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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


Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer


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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!

  6. swatchcat

    Rock’n Chair
    By Penney White

    Rock’n chair
    Rock’n chair
    Push’n and go’n
    How long can I go before
    I’m tipp’n and fall’n

    Rock’n hard
    Rock’n low
    Rock’n and pop’n
    There’s not stop’n
    I’ma toppl’n over

    Rock’n chair
    Rock’n chair
    Send me to sleep
    Rock’n chair
    Rock’n chair
    My day is complete

  7. Julieann


    The barest hint of tobacco
    Wafted out to tease the
    Senses upon opening the
    Old cigar box

    Where inside lay
    Childishly cut magazine
    Pictures of food –

    Steak and potatoes,
    Cake and ice cream,
    Pie, coffee, and more.

    They stared accusingly from
    Their nearly forgotten
    Resting place

    After the last meal
    Served on the tablecloth
    Covered card table

    Mama had set up
    In front of a roaring
    Fire when we played

    Restaurant, on cold, dreary
    Wet winter days, that did not allow
    Playing outside.

  8. De Jackson

    Are You Game?

    One, two
    walk a mile
    in my shoes.

    Ring around
    my rosy
    you silly

    Three, four
    out the door.

    Where is thumb?
    -kin I play? And Sir,
    how the hell are you

    Five, six
    old dog; new tricks.

    Knick-knack, patty
    whack. Knew you were
    comin’ so I pat

    Seven, eight
    get this straight:

    Row Row
    (Ro) your (sham)
    for your

    Nine, ten
    a big fat when?

    This little piggy


  9. ewdupler

    Sometimes We Forget

    A blue marble spins fresh days from recycled horizons and blowing winds. Countless opportunities are born, but die young from the cancer of old prejudice. Jealousy, bigotry, hatred, ignorance – unbind our humanity from its birthright, fueling wars of endless struggle in the battle-scarred hearts of men.

    We walk behind masks of righteousness, too often followed by trails of horror. Unconscionable decisions wreak havoc upon our brothers. Childlike innocence is lost by inspiration to melt souls and disintegrate bodies – we cast away wisdom for pride. Our reach for maturity is unattainable, lest we lose this ignorance.

    They say this is not child’s play, but perhaps it should be: In this great big universe, we find one globe, with one family, of one race – the human race.

  10. dford

    I Caught A Glimpse

    As I was rushing myself and my two sons out the door, I glimpsed an elderly neighbor, sitting alone on her porch. We waved and exchanged greetings. I kept getting pulled back into that scene, until it occurred to me; she was my future, I her past. There were no children at play around her. No husband’s lunch to pack.

    It was then I realized, I mustn’t wish it away, because I will be her one day. Sitting alone, on my porch, watching someone else’s children engaged in play. Don’t wish it away! Don’t wish it away!

  11. Peggy

    Would You Kiss a Kisskadee?

    Would you kiss a Kisskadee,
    if Kisskadee had lips?
    Or boogie with a Bobolink,
    if Bobolink had hips?
    Would you try to fly a Kite,
    if Kites were trailing string?
    Or sit inside an opera house
    to hear Canaries sing?
    Of all the funny things to think,
    and funny things to do,
    I’ll bet you never wondered
    if a Kisskadee kissed YOU!

    1. PressOn

      This is wonderful; much like verses in nature books for young children. With your kiskadee and bobolink, you’ve ranged from south Texas to the northern prairies, too.

  12. Amy

    Sibling Rivalry

    With careful steps, one calmly stalks;
    approaching from a safe distance.
    The other wobbles while she walks;
    a mess of pride and persistence.

    Though opposite in every way,
    intrinsic understanding plays
    a part in softening the scraps
    of children; riddles in my lap.

  13. Connie Peters


    A fun ride down a grassy hill.
    A new lemonade stand in June.
    A spaceship which can reach the moon.
    An ice igloo, where you feel the chill.
    And a hospital, have a pill!
    An iron cage for a big baboon.

