a gust of wind
in father’s story . . .
as the campfire settles
our faces disappear
this moonless night
father and his friend build
a driftwood structure--
in wonder I watch
the waves carry it away
without a trace
only twelve
as waves crash
I lay on my back
and stare into
the Milky Way
Christina Chin
Railway crossing
Clickety-clack
the old track--
plantation workers
in the peddle car
breeze past
Filial duty--
rail crossroad
everyday
is my turn to send
Great grandma food
Five years old
stumbling over
perway
sleepers
and high rails
Mark Gilbert
dumping our bikes
on the perfect lawn
racing to the kitchen
for cold milk
and warm cookies
half a tooth
sparkling on the sidewalk
under the stars
your bicycle
will be fine
hoping my transistor radio
will last
until April
the girl next door
a little older
a pocket of pebbles
and a bucket of seashells
playing hide and seek
among the dunes
as the sun goes down
a mountain of wrapping
a city of cardboard
a mound of ribbon beneath the tree
the shade of the carpet the photo
of one parent or the other
Jon Hare
a selfie
captures the distance
of old friends
and the old house
40th reunion
free-range
learning to make fun
and games
roaming about
suburbia
waking early
and after a five mile run
a healthy breakfast
one of dad’s lessons
daily for years
roast beef
and mashed potatoes
holiday tables
overflowing with
family and friends
recess
my best class
for years
how would I do now
without a chance to run
Tracy Davidson
first grief
losing my marbles
in the school playground
those cat's eyes cost me
more than pocket money
local carnival
even scarier
than the ghost train
fifty pairs of eyes
of goldfish in plastic bags
comfort blanket
the one well-chewed corner
I return to
being trapped
in my shyness
aaarrrggghhh...
not again
mum bearing down
armed with calamine lotion...
blasted chickenpox
Genevieve S. Aguinaldo
childhood...
pouring coffee
on rice
feeling
like a grown-up
mucus
painting
on the wall
mother begging
"grow up"
catching
grasshoppers
on recess
hoping
to be cool
independence...
bike ride
to church
one chipped tooth
one hundred apologies
6pm novena...
counting each
"Hail Mary"
as I count
commercial breaks
Tyson West
same name and age
my best bud found dangling
in their apple tree
his parents mourned accident
flat eyes flashed otherwise
two holed outhouse
we chums shared toilet paper
fathers' army yarns
stepping into sunlight
we blinked―our wars to come
father bade me
bury my sister's puppy
his car tire crushed
its bones soon dissolved in soil
sister's anger air hardened
hobby farm
chicken flock―fancy breeds
foppish feathers
my care and fondness bled
a stoat surplus killed all
Nicholas Klacsanzky
light snowfall . . .
the scent of the family guitar
on my sweater
now hanging
for the moths
white waves
after all these years
lift my father’s ashes
into the mouths of crabs
and feathers of seagulls
the first linnet
is singing, pushing back memories
I want to look into your eyes
to return to non-self
only care
the whirr
of a hummingbird
trying to remember
your presence, I visit
our imagined birthplace
thud
of the camellia bud
finding myself
again in mother’s house
without teeth
Ruth Holzer
in the schoolyard
throwing stone-hard snowballs
I aim
at the bully
who hit my sister
first time riding
the gentle mare
she suddenly
jumped over a fence
and carried me away
tonsils out
I waited for mother
to come
but it was father who sat
by the bed and read stories
a long walk
back from the bakery
I nibble
the heel of the warm rye loaf
the part that mother liked best
I shall not keep
another pet bird
until I forget
how he looked at me
as he died in my hand
Chen-ou Liu
once again
tossing-turning through the night ...
my body
lies next to hers, and yet
our childhood dreams drift apart
this past summer
whatever wasn't on fire
was under water ...
I recall those days of kicking
at the patches of sea foam
a red poppy
on Father's frayed lapel ...
he once asked firmly
son, what do you want to be
when you grow up and why?
