Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 222

For this week’s prompt, write a child’s play poem. All of us were at one point children. Some of us may be lucky enough to still be children. Certainly, we all know people who act childish.

Here’s my attempt at a little child’s play:


want me to fix
their broken toys
but then someday
they’ll need to know
not to break them
and learn to fix
them on their own


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154 thoughts on “Wednesday Poetry Prompts: 222

  1. Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Dad 2005
    by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

    Though his face is full of
    liver spots and wrinkles,
    his eyes dull and blinkless,
    his mind stuck in a memory
    played over and over again
    involving a border collie
    and an old football,
    the smile is still there,
    still genuine,
    still curled around his ears
    like spectacles
    feeding the temples
    with great pleasure.

    © 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder

  2. Lindy

    Vanished Karma

    She’s gone
    and I never even
    saw her leave.
    She just vanished
    into her grave.

    I feel like a little girl.
    Mommy has gone away –
    don’t know where to
    or why she left,
    but she’s never coming back.
    She didn’t say goodbye;
    neither did I.

    It comes back around:
    what I did to him,
    how I made him feel,

    I earned these cutthroat emotions,
    though I know
    that’s not how it works.
    I can’t help thinking sometimes –
    in a way, maybe,
    she was my fault…

    Life isn’t child’s play
    and playing it isn’t fun

  3. taylor graham


    What magic wand transforms
    a suburban Sunday – backyard
    barbecue, veggies on a porcelain
    cutting board? Underneath
    it all, the ruthless same-old, until
    the child waves her wand
    and out of the eaves flies a fairy.
    Black and leathery. A literal
    bat. No proof for show-and-tell
    at school. The bat disappears
    into the last pink poof of sunset.
    But the story might go on
    forever in a child’s recollection,
    till like a fairytale it’s more
    than true.

  4. Glory

    Christmas Time

    Laughter explodes, runs riot,
    huddled beneath sheets, with
    heads lost in a wonderland of white.

    Grown-ups creep, wait,
    with breath held tight, at the
    top of the stairs, it’s past mid-night.

    Eyes closed, flushed cheeks,
    presents laid out at silent feet,
    on coverlets bathed by moonlight.

    All now quiet, all through the night,
    before morning’s light brings another
    Christmas Day, and children’s delight.

  5. PressOn

    This prompt recalls for me a favorite old song. The lines below are thus not entirely original, as they are meant to be sung to that old melody:


    The toys that we played with as tots, Maggie,
    discarded and some gone to rust,
    were once our companions in lots, Maggie,
    where we wandered, dawn to dusk.
    They say one can never return, Maggie,
    to days when all life was so gay,
    but until I am dust in an urn, Maggie,
    our toys live every day.

    For even as we fade away, Maggie,
    like mandolins long gone unstrung,
    I still can recall every day, Maggie,
    when you and I were young!


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