    A quaint soda and ice cream stand.
    Hidden headquarters for a spy.
    A jet plane flying fast and high
    The right place for a country band.
    A camp tent, undiscovered land.
    Cozy home where your babies cry.
    And a port where a cruise ship docks.
    All of this from a cardboard box

  14. foodpoet

    Childs Play

    We don’t play anymore
    In caves of iron and steel
    We lock away the sun
    And settle for sun eclipsing fluorescents

    In caves of iron and steel
    We cannot dream
    Settling for sun eclipsing fluorescents
    We work and work and work

    We cannot dream
    There is no hope
    We work and work and work
    Say we have a job

    There is no hope
    We lock away the sun
    Say we have a job
    We don’t play anymore

  15. Andrew Kreider


    Suddenly, he won’t talk to me:
    He’s become a steel curtain.
    It’s just the way I used to be

    with my father, too, half angry,
    half amused at the old cretin.
    Suddenly, he won’t talk to me

    about even simple things. We
    are strangers more than next-of-kin.
    It’s just the way I used to be –

    I remember the agony
    of this age – the man-trap he’s in.
    Suddenly, he won’t talk to me

    except on days he needs money,
    and really, is that such a sin?
    It’s just the way I used to be!

    I don’t take it personally –
    this is a game a dad can’t win.
    Suddenly, he won’t talk to me –
    it’s just the way I used to be.

    1. Never2L8

      I like your attitude. Too many parent’s forget what it was like to be young with all the angst and doubt. Love this piece and the insight.

  16. Brian Slusher


    No hours, only now
    with scissors and paper
    watching the cut
    unleash fresh shapes

    curves and points
    to glue at odd angles
    then a blizzard of glitter
    to emblazon the works

    childhood’s escutcheon
    affixed to the fridge
    with only one purpose:
    to gladden the eye

  17. PressOn


    When I was small my mother raised
    some little pinkish-reddish flowers;
    she had, I learned, fully amazed.
    Sweet Williams planted in her bowers.

    This made my friends give me the name
    of the flowers that my mother grew;
    I felt as mortified with shame
    as that angry country boy named Sue.

  18. directrj

    I want to be
    whatever I can
    I’m immortal
    more than a man
    rules can’t stop me
    no need for truths
    cause I have dreams
    truths are no use
    climb on the couch
    draw on the wall
    I’ll play for hours
    with just a ball
    I’ll get tired
    sometime of course
    only to wake
    power full force
    you are so lost
    see how you act
    i know what living
    this life is about

  19. JRSimmang

    I cried for you today,
    the childish dreams of
    an old man,
    wishing to see you be in
    the new world
    while the
    scalding drops
    drip and dribble
    fermenting and embalming
    our footprints in the tile.

    You’ve made it.
    I should be proud of that.
    Instead, I am afraid.
    I am afraid I have
    left you in a place where
    your little eyes cannot see
    and your little hands cannot hold.

    But I soon realize that your
    vision is clearer than mine,
    your hands stronger than mine
    and it was I who brought you there.

    We no longer play like children;
    we work like adults.

  20. Nancy Posey


    Don’t waste you time,
    dear, pining away
    for things you can’t have.
    You might as well play.
    You have tire swings
    and climbing trees,
    minnows for fishing.
    Don’t you dare spend a hour
    with time-wasting wishing
    for things you can’t have
    that some other kids own.
    Close that Sears and Roebuck catalog.
    You can strike out alone,
    head out to the backwoods
    just you and your dog
    and dig with a stick
    ‘neath an old fallen log
    for grubs and fat earth worms
    and go bait a hook,
    or climb to the crook of a tree
    with a book.
    Pretend you’re a pirate,
    a sailor, a scout
    on the trail of the bad guys.
    You’d better not pout.
    Ol’ Santa’s the least of your worries
    today. You’re cheating yourself
    if you don’t choose to play—
    not with store-bought games,
    plastic toys shown on TV—
    but with make-believe playmates
    that only you see.
    With all you dream up
    on these long summer days
    you can sharper you wit
    in so many ways
    that years from now,
    memories will surface and then
    you can choose to relive
    these free days once again.

  21. hcfbutton

    Sorry I’m late!

    at play

    Hair brushed,
    outfits picked,
    each ready
    to take on
    the required role.

    Actors meet,
    shake hands,
    embrace, kiss,
    enact a story
    more mature
    than the princess gowns portray.

    A scene unfolds,
    enemies revealed
    but it’s not quite right.
    Back to the beginning
    and make it better,
    Once right
    the next scene unfolds.

