Best Babyhood Poems

YOU can keep your antique silver and your statuettes of bronze,
Your curios and tapestries so fine,
But of all your treasures rare there is nothing to compare
With this patched up, wornout football pal o’ mine.
...

Phoebus, sitting one day in a laurel-tree's shade,
Was reminded of Daphne, of whom it was made,
For the god being one day too warm in his wooing,
She took to the tree to escape his pursuing
...

They were coming across the prairie, they were
galloping hard and fast;
For the eyes of those desperate riders had sighted
their man at last--
...

I SAW where in the shroud did lurk
A curious frame of Nature's work;
A floweret crush'd in the bud,
A nameless piece of Babyhood,
...

The shepherd's brow, fronting forked lightning, owns
The horror and the havoc and the glory
Of it. Angels fall, they are towers, from heaven—a story
Of just, majestical, and giant groans.
...

1.

I am thirty this November.
You are still small, in your fourth year.
We stand watching the yellow leaves go queer,
...

A baby shines as bright
If winter or if May be
On eyes that keep in sight
A baby.
...

O the years I lost before I knew you,
Love!
O, the hills I climbed and came not to you,
Love!
...

'Fairy!' the Spirit said,
And on the Queen of Spells
Fixed her ethereal eyes,
...

I STOOD in the ghastly gleaming night by the swollen, sullen flow
...

Babyhood is a spring playing,
Follow its source in the sand,
And its vibrations, flowing, growing,
Childhood can revitalize the barren land.
...

How tired I am! I sink down all alone
Here by the wayside of the Present. Lo,
Even as a child I hide my face and moan--
...

'Twas at that hour of beauty when the setting sun
squandereth his cloudy bed with rosy hues, to flood
his lov'd works as in turn he biddeth them Good-night;
and all the towers and temples and mansions of men
...

Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger:
Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray;
...

OH, listen to the tale of MISTER WILLIAM, if you please,
Whom naughty, naughty judges sent away beyond the seas.
He forged a party's will, which caused anxiety and strife,
Resulting in his getting penal servitude for life.
...

I.

When old Jack died, we staid from school (they said,
At home, we needn't go that day), and none
...

Primroses, why do you pass away?

Primroses
Nay, rather, why should we longer stay?
...

With dynamite she raps her waist…
She explodes…
...

Look at me with thy large brown eyes,
Philip, my king!
Round whom the enshadowing purple lies
...

Just before I turned nineteen
I cut off my long, long hair
And Grandmother became ill.
It seemed like there had to be some connection
...

I

The thick lids of Night closed upon me
Alone at the Bill
...

Opening door I'll go to mango-garden
And pick-up babyhood
When the morn yarns and brushes teeth
On the stem of neem tree.
...

~ Plain Talk

'Mommy;
What am I supposed to say
...

New Era is Yet to Come

No way to come out of it,
The earth is struck by germs,
...

In those earliest happy days,
when life at its freshest,
a spirited lad I really was; so innocent, so angelic maybe,
always in my father's loving arms cradled,
...

★ At Last

☆ Poetry by Helen Hunt Jackson
...

Seraphina rises, eyes red rimmed from absent sleep.

Dawning day begins with monstrous effort
...

I may take time to smile but keep it on,
Nor know what life means, nor how it bears fruit,
I know to smile from the red of young dawn.
...

Dear little child, whose very speech
Gives me joy beyond my heart's measure,
However far my years may reach,
...

Mother and the baby! Oh, I know no lovelier pair,
For all the dreams of all the world are hovering 'round them there;
And be the baby in his cot or nestling in her arms,
...

All know that all things must die,
The brooks will stop to flow,
The winds will stop to blow,
The clouds will stop to fleet;
...

Now my songs shall grow
Sweeter, year by year,
Just because I know
You shall read them, dear,
...

One man can hold enough sun for many lifetimes,
if only the dust didn't covet
his body's inner darkness,
and long to lay claim to it.
...