Kathryn Paulsen
CHRISTMAS WISH
Tired of
Sister’s
hand-me-downs
Brother wanted
“A dolly with arms”
BIRTHDAY WISH
Sister asked
for a fairy costume,
but Mom and Dad were lacking
the necessary
magical powers
EASTER WISH
The kids all wanted
baby chicks
that would survive and grow
just not big enough to go
to the farm
NEVER TOO EARLY
Just turned eight Sister looked up
child psychology in the new encyclopedia
knew she had found
her true career path
and wished she could start right now.
AT THE BEAUTY PARLOR
Mom’s hairdresser tried his best
when Little Sister asked
for a Betty Boop haircut
but she cried
when she saw it in the mirror.
Judith Shapiro
bumper cars, skeeball
pink and blue cotton candy
flip flops, Ferris wheels
running barefoot on hot tar streets
wishing summer never ends
twirling in the living room
in my mint green taffeta dress
black patent-leather Mary Janes
imagining dancing with my prince
til dawn
Double decker ice cream cone
with rainbow sprinkles
dropped on steaming hot sidewalk
still looms large
after all these years.
tourists come for the summer
beaches teem with life
butterscotch fudge and dipped cones
our tiny island overrun
with joy
lying in the grass
gazing up at the sky
seagulls soar overhead
hours and hours go by
unnoticed
Rodney Williams
our youngest
so fond of cats from the start –
half those coins
meant for that plate at church
feed her kittens treats
collecting cards on
planets rockets astronauts
for my book on space ...
Mum breaks from cooking dinner
to help me see Mars blink red
a weedy corner
hiding hen’s eggs gone bad ...
pa’s rusty spade
digging overgrown ground
slices through daffodil bulbs
from southern hills
she points at northern Rockies
atlas dreaming ...
the best of teachers
our big sister gone
boy boasting
he can count as far
as you could go –
totalling up stars I know
you can always add one more
Vipanjeet Kaur
ferris wheel,
the joy of rising;
the fear of falling
from a height;
trepidation of early life.
childhood race
to see
the falling sky...
still haven't reached
the finishing line.
phasmophobia:
a bevy of ghosts
near my bed
almost every night -
the characters from horror stories.
the patriarchal garb
ill-fitting...
still bulging
some supersized dreams
from the closet of my heart.
broken sandcastle,
the unspoken words;
the unsaid narratives;
that throbbing silence...
sibling's last goodbye.
C.X. Turner
the wake of 4am
a wet leaf slowly falls
moonlight ashes
in the air the memory
of childhood
crashing
upon an empty beach
a passing storm
colours my shore
in every shade of blue
broken notes
floating through
the stained glass
we discover a way
to relate
hiding things
in secret corners
counting...
I seek out all the sad songs
of my childhood
the old railway
playing truant from school
smoking...
a faraway sound of someone
not looking very hard
Linda M. Crate
the future
seemed so bright,
i wanted the
freedom i thought came
with adulthood.
dandelion wishes,
books, music,
the fire blazing of
dreams and magic;
i want my childhood again.
but there are things
of childhood i don't miss:
the criticism, the bullies,
middle and high school;
just give me back: warmth
childhood
feels as if it will
take forever,
but adulthood slips by
quicker than blinking.
i miss dandelion dreaming,
and the days of my youth
where i could sit in the trees with
few responsibilities and all the time
in the world.
Pawel Markiewicz
the barn in the fall
the oaks dancing in the wind
the becharmed nature
I listen to dazzling star
the amaranthine beauty
hedgehog in garden
pumpkins in tender glory
silence is fulfilled
I hear the Erlking in wind
as if I were guide from moon
hedgehog in the field
a first star on the heaven
the dreamed memories
I taste autumnal resin
born from miraculous grove
sun over a barn
the owl ready to night flight
the soft fulfillment
I see an eagle on the tree
the fantasy has wistful wings
the moon above barn
the first flight of silent bats
starry starlit night
I taste the last fall flower
as if it were an amber
Cecil Morris
With Our Mom
Saturday at dawn
laundromat empty except
for us three and hum
and thump of machines turning
our week back to clean and dry.
At Sixteen
Like the Perseids
our love burns a fiery streak
through the air we breathe
as we chase the fleet comet
of our infatuation.