    Imagination sparks
    and it’s not just
    playing dolls.
    It’s storytelling
    before she learns to write.

    also published at http://hcfitzpatrick.com/2013/06/06/at-play/

  22. Misky

    Revised and corrected version:


    This family is spread as wide as water,
    sons and wives and babies, so far-flung,
    salty seas that sting between us,
    but they’ve all left behind their child’s play,
    entrusted in the loft for me to dust,
    to care, to touch, to reminisce,
    and I hear their laughter
    through the toys they left behind.

  23. Misky

    A Lofty Reminisce

    This family is spread as wide as water,
    sons and wives and babies, far-flung,
    salty seas that sting between us,
    but they’ve all left behind their
    child’s play in the loft for me to dust,
    to touch, to reminisce,
    and I hear their the laughter
    through the toys they left behind.

  24. julie e.

    Some poetic silliness….


    The child in her
    is wanting out
    she cooks the dinner
    in a pout
    it’s time to but
    it’s sunny out
    she’d rather play
    there is no doubt
    and ride a swing
    into the sky
    pretending like
    she really flies
    but mealtime calls
    and duty’s nigh
    the lip sticks out
    on such as i
    the child in me
    is wanting out
    I’m cooking dinner
    in a pout.

  25. starwatcher


    The little one, grabbing the air,
    The baby giggles at faces.

    Small child teetering around,
    Looking, hiding, playing.

    Mischievous juvenile has some “fun”,
    It’s hard to tell right from wrong.

    Young adult learning the ropes,
    Not much time for fun.

    A man watching his child,
    The little one, grabbing the air.

  26. seingraham

    You’re It

    Sometimes riding the train to work,
    I get the urge to run
    between the half-asleep, catatonic people
    Then smack someone on the shoulder
    (not hard, just so they know it, you know?)
    right as we’re pulling into my stop, I’d yell,
    “Tag — you’re it!” — then run off
    onto the platform as soon
    as the doors opened,
    and keep running all the way to work…

  27. Sara McNulty

    Non-nursery Rhyme

    One, two
    Tie your own shoe!
    Three, four
    Do not slam that door.
    Five, six
    Your sister’s head is not made of bricks.
    Seven, eight
    Stand up straight.
    Nine, ten
    Just try that again!

  28. PKP

    Princess Summer-Fall-Winter-Spring

    On my horse
    I rode, a princess
    soft barefeet touching
    my white stallion’s heaving side
    galloped circles in mulched
    grandparents emerald yard did I ride
    in circles around pink-lavendar-blue bursting hydrangea
    Flying into imagination’s limitless phantasia

    Out the bedroom window high above
    My grandmother would watch with
    bemused, confused, intrigued love
    The little girl with curls bouncing all around
    Running barefoot circles in the soft ground

  29. Never2L8

    A little silliness

    Little piggy, patty cake, peek a boo,
    Mommy and daddy play with you.
    Hopscotch, hide and seek, duck duck goose
    I caught you and you can’t get loose.
    Red rover, dodge ball, keep away too
    Don’t run home crying boo hoohoo
    Baseball, kick the can and crack the whip
    Those games take me on a past time trip.

  30. stepstep


    innocent, fragile, what can it be?
    how wide is the view, what do you see?

    climb the mountaintop, take in the view
    walk by the lake don’t lose your shoe.

    dirt and mud are your best friends
    close to nature, no sin, no end.

    smiles come easy as an open heart
    playing with my cousins always a start.


    jump rope and play patty cake,
    hop-scotch, jacks, whatever we make;

    make believe is so much fun
    it doesn’t matter who has won.

    all we know is play, play, ply,
    sun up to sun down every day.


  31. bxpoetlover

    Child’s Play

    she is pretty and brown and 20 years old and my student
    she squeezes her plump frame into too-tight clothes
    and all day she wanders in and out of classes or the hallway
    she is failing everything
    and herself
    just like before, she hangs on the arm of her new boyfriend
    while he does his work
    and she neglects her own

    if i thought she would listen
    i would speak to her, woman to woman,
    tell her that no man likes a hanger on
    with empty hands and dreams for long

    i told her boyfriend i was worried
    and he said, miss, i try to tell her to pass and graduate too and she doesn’t listen

    i know where that is going

    if i thought she would listen
    i would tell her, woman to woman, eventually her arm
    that is locked around his
    will feel like dead weight.