My rigor mortis is never mentioned
Anymore at parties;
I stick myself to one wall, mothlike
And the conversation goes on all around me,
...

Some sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose,
And the pansies and pinks that the Summertime
throws
In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays
...

“J’ai perdu ma force et ma vie, ”
is a song that was written by Liszt.
Without life force we’re forced not to be
when to be is to hardly exist.
...

In your days of babyhood when you lived in a cot
This lady took good care of you and loved you quite a lot
She kept you clean and fed you and protected you from harm
And every time you cried she took you in her arms.
...

Your sort by many looked on as not good enough
But you does hang in there when the going is tough
Like all born of poor parents of the lesser gods
From babyhood you have been battling the odds
...

Tiny Feelings 05
(Dedicated to Poet Priyanka Bhowmick)

Sick moon upon head
...

...

We are a born king or prince, queen or princess,
That's why we don't want to be subject
The care which we get at babyhood
‘Tis divinity, glorified, dignified life, a fact
...

Livingin their worldly
carnality, they were
producing dead works
of the flesh, which
...

Diaries, fairies and memories of childhood
Rekindle spindles of scarce of fond festivities
Innocence and a clean conscience whose radiance would
Announce bounces and pronounce promising proclivities.
...

Time is everlasting, waiting on sidelines, and we wantonly pass it by.
Taking no notice of our human clocks, our babyhood races by with only a few pictures to remind us of it.
Becoming a toddler, learning how to live, eat and talk.
Our personalities formed forevermore - mapping out our future, laying the roads to what we will someday be or do.
...

The wheel of time ceaselessly goes on
Making a man slowly and surely grown
But the accumulation of new things
Is not capable of a baby's heart to forlorn
...

Mother, wear the dress I gave you
remember it belongs to me,
let my fragrance touch your skin
let my warmth speak a language
...

Along the road to an old city, within the wrinkles of mountains hanged by their heads, spiders are still spreading their webs at caves' doors.
Tales come out off embers, waiting for those who pass by. Canes which are forgetful of their green ancestors are cast on shoulders. Boys just perfected the ‘k' letter go out loitering at pavements stretching from babyhood to school desks. Men go out to war, which kills but not killed, and come back faceless. Women bathe in honeyed mirrors, by bees armed with hormones.
But inside, in the caves' bellies, time quits; centuries elapse in one gleam between two blinks; history of life and death is written in one lacking line. Flock of bats hatch nightmares, dropping from ceilings, in tone with echoes of armies' boots. A new light trembles over pure threads, whereat death dresses absolute white in a camouflage theater. Things lose their features at the collision of white with black, while colorful wishes climb up on stairs of frustration.
Yet, the old city still changes its roads, its people, flowers, voice, takes off its serpent skin, so only stones stay there, silently bleeding out their dust.
...

O' dear daughter in law...Sweetest daughter in Law,
A future mother in law too;
For me you are princess from heaven,
Remember your first day, first step in home,
...

On drives the road-another mile! and still
Time's horses gallop down the lessening hill
O why such haste, with nothing at the end!
...

I knew about you, when you were so little,
And I played with you all over the garden.
You, my baby sister.
Your babyhood was so fragile and a cahrm.
...

College

In the babyhood of the start,
He attended the college of being born.
...

Far apart young ones
I smile everly thankful
The reds come to visit
No sucklings for today,
...

Little fee that patter
So soft and light. 
Little fingers that cling
To our heart strings tight.
...

Ooh motherly, tender woman
Tell me now of your mystic delicate ways
Yesteryear, as a toddler and comfortably
Wrapped in my babyhood rocking crib
...

By Stanley Collymore

What truthfully are you playing at my Black brothers
and sisters and particularly those of you who are
...

It's not one of the balmiest days
The tropical, bright and the silvery Sun burnt her skin
But near the bus stop before a motley crowd
Displaying her acrobatic skills
...

We were unknown to everyone
When we were born
Our first interaction was with our mother
But there is none
...

This town, out of a sea-mist
As a hamlet Time-clears.
Lanterned of Fairy Quiets.
Rare, lovely, to these ears!
...

