Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Amy Oct 5
s
    w
         i
     n
g
me high,
s
    w
        i
   n
g
me back and forth,
s
   w
       i
   n
g
me so i can taste being free
s
    w
        i
    n
g
me away from the horrors of the world
s
   w
       i
   n
g
me towards the peaceful, clear, endless sky
s
   w
      i
   n
g
me back to childhood, where everything was exhilarating and pure
s
  w
      i
   n
g
me to paradise
s
  w
     i
   n
g
me away.
the only escape i have is in the park where i feel free once again, before reality of the world surfaced and snatched my innocence away...
Nathalie Sep 15
I was admiring the
chickadees as they
picked at the seedlings
on the ground
They looked amused
and content with their
familial feast
Enjoying each other's
company and playing
in nature's playground

~Nathalie
Megan Hammer Aug 5
Swinging in a hammock under palm trees, I’m taken away;
into a swing on a playground where we used to live.
Pine trees work together with the heat waves that bathe us.
My sister is playing the boys while they play basketball.
She doesn’t see that they are planning a move, but I do,
and I hope she’s got a trick up her sleeve.
At fifteen, she sneaks out every night,
out of the window with no screen.
She goes to see Michael who I don’t like.
I think he’s up to no good, but what would I know?
I’m just a five-year-old.

Swinging in a hammock, I’m taken away;
into a swing on a playground where we live.
My brother rides his bike with his friends,
and they talk about baseball cards and the next game.
And the grass is always greener when he’s around –
my mom and dad grab the camera and make the most out of today.
But my dad is not his dad, which bothers no one,
though my brother is always a little mad.

Swinging in a hammock, I wish I could be taken away;
into a swing on a playground where they lived.
I sit in dazed exhaustion from a long day –
there are no sounds of running feet nor voices chanting names.
There are no baseball cards nor boys nor basketball games here.
I don’t know where Michael is, and my sister doesn’t go out anymore.
My brother doesn’t ride his bike anymore, and his next game ended up being his last.

Swinging in a hammock, I stare with strange, confused longing
at the branches above me;
the branches that bend into each other against a clear blue sky
I have not known for a very, very long time.
Khoi-San Jun 19
Boredom digs itself a hole,
its friends?
manages its soul.
A snare of despair
into the straits
of Hades,
Beware!!!
Idle hands (friends?) demons substance abuse suicidal thoughts snares death hades
xxx Jun 1
You told me to meet you at the playground that kept your shoes ***** and your hair dry, because that was the only place we could go. I complained because the signs said “No Tobacco.” I didn’t complain because you said you needed to see me.
Lazy Saturday afternoon. The clouds were tired, so you were too. I thought you felt like disco lemonade in gray, when you put your arms around me. You didn’t let go, and there was no reason to.
We looked real pretty in my expired black lipstick, once lost and once-removed. You looked even prettier in my heart-shaped sunglasses. I think I love you, when you look at me like that. I know I love you, when you look through me.
Look at me. Lying beneath the wisest tree on the west coast. Because that was the only place we could. It was bare in April, the roots cradled us when they couldn’t cast a shadow. The sky sparkled up your eyes.
Not unlike you did mine.
On Mother Nature’s carpet, beneath the sunbeam ceiling that was calling your name. I held on to your hand, though your nails were bitten and bleeding. Though your palms had criss-cross cuts and bruises. Between the cracks that separated you and me, I kissed them all.
I kissed you, until you started to cry. You told me you weren’t ever afraid to die.
I told you I wasn’t either. But you make me unafraid to live.
Ek Apr 10
Today someone said the word
“Swing”
And it brought me back to a distinct
Flavour
Neither bitter nor sour, but
Sweet
Like the cookies, you baked.

Every time I visited I wanted to
Help
Bake the neatest of cookies and
Play
Afterwards in the playground by your now
Old home
You no longer live there but I remember

Every childhood beath I drew
Exist
In that home, nesting in the door
Frames
Measuring my height and the brick wall where we used to
Hide
During those summer nights
astrid Feb 27
Even as the golden embers of the Sun
sweep the rough surfaces of wood,
the rays command the light to twist,
to show the perfectly imperfect portrait of life.

Even as nature's breath let
the crisp autumn leaves sway with the air,
you don't cease your own little dance
within the children's sandbox.

Even as your eyes crinkle along the edges
with your nose crunching like a flower bud,
you seem as if you were Touch-Me-Nots
that found its way to become a Sunflower.

Even as we align like a seesaw
with weights that drift us apart to a distance, but
bring us closer to the equilibrium,
we would always be close but never quite there.

Even as I see you the way that I do,
even if my words won't reach you,
I write all these to let other seedlings know
of a special flower called *you.
happy birthday to *yoo. :")
Star BG Feb 20
Today I play in my playground of creativity.
Gate is open anytime rain or shine.

Sew Saw moves up and down with words grand.
Swings motion, lets me glide with phases of rhythm.

Slide allows self to go whoosh with visions
And monkey bars I climb,
almost reaching sky inside thoughts.

Oopse,
looks like rains begun.
Perfect time to catch emotional lyrics,
and add them to my poems.
just playing
Pyrrha Feb 20
Lips are not the only playground for liars
Their eyes are holding back storms
Like cauldrons brewing lightning
With such a high voltage
To shock you so suddenly
You will forget there ever was
A word named truth
On an empty street I once walked by a playground,
Abandened in the night by the morning's children,
In silence I can still hear the echoes of useless banter and spontaneous laughter.
Now dormant, redundant in the memory,
It woed and cried in the winter's chill,
This playground on an empty street couldnot forget the warmth of sun under the tarp of moonlight.
Next page