  32. Ber


    Shadows i make along the wall
    they follow me everywhere
    they love along in motion
    they act like they don’t care

    I look closely as they mimic my every move
    especially along the cracks along the groove

    Sun shinning down
    shadows are there again
    i am only small
    but it looks like
    a giant man

    Come along my friend
    come with me
    oops i let the plate fall
    but it wasn’t me at all

    Mam she is at it again
    jane is an awful pain
    always getting me in trouble
    why am i to blame?

    Skipping away to the rope
    clashing off the ground
    with each movement
    i can hear my heart pound

    Over the moon
    and under the stars
    chocolate melting
    ice cream and candy bars

    Racing on bikes
    not a care in the world
    only adventure in our little hearts
    we just can’t be told

    Recognize me
    i am me
    one day i will be to big
    to sit on your knee

  33. PowerUnit


    Punch the clown in the nose
    Then grab all of your toes
    Give him hell
    With a mighty yell
    Punch that clown in the nose

    Grab the cat by the tail
    Let out a ghastly wail
    Slap the floor
    And give him some more
    Grab the cat by the tail

    Turn the page of the book
    Give it your most earnest look
    Bite the page
    And garble with rage
    Turn the page of the book

  34. JRSimmang

    In the corner of the darkened room
    filled with darkened figures and darker smiles
    lives the incessant nagging of impeding doom
    in every inch of every mile.

    He lurks in there, you know it true,
    hiding in among the shadows and the screams.
    He stalks in there, and only few
    people see his face behind the ragged seams.

    Chucky, he goes by, and child play’s his game.
    He’ll make a mask of your face
    until he ends his B Movie fame.

      1. PressOn

        I guess his fame is limited, as far as I’m concerned; “Chucky” makes me think of a pizza franchise. The poem, though, works on its own.

  35. Domino

    Grape or Orange Crush

    The long summers, we all would play
    Our lips and tongues stained with grape
    or orange soda, our straws bent
    into the wet bottles of Crush.
    Sometimes the arbitrary cruelty
    returns like the taste of childhood

    Isn’t that just the way all child
    -ren are? Casually playful
    interspersed with bouts of cruelty?
    Good and bad, like orange and grape
    flavors of kids, flavors of Crush,
    sometimes fun, often bitter bent.

    Races run, who’s fastest? Loser bent
    in half, puffing; excited child
    -ren lift the winner. In the crush
    the loser bolts for solo play,
    (does defeat taste of orange or grape?)
    waits for more impending cruelty.

    I wonder about this cruelty;
    are the kids all spitefully bent
    hoodlums with tongues of orange or grape,
    or are they just curious children
    testing social mores while they play,
    unaware of the spirits they crush?

    The lone child, away from the crush
    does not understand this base cruelty.
    He honestly craves friends to play
    with, does not get that play is bent
    on savagery to see which child
    -ren are orange, and which are grape.

    At lunch, peanut butter and grape
    jelly sandwich, someone’s friend crush
    -es the lonely kid’s lunch. The child
    doesn’t know he’s being very cruel;
    he’s making the others laugh, bent
    on comedy and childish play.

    One is playful and daubed with grape
    jelly, humor bent; the other, crushed
    by the random cruelty of a child.
    The taste of grape, the taste of cruelty,
    a bottle of Crush, flex-straw bent,
    pain mixed with childhood summer play.

    Diana Terrill Clark

  36. taylor graham

    A “prisoner’s constraint” — child’s play.


    ian is six, missie is seven. ian is mars,
    aims arrows. is missie venus? vesuvius
    or worse, ian is nero, or nice. missie
    wears a crown, ian smears ice cream,
    messes in worms’ ooze, in mire, misc
    scum. missie’s in mama’s crimson
    scarves. ian scares suzanne. missie
    can-cans, numinous, aurorean. ian roars
    cars, rows mom’s exerciser. missie
    craves unicorns, exorcizes mama’s rum-
    sauce. o me! ian is six, missie is seven.