Spring Memory
After mid-day rain:
the scent of earth exhaling,
the sound of water
moving unseen through green world,
secret friend drinking..
Winter Memory
I wake up seven in deepest dark,
power out, night a wet blanket,
storm howling huff and puff of wolf,
house straining against its galaxy
of nails as if it wants to flee.
Thinking about Our Daughter
She could hold her breath
until her clenched lips went blue
and she passed out, fell,
her childish fury gone limp,
her body failing her will.
I doubt I’ll ever
be able to hear Stardust
without remembering
you humming along
as I practiced piano
at our first
neighborhood talent show
Susie and I sang –
raindrops keep falling
under a wet umbrella
my fourth birthday –
the entire neighborhood came
balloons on the mailbox
picnic tables in the garage
best party of my life
Grandma had
a plastic tablecloth
one side Happy Birthday
other side Merry Christmas –
child of the Depression
party line
black and white television
rotary dial
calling time and temperature
hand-crank windows
Lorelyn Arevalo
village pump
bucket in each hand
barefoot
on gravel path
thirst quenched
after mass
outside the church
eyes on red balloon
but the tummy
growls louder
hot afternoon
in the backyard
chasing dragonflies
when grandma whistles
for nap time
Anne Curran
his passing on
comes from another time in my childhood
when I remember him
tinkering at his workbench
bidding me 'good morning'
escaping boredom
I climb the plum tree
in our backyard -
from there I consider the world
on my own terms
mother and me
invite all classmates
to my birthday party -
a cacophony of fun and laughter
for an afternoon
standing on our heads
against the wardrobe door
my sister and me -
counting until we're dizzy
just chilling
feigning some illness
I listen for my father's voice
at six o'clock -
smart in tweed jacket
he comes to my bedside
David He
we played
soldiers with toy guns...
the war
without bullets
lasted until nightfall
a drizzle
at autumn dusk...
I still remember
Gran held her umbrella
wherever she went
sunlight dappled
through the willow...
my old mother
used to wait outside
for my arrival
Tuyet Van Do
siblings huddle
at end of the staircase
in silence
listening to
the sound of shell bombardment
sound of folklore music
across
the vast green fields
during summer holidays
in the countryside
hustle and bustle
of early morning market
on our street
vendors gather daily
to make a living
Giuliana Ravaglia
brocche di sogni
dipingevo nel vento
come onda serena
sul cavalletto in soffitta
il mio concavo cielo
jugs of dreams
I painted in the wind
like a serene wave
on the easel in the attic
my concave sky
sul davanzale
una lampada accesa
vegliava il paese
oltre le insegne spente
la luce d'un abbraccio
on the windowsill
a lighted lamp
watched over the country
beyond the darkened signs
the light of an embrace
meditavo la fuga
nell'ombra azzurra
della sera
aurora a rifiorire
come genziana fra le pietre
I was contemplating escape
in the blue shadow
of the evening
dawn to bloom again
like a gentian among the stones
Bonnie J Scherer
Friday night fish fry
battered cod or perch
and German style pancakes …
the best part
of being Catholic
adjusting the fit
of my roller skates
the key
to my freewheeling
life
long drives in the car
to our next vacation
dad caresses mom
softly touching
her shoulder
Ram Chandran
a seashell,
my dad gifted to me
when I was a kid...
I still feel the warmth of his hands
when I touch it now
' I am Mary'
she introduced herself
and my thoughts
went back to
my lovely fourth grade teacher
remembering those days
under full moon
dad and I chatting joyously...
and today no moon in the sky
and he is no longer with us
Tonia Kalouria
On-Point Refusal
“ Look at the pretty dancing girl!”
“Yes, dear, she’s a ‘ball-er-ina.’”
“I want to be one, too, Mommy!”
“Can I take ‘ball-rina’ lessons? Pleeease.”
“Ha-ha. Oh, my, no, dear — you’re too fat.”
Jackie Chou
my mother
cutting the fruit
into chunks...
