Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
There's a roaring applause from the porcelain dolls
The performance was flawless they say
Just a single retort, from an old rocking horse who said
"too back and forth for my taste"


But the tragedy stands that the raggedy Ann
it was written for didn't attend
Did this marionette fall to pieces? You bet.
But in ways that scotch tape cannot mend.


Now I'll start a new score marbles strewn on the floor
at my core a toy soldier I'd be
With an etch a sketch shake I'd create a blank slate
Make a solo that's soley for me.


Even toys know that life is no story book
and that some Lego bricks just won't latch
Now this puppet will only write choir songs
he promised her "no strings attached"
Playmates
by Michael R. Burch

WHEN you were my playmate and I was yours,
we spent endless hours with simple toys,
and the sorrows and cares of our indentured days
were uncomprehended . . . far, far away . . .
for the temptations and trials we had yet to face
were lost in the shadows of an unventured maze.

Then simple pleasures were easy to find
and if they cost us a little, we didn't mind;
for even a penny in a pocket back then
was one penny too many, a penny to spend.

Then feelings were feelings and love was just love,
not a strange, complex mystery to be understood;
while "sin" and "damnation" meant little to us,
since forbidden cookies were our only lusts!

Then we never worried about what we had,
and we were both sure—what was good, what was bad.
And we sometimes quarreled, but we didn't hate;
we seldom gave thought to the uncertainties of fate.

Hell, we seldom thought about the next day,
when tomorrow seemed hidden—adventures away.
Though sometimes we dreamed of adventures past,
and wondered, at times, why things couldn't last.

Still, we never worried about getting by,
and we didn't know that we were to die . . .
when we spent endless hours with simple toys,
and I was your playmate, and we were boys.

This is probably the poem that "made" me, because my high school English teacher called it "beautiful" and I took that to mean I was surely the Second Coming of Percy Bysshe Shelley! "Playmates" is the second poem I remember writing; I believe I was around 13 or 14 at the time. It was originally published by The Lyric. Keywords/Tags: playmates, boys, children, schoolmates, schoolboys, friendship, toys, playthings, fate, destiny, adventures, death, mortality
The man in the uniform smoked a cigarette.
"Oh, how they beat against
the rubber walls.  Stuffed fists
battering with urgency.
It made my heart sad,
as we closed the lid on this one.
My eyes caught the dinosaur boy.
A small stuffy lad, with cracking eyes.
His "mama" was wrapped around him
I suppose
that's what you do
when you are a snake.
Despite the frayed fur, he still had a smile
I could hear her voice in my mind.
[bring him]
A tear welled up as this was the end for them.
I knew it, and they knew it too.
Brains like mashed potatoes,
but still full of common sense.
[bring me]
His furry flesh was used but soft.
I really wish that I could
rewind the clock on this.
I remember that lad on the swingset.
He fell and got *****.
I took him in the bath with me."
[bring me]
The man puffed on his cigarette as he closed the toy box
"I wish I could bring you, Rex.
But I'm a grown-up now.
And grown-ups don't bring toys to work with them."

[bring us]
I remember the day that I looked around my room and realized that I no longer really played with toys.  I still had all my stuffed animals and action figures in a box in my closet.  It felt so wrong to leave them there.  They stayed in that box for several years until I gave them a deserving child.  This is almost my monologue/poetry version of Toy Story 3 lol.  I hope you like it and take a minute to remember the toys of our childhood and what they meant to us.
Sylph Feb 23
Temptations
Like holding another slice of cake
In front of a child that just ate a bunch
And reminding them
They dont really want it
That ache wont be worth
That one more slice
that would be so amazingly delicious

Give people a inch
They will take a mile
That inch though
It wont be worth it
Whats easy now
will rarely stay easy
you dont want it

Put that devil to sleep
Make them stop playing
These arent toys
These arent toys
These arent toys...
Sylph Jan 20
A broken heart
But a toy to someone who was bored
You need to put those pieces back together
Sweet little doll
Sad little soldier
those piece will get lost if not fixed

I will help
I will sew those broken pieces together
Using the faiths string
And I will use gallons of glue
To fix the cracks that cover your sad eyes

Those scars will heal
Just as glue drys and stitches are forgotten
But I cant promise someone wont do it again
Girls play with boys hearts as though they were puppets
Boys play with the girls as though they were dolls
  
                             These hearts arent toys
                       And they arent a easy fix
You shouldnt open peoples heart just to tinker around with the gears and break them just to run away as though it was never your doing. Im still learning this lesson.
Randy Johnson Jan 12
When I built a time machine, I traveled back to 1977 and gave my younger self a hard smack.
When I was a child, I bought the Star Wars action figures and removed them from their packs.
I told my younger self not to do that because it ruins the value of the dolls.
Even though I traveled back in time, he ignored me, he didn't listen at all.
He continued to remove the figures from the packs and so I traveled back in time again.
This time I took a gun with me and I got so angry that I shot my younger self in the shin.
I begged him not to remove the figures from the packs but he ignored every word.
He told me to f* off and then the little ******* gave me the bird.
He thought I was bluffing and he left me with no choice but to pull the trigger.
That bullet was painful enough to convince him not to ruin the value of my figures.
That bullet is still in my shin and when I sit down, it really hurts and I cry like a little *****.
But it's worth it because a collector paid me $1,000,000 for my figures and now I'm rich.
Bhill Dec 2019
There is always a way to gain in life's joys
It's not just about the noise and the toys
I think it's what you can learn and unmask
To be able to use what the world has on task
You must have eyes open to see what is there
See all that you can and always, always share

Brian Hill - 2019 # 320
Learn .all you can and share it to all...
Carlo C Gomez Nov 2019
Not as eloquent
as a fountain pen,
not as artistic
as a sketching pencil,
not even as bright as a magic marker,
but one smart cookie to your kids.
We have cool names like
Cotton Candy, Manatee,
Razzmatazz and Inchworm,
and are non-toxic sticks of joy
to those little imaginations.

Yes, we sometimes look like
clumps of colored wax
smashed into tissue paper,
and we do break easily
or lose our wrappers at the drop of a hat,
then get tossed in a bag
or worse, become homeless.
And horror of horrors!
We’re reinvented as candles
or reheated into twisted zombies
of our former selves.

And neither do our achievements
reside in a museum or gallery,
why they're not even framed
and proudly displayed on a wall.
No, they're slapped on ***** refrigerators
and kept there by plastic alphabet
magnets that loosely spell
such mundane things
as ‘milk’, ‘cheese’ or ‘daddy is dumb,'
until they fall to the floor
or end up in the trash.

But hey man,
give us a break!
This is our plight,
it’s a harsh existence!
Perhaps we should organize,
form a union for children’s
writing and drawing utensils,
and thus ensure equality
for us crayons?

We realize, more than likely,
this poem's title will cause
some backlash by those
who insist it be called
‘Return of the Crayon,’
because we 'happy sticks', you see,
supposedly don’t take revenge.

Nonetheless, we stand by it.
It is what it is!
Your children love us
and so should you!
Next page