  37. SharoninDallas

    I am the king of the world!
    At least, I am the king of this hill,
    I and my merry Swamp Fox Band,
    Playing those adventures was such a thrill.
    Or maybe it was Peter Pan and Captain Hook
    That made the playground minutes too short
    And the classroom hours too long to endure Mrs. Anderson’s stern look.
    Hula hoops, and tether ball, croquet by the hours,
    The swimming pool and Barbie dolls and Nancy Drew mysteries to devour.
    Red Light Green Light, Red Rover Come Over, flying like the wind on our bikes.
    O for that simple world again, when we had such simple likes.

  38. dextrousdigits

    Came into the world as a gift 2 years ago
    at first her new parents were overwhelmed.
    Diagnosed with Downs Syndrome
    and a heart that couldn’t pump strong
    enough for child play.

    After her second heart surgery,
    therapy began for her delays in development.
    Uncomfortable to lie on her stomach
    unable to hold her head up
    unable to roll
    could not sit
    without toppling over.

    Play held a key to begin
    movements parents feared they would never see.
    Yet, her heart couldn’t provide
    the energy to fuel muscles for more than the time it would take
    to sing “I’m a little teapot, short and stout”
    or then “Itsy, bitsy spider went up the water spout”.
    Exhausted, she would cry until rocked.

    But like the spider,
    the heart specialist,
    went up the stairs,
    donned surgical scrubs
    and blue gloves
    and one more time
    opened her heart
    for a third time.

    Now 3 months later
    courtesy of stuffed animals
    in small, medium, large;
    musical toys doing symphonic work,
    balls to kick, toss, roll on,
    all those who delight in her
    and all us adults who thrive in
    her joyous laughter
    and infectious clapping when she succeeds.

    Today she rolled to grab a tambourine
    she sat while being able to stay upright
    while playing with a ball
    She took 3 steps on her own
    to reach for her favorite Mickey Mouse doll.
    All the adults did dances of joy.

  39. JWLaviguer

    I Was a Teenage Yo-Yo

    Up and down, spinning around
    wind my string carefully
    if you tie me up in knots
    I’ll get stuck
    put me in a shoebox in the closet
    and forget
    until you run across me years later
    and remember how fun it was
    up and down, spinning around.

  40. Yolee

    Their Kind of Town

    Little Mermaid sheets with the fuzz
    of two years draped over furniture,
    tent in the girls. Flashlights, chocolate
    chip cookies, Sorry board game, ladybug
    pillows and anythings-possible-imagination
    turned to crayon-shaded-words
    are little treasures among
    their iridescent company.

    But it is the catalyst of giggles
    that promotes my laughter to
    higher ground as a poem
    in my spirit cracks open.

  41. RJ Clarken

    Child’s Play

    With driveway chalk we drew
    a hopscotch board of squares:
    some single; some in pairs,
    and then we got in queue.
    A stone, each kid then threw
    to mark off ‘ mine’ or ‘theirs.’

    We played ‘til Tim got bored.
    He tapped someone. “Hey, you
    are it!” The game morphed to
    Freeze Tag. Our giggling horde
    would dash, then freeze, to ward
    off being tagged. It’s true.

    We only left the street
    to go inside to eat.


  42. identity

    “Is Jenny home?”
    asks a girl barely tall enough
    to reach the doorbell button.
    In a faraway land where
    mountains look like small table tops
    and fierce dragons pose as cats
    for the bewitched eyes of a mother,
    a damsel in distress awaits her prince.
    No, Jenny is not home.
    I step aside and let the girl come in,
    knowing she will soon be gone, too.

  43. Michelle Hed

    Hula Hoops

    Up and down the road she walks
    with a peculiar gate,
    kind of like a mating dance –
    birds looking for a mate.

    Her brother tries it to
    but looks more like a chimpanzee
    belonging in the zoo.

    Soon we are all in the act,
    most of us standing still.
    Only she can walk the walk,
    even going up hill.

  44. Walt Wojtanik


    By the tree he stands
    near the rusty can, the object
    of their play. You remember the day
    when games you’d play
    would make you stay
    till the lights came on.
    Counting. One-thousand one,
    one-thousand two… you
    count to yourself; you can’t help
    wishing you were fishing,
    or playing “Nip” or skipping rocks…
    But the clock’s been turned
    and you’ve burned too many
    yesterdays wasting time;
    waiting for the end of the “Game”.
    It is a crime that this fleeting passage
    is a message that age is meeting you
    head on and when you’re gone
    playtime is over. You shove it aside.
    You approach the lad; tell him to hide,
    “I’ll be “IT”. You didn’t quit after all.
    And when you call “Apples, peaches, pumpkin pie.
    Who’s not ready holler, I!”, you sigh.
    It feels good to reminisce about the youth you miss.
    Kiss the crabby old man goodbye. Take a stand.
    It’s time to play Kick the Can!