I will always be
the apple of her eye
passing
a street trickster
I told mom
I wanted the job
of his monkey
watching
its final wiggles
my first
and last time
stepping on a worm
at age six
playing with Barbie
but not Ken
my discomfort about
changing his clothes
learning
that the little match girl
dies in the end
first time I cried
about a book I read
Richard L. Matta
walking the beach
far from the break
mom tells me
at the age of four
I was almost swept away
beach walk
all of us build
a sandcastle…
mom and I dig a moat
dad and sis welcome waves
Nityu Yumnam
on the shore
child’s footprints
inch by inch
i revisit the adventures
of my childhood
returning late
from work
on the balcony
louder than silence
echo of father’s worries
lost in wilds
echoes of my name
in the trails
of tears
father’s voice
tumultuous times
everyone’s plate
overflows
while mother’s
parched
Sarah Das Gupta
Raking the dry hay
into sweet-smelling piles
red poppies, blue cornflowers
their dry skeletons
memorials to the dying summer
Running through deep snow
the dogs sinking down
then leaping upwards
like crazy hoops
in a surreal wonderland
Lakes of bright bluebells
stretch through Spring woods
armfuls of flowers
carried joyfully homeward
by happy girls
Father Christmas
stumbles in the night
he trips on an abandoned shoe
'What the heck's that?'
stifled giggles from the darkness
Burying a dead mouse
in a miniature grave
a tiny jar of buttercups
marks the special place
where it ascends to a mouse heaven
Diane Funston
grandma watched the soaps
called them her stories
after school
I grew hooked too
cuddled in the big chair
summer vacation
playing board games
sorry
but my favorite
was green ghost
running through lawn
under the sprinklers
when wet
felt so wonderful
the sun would dry us
Debbie Strange
with one chiff
of the church organ
this sudden
girlhood fear of fire
and brimstone
my first kiss
beneath a bower
of honeysuckle,
steeped in the folklore
of everlasting love
screeching siblings
with their arms akimbo,
defending
bunkbed territory
like sandhill cranes
unseaworthy,
the ship that carries
our memories . . .
I prefer your version
of childhood to mine
Nani Mariani
thank you mom
for your patience
bedtime story
about diligent ants
now I understand what you mean
still talking
every room in this old house
for me..
image of a family unit
while at the dinner table
memory
in memories
counting stars
dancing round and round
like Cinderella
Jerome Berglund
searching
for order a rabble
of geese
in the sky pell-mell
drifting, shifting
night clouds
look upon me
with disdain
still this habit
gazing up
loose dog
several houses away
am I going
to have to deal
with this
Kathabela Wilson
sitting
on the convent floor
five years old
out of my little red shoe
I shake a dime
out of
the popcorn bag
I share my clouds
with friends
if you can name them
shoe store Santa
mom brings me to tell him
how good I've been
big white beard and a twinkle
I don't recognize my dad
Great Poems
of the English Language
the bedtime stories
dad read every night
still on my bookshelf
Taffy and I
had cocker-spaniel eyes
covered by bangs
her long ears my long braids
we were twins when I was ten
Peter Larsen
first camping trip
my sister shy of using
the one-holer...
I am drafted as
seven-year-old sentry
tent's up
coals are red and ready
I wish supper weren't
canned corn beef hash
and yucky canned spinach
the Lone Ranger
gallops over the prairie
"hi yo, Silverrrr!"
the radio sound man
clops his coconuts
Mom teaches me
how to make flower leis...
hibiscus all gone
I string bougainvillea
and stain our necks purple
parents yell
upstairs over my head
front door slams...
forty-two years later
I learn about "Jane"
Jacob D. Salzer
in the woods
I try to catch my father
on a small bicycle
as salmon swim upstream
never giving up
playing board games
with my family
around a single lantern--
the warmth of our laughter
this cold night
a gust of wind
in father’s story . . .
