Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Juliana Mar 15
I am a princess. Climbing the metal castle
surrounded by the forest of julienned trees.
A pink tutu complete with a fortune of tulle
flows at my waist, replacing the cotton of
normalcy given that morning by the queen,
my army turning into peasants on the ground
below me. Fellow children who wish not to
play with royalty, fellow children who do,
but alas, this princess works alone.

Sliding down into the moat, swimming across
the wooden hot sea, I enter my limo, the red
skeleton of a car, pushing soldiers out of my
way. They obey their highness, they always do,
or their actions are blocked from memory, a
storm of denial sugarcoating my beloved fantasy.

The limo, transformed during the voyage into
a shimmering carriage, stops at a stable, four
trusty steeds at disposal for any who come
across them. One’s fur the grey of used snow,
stomped upon by the hooves of peasants lasting
generations. Another the brown of rich milk
chocolate, named by those consumed with
hunger, to be used by the full returning from
high tea. A third the shimmering blonde as
the prince’s hair, the appalling matte of gold,
the foil of the one before. The last, dark as
night, a hidden soul trapped behind the plastic
eyes, watching as wars pass, powers change,
alliances grow and crumble into ruins.

The steed stops upon the princess’s destination,
the lone place in the kingdom where she can find
peace, where the chattering of peasants can no
longer disturb her daydreams, where she and her
court can enact royal business, where the swing
of her gavel rings loud and clear, where she can
study in peace, where she can play, where her
throne lies, two abandoned sisters sitting near.

It is here that the princess finds her solace; it is
here that the princess erases from her memory.
Isaac May 2020
City stretching wide,
Touching on every side.
Buildings so high,
They look beyond the sky.
Space a playground of travel,
So vast it can only baffle.
Time a never ending maze;
We can subdue every phase.
Written 31 May 2020
Em Glass Mar 2020
Other kids think I love
you too much, and adults
tell us children, behave
because we aren't playing right,
arm in arm climbing up slides
or otherwise hiding with hands
where our feet should be.

When I was scared of other kids
and monkey bars
I would have been relieved
to see police tape
surround Fireman's Park.
Now again I look such
surfaces in the eye
and think: if you killed me
I would die
shelter in place day 11
Nigdaw Jan 2020
when you're tired of the swings
and the thrill of the roundabouts
how's  another playground
gonna recharge your adrenaline

you survived all the bruises
and the scars have healed faded
so many tumbles trying
to push an unreachable envelope
perhaps it's time to appreciate the stars
rather than trying to reach them
to conquer the universe
Mark Toney Oct 2019
flipping baseball cards
in the flippin' school yard
pictures up, stats down
Drysdale, Koufax, Mantle, Spahn
or vice versa all around

retirement income source lost on the playground...
6/8/2019 - Poetry form: Light Verse - Back in elementary school we used to flip baseball cards on the school grounds.  Today, a Gem mint PSA 10 1952 Topps Mickey Mantle baseball card, may well be worth $10 million. Who knew? - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Amy Oct 2019
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...
Megan Hammer Aug 2019
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 Jun 2019
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
Next page