    ** I’m reminded of the old Twilight Zone episode where my memories and muse coincide!
    Go hide. The game doesn’t end.

  45. Arash

    The Little Mermaid

    by Arash

    Her blue hair dripped down her back,
    Her thinning lips painted black,
    She babbles curled in the tub,
    The ocean raging, flame red.

    The sirens can not lure me:
    I stand over my own past.
    Slashed skin stretched tight over bones.
    The little mermaid: She’s dead.

  46. Walt Wojtanik


    There you sit enraptured,
    all set to play a game.
    It always ends the same.
    Feeling like you’re captured,
    all your friends have scattered,
    your shyness is to blame.

    You wish that you were brave,
    that you could rise above
    and do the things you love
    instead of being slave
    to all the things that gave
    you fear. It’s here to save

    you. Play the game! Be strong!
    And friends will come along.

  47. priyajane

    A slightly different approach to the prompt–

    Why is it now, at this ripe age?
    The child in me, becomes my sage?!!
    And a forgotten, familiar, self, waltz in
    Guiding delicate hands, like a long-lost twin

    Is it really possible to feel the same way ?
    When fifty odd candles decorate your cake?
    A fairy tale character from a fading old screen
    Now wants some footage, to play her scene
    Not really rewind, or replay the game
    Just add some glow, before dimming the flame

    With childlike wonder, I stare at trees
    Play hookie from work, to go sway with the breeze
    These clouds have stories that hide and seek
    And crayola sunsets, leave impressions down deep

    A roller coaster ride, territories unseen
    Is becoming part of this daily regime
    A frightened old squire, sometimes makes a scene
    But the sweet little child, just guides her off screen

    Poems I read, instead of newspapers
    Rhyming expressions, are yummy, like wafers
    Sheer simple joy, for reasons unknown
    Blends into this rustling autumn, tone
    Some blank old pages have sprouted new seeds
    It sure is a mystery,– a wonderful read—

      1. identity

        This poem is “a wonderful read.”

        “Not really rewind, or replay the game
        Just add some glow, before dimming the flame”
        seems to make the magic and reality comfortably coexist.

  48. Walt Wojtanik


    Ignition sequence started,
    T-minus 30 and counting.
    The excitement is mounting
    ladies and gentleman!
    Walt the Astronaut will make history.
    He will explore the mysteries
    of deep space. We have clear skies
    here at Cape Canaveral.
    The crowd is looking to the very top
    of this stout new rocket
    about to boldly go where only Walt
    can go: to the stratosphere and beyond.
    T-minus 23. I can see my house
    from here. It’s getting near lift-off
    and I scoff at the naysayers
    and cynics. I could give clinics
    about space. I took up enough of it
    in school. This is cool! There’s my dog!
    Amigo, stand over there.
    You get burned from the blast.
    This is my last chance to dance
    on a cloud. There’s a loud shout.
    “Ma, I can’t come out!”
    I’m gonna take off in T-minus 10 seconds.”
    “What, dinner’s ready?”
    Ignition sequence on hold.
    “Houston, we have a problem!”
    Walt boldly goes where there’s Sloppy Joe’s.
    “Space. The final…”
    “ALRIGHT MA, I’M COMING…! Geez…”

  49. PressOn


    One day, just after suppertime,
    he pointed high into the sky:
    “Look! Daisies! Dancing in pantomime!”

    I stopped to gaze, and wondered why
    the flowers grew up in the air,
    then realized: his passing by

    was reason for their growing there,
    and for the scents that pleased his soul
    and left him free of every care.

    So now it ever is my goal
    to find that place; to dive or climb
    to where my dreams and I are whole;

    to stumble on that turn of time
    where daisies dance in pantomime.

    1. Sondie

      Great poem…the ending clinched it for me. I really like the line “to stumble on that turn of time” as well as the music of “daisies dance in pantomime”.