as the campfire settles
our faces disappear
this moonless night
father and his friend build
a driftwood structure--
in wonder I watch
the waves carry it away
without a trace
only twelve
as waves crash
I lay on my back
and stare into
the Milky Way
Christina Chin
Railway crossing
Clickety-clack
the old track--
plantation workers
in the peddle car
breeze past
Filial duty--
rail crossroad
everyday
is my turn to send
Great grandma food
Five years old
stumbling over
perway
sleepers
and high rails
Mark Gilbert
dumping our bikes
on the perfect lawn
racing to the kitchen
for cold milk
and warm cookies
half a tooth
sparkling on the sidewalk
under the stars
your bicycle
will be fine
hoping my transistor radio
will last
until April
the girl next door
a little older
a pocket of pebbles
and a bucket of seashells
playing hide and seek
among the dunes
as the sun goes down
a mountain of wrapping
a city of cardboard
a mound of ribbon beneath the tree
the shade of the carpet the photo
of one parent or the other
Jon Hare
a selfie
captures the distance
of old friends
and the old house
40th reunion
free-range
learning to make fun
and games
roaming about
suburbia
waking early
and after a five mile run
a healthy breakfast
one of dad’s lessons
daily for years
roast beef
and mashed potatoes
holiday tables
overflowing with
family and friends
recess
my best class
for years
how would I do now
without a chance to run
Tracy Davidson
first grief
losing my marbles
in the school playground
those cat's eyes cost me
more than pocket money
local carnival
even scarier
than the ghost train
fifty pairs of eyes
of goldfish in plastic bags
comfort blanket
the one well-chewed corner
I return to
being trapped
in my shyness
aaarrrggghhh...
not again
mum bearing down
armed with calamine lotion...
blasted chickenpox
Genevieve S. Aguinaldo
childhood...
pouring coffee
on rice
feeling
like a grown-up
mucus
painting
on the wall
mother begging
"grow up"
catching
grasshoppers
on recess
hoping
to be cool
independence...
bike ride
to church
one chipped tooth
one hundred apologies
6pm novena...
counting each
"Hail Mary"
as I count
commercial breaks
Tyson West
same name and age
my best bud found dangling
in their apple tree
his parents mourned accident
flat eyes flashed otherwise
two holed outhouse
we chums shared toilet paper
fathers' army yarns
stepping into sunlight
we blinked―our wars to come
father bade me
bury my sister's puppy
his car tire crushed
its bones soon dissolved in soil
sister's anger air hardened
hobby farm
chicken flock―fancy breeds
foppish feathers
my care and fondness bled
a stoat surplus killed all
Nicholas Klacsanzky
light snowfall . . .
the scent of the family guitar
on my sweater
now hanging
for the moths
white waves
after all these years
lift my father’s ashes
into the mouths of crabs
and feathers of seagulls
the first linnet
is singing, pushing back memories
I want to look into your eyes
to return to non-self
only care
the whirr
of a hummingbird
trying to remember
your presence, I visit
our imagined birthplace
thud
of the camellia bud
finding myself
again in mother’s house
without teeth
Ruth Holzer
in the schoolyard
throwing stone-hard snowballs
I aim
at the bully
who hit my sister
first time riding
the gentle mare
she suddenly
jumped over a fence
and carried me away
tonsils out
I waited for mother
to come
but it was father who sat
by the bed and read stories
a long walk
back from the bakery
I nibble
the heel of the warm rye loaf
the part that mother liked best
I shall not keep
another pet bird
until I forget
how he looked at me
as he died in my hand
Chen-ou Liu
once again
tossing-turning through the night ...
my body
lies next to hers, and yet
our childhood dreams drift apart
this past summer
whatever wasn't on fire
was under water ...
I recall those days of kicking
at the patches of sea foam
a red poppy
on Father's frayed lapel ...
he once asked firmly
son, what do you want to be
when you grow up and why?
Kathryn Paulsen
CHRISTMAS WISH
Tired of
Sister’s
hand-me-downs
Brother wanted
“A dolly with arms”
BIRTHDAY WISH
Sister asked
for a fairy costume,
but Mom and Dad were lacking
the necessary
magical powers
EASTER WISH
The kids all wanted
baby chicks
that would survive and grow
just not big enough to go
to the farm
NEVER TOO EARLY
Just turned eight Sister looked up
child psychology in the new encyclopedia
knew she had found
her true career path
and wished she could start right now.
AT THE BEAUTY PARLOR
Mom’s hairdresser tried his best
when Little Sister asked
for a Betty Boop haircut
but she cried
when she saw it in the mirror.