Love sets Time off, anew. And through
Its flawless, naive vision
Lover's patent, and sole preserve of
Sparks which day's inception
...

A moony beam appears in an old stream;  
A maiden swan dances into the waters sweet tune.

And an eagle sailed to lonely lands,
...

In praise of little children I will say
God first made man, then found a better way
For woman, but his third way was the best.
...

WHAT is the little one thinking about?
Very wonderful things, no doubt!
Unwritten history!
Unfathomed mystery!
...

Where has he gone to, Mother's boy,
Little plaid dresses and curls of joy?
Who is this gentleman, haughty in glance,
...

Babyhood pass with toys and plays
Youth with sex and enjoyment
Old age among aims and ailments
May liberation comes after death
...

Bobby and his sister Mary
wanted so to see a fairy;
from babyhood their Mum retold
tales of the fairy-folk of old.
...

Let's Go Down the Streets

These are the streets of my babyhood,
When my mommy pushed my stroller down it.
...

You are my country
I am a stranger
Always a stranger
In my country
...

When glancing through the mental pictures
Of pure and innocent babyhood and childhood
(Pure and innocent, in the righteous sense that
Of being distant from and unknowledgeable of
...

My Papa is a special gentleman
In which all things flourish
Showing concern and enthusiasm
And love to all around
...

Afore coming into my own
Had no worldly worries to keep me awake
or to lose sleep so, baby girl slept in
Momma's arm.
...

I owe you an explanation.
My first memory isn’t your own
of an empty box. My babyhood cabinets held
a countlessness of cakes, my backyard
...

I owe you an explanation.
My first memory isn't your own
of an empty box. My babyhood cabinets held
a countlessness of cakes, my backyard
rotted into apple glut, windfalls of
money-tree, mouthfuls of fib.

At puberty I liked the locks,
I was the one who made them fast.
The yelling in our hallways was about
lost money, or lost love, but not
lost life. Or so I see it now:
in those days I romanticized
a risk (I thought I'd die
in the alcoholic automobile, die
at the hands of nerveless dentistry). Small hearts
were printed in the checkbook; when my parents called me
dear, they meant expensive.

Where were you in all that time? Out looking for
your father's body? Making for your mother's room?
I got my A's in English, civics,
sweetness and light; you got black eyes, and F's,
and nowhere fast. By 1967 when we met
(if you could call it making an acquaintance,
rape) I was a mal-adjusted gush, a sucker for
placebos. Walking home from Central Square, I came to have
the good girl's petty dread: the woman

to whose yard you dragged me might
detect us, and be furious. More than anything else
I wanted no one mad at me. (Propriety,
or was it property, I thought
to guard: myself I gave away.)

And as for you, you had the shakes,
were barely seventeen yourself, too raw
to get it up (I said don't be afraid,
afraid of what might happen if you failed).
And afterwards, in one of those moments
it's hard to tell (funny from fatal) you did
a terrible civility: you told me

thanks. I'll never forget
that moment all my life.
It wasn't until then, as you
were sheathing it to run,

I saw the knife.
...

I searched
And searched,
I found her
Helped
...

I tread and swallow, just swallow my food,
Altitude is high, and higher when arguments are argued.
Beauty was halved and the old mountain stood,
It was looking like boyhood, just now it was advanced in life, not babyhood.
...

Do not perceive the differences of youth and old age,
Keep apart the deceitful from the honest population.
This demands you postulate a doom for the losers,
Falling into your chair, keep honest helpers.
...

You may have tangible wealth untold;
Caskets of jewels and coffers of gold.
You may be richer than I can be -
But I have a mother nobler than thee
Richer than caskets of jewels
...

The unsparing world i was emerged crying

not aware where my fate would take me into..
...

A quite drizzle morning,
Chants can be heard from the village temple.
Doesn't feel like getting up
as the cold nature embraces me.
...

It past decades
still you didn't present for me.
but, the shadow of memories
which we spent in babyhood
...