Judith Shapiro
bumper cars, skeeball
pink and blue cotton candy
flip flops, Ferris wheels
running barefoot on hot tar streets
wishing summer never ends
twirling in the living room
in my mint green taffeta dress
black patent-leather Mary Janes
imagining dancing with my prince
til dawn
Double decker ice cream cone
with rainbow sprinkles
dropped on steaming hot sidewalk
still looms large
after all these years.
tourists come for the summer
beaches teem with life
butterscotch fudge and dipped cones
our tiny island overrun
with joy
lying in the grass
gazing up at the sky
seagulls soar overhead
hours and hours go by
unnoticed
Rodney Williams
our youngest
so fond of cats from the start –
half those coins
meant for that plate at church
feed her kittens treats
collecting cards on
planets rockets astronauts
for my book on space ...
Mum breaks from cooking dinner
to help me see Mars blink red
a weedy corner
hiding hen’s eggs gone bad ...
pa’s rusty spade
digging overgrown ground
slices through daffodil bulbs
from southern hills
she points at northern Rockies
atlas dreaming ...
the best of teachers
our big sister gone
boy boasting
he can count as far
as you could go –
totalling up stars I know
you can always add one more
Vipanjeet Kaur
ferris wheel,
the joy of rising;
the fear of falling
from a height;
trepidation of early life.
childhood race
to see
the falling sky...
still haven't reached
the finishing line.
phasmophobia:
a bevy of ghosts
near my bed
almost every night -
the characters from horror stories.
the patriarchal garb
ill-fitting...
still bulging
some supersized dreams
from the closet of my heart.
broken sandcastle,
the unspoken words;
the unsaid narratives;
that throbbing silence...
sibling's last goodbye.
C.X. Turner
the wake of 4am
a wet leaf slowly falls
moonlight ashes
in the air the memory
of childhood
crashing
upon an empty beach
a passing storm
colours my shore
in every shade of blue
broken notes
floating through
the stained glass
we discover a way
to relate
hiding things
in secret corners
counting...
I seek out all the sad songs
of my childhood
the old railway
playing truant from school
smoking...
a faraway sound of someone
not looking very hard
Linda M. Crate
the future
seemed so bright,
i wanted the
freedom i thought came
with adulthood.
dandelion wishes,
books, music,
the fire blazing of
dreams and magic;
i want my childhood again.
but there are things
of childhood i don't miss:
the criticism, the bullies,
middle and high school;
just give me back: warmth
childhood
feels as if it will
take forever,
but adulthood slips by
quicker than blinking.
i miss dandelion dreaming,
and the days of my youth
where i could sit in the trees with
few responsibilities and all the time
in the world.
Pawel Markiewicz
the barn in the fall
the oaks dancing in the wind
the becharmed nature
I listen to dazzling star
the amaranthine beauty
hedgehog in garden
pumpkins in tender glory
silence is fulfilled
I hear the Erlking in wind
as if I were guide from moon
hedgehog in the field
a first star on the heaven
the dreamed memories
I taste autumnal resin
born from miraculous grove
sun over a barn
the owl ready to night flight
the soft fulfillment
I see an eagle on the tree
the fantasy has wistful wings
the moon above barn
the first flight of silent bats
starry starlit night
I taste the last fall flower
as if it were an amber
Cecil Morris
With Our Mom
Saturday at dawn
laundromat empty except
for us three and hum
and thump of machines turning
our week back to clean and dry.
At Sixteen
Like the Perseids
our love burns a fiery streak
through the air we breathe
as we chase the fleet comet
of our infatuation.
Spring Memory
After mid-day rain:
the scent of earth exhaling,
the sound of water
moving unseen through green world,
secret friend drinking..
Winter Memory
I wake up seven in deepest dark,
power out, night a wet blanket,
storm howling huff and puff of wolf,
house straining against its galaxy
of nails as if it wants to flee.
Thinking about Our Daughter
She could hold her breath
until her clenched lips went blue
and she passed out, fell,
her childish fury gone limp,
her body failing her will.
