#playground
Lurking
in the corner of
Greenhead park’s playground
balancing on a fifteen-foot pole – the precarious witch’s hat.
Tom
and I
grab the iron bars
that descend from
the wicked cap’s conical apex,
run round fast as we can and jump
onto the centrifugal circular oak brim of the whirling witch’s hat.
Tom,
two years braver
than me, climbs up the
Satanic bonnet’s metal ribs.
He stands akimbo with his feet
on the crossbar and arms grasping
the spinning steel triangle at the top of the bucking witch’s hat.
A
couple of
seasons less assured,
I see danger in the motion
of this malevolent millinery, and cautiously cling
to the ferrous frame and solid wooden base of the gyrating witch’s hat.
Rapidly
revolving,
seesawing and spinning,
the heinous headpiece tries
to crush our legs against the pole
or fling us up into the air to fall onto
a black, hard and sharp cinder surface; victim of the venomous witch’s hat.
We
spring off the slowing
death cap, safe and exhilarated
by the swirling danger of Greenhead park’s wild witch’s hat.
Sep 20, 2025
Sep 20, 2025 at 1:28 PM UTC
From the swing;
the playground,
when the mind is clear
as honeyed water,
there,
ever on the road goes,
slithering into the shadows
of the sleeping horizon,
and
when my feet
were big enough to fill
the muddied shoes,
I sauntered,
then walked,
then trudged,
until my toes were nailed
to the asphalt,
until I came upon
where the road has crumbled,
its debris scattered.
And stood this body,
two sizes too big for this tiny soul,
swathed in layers of expectations,
dragging sagging lumps of age around
past this old carnival.
Forsaken years in the rear view mirror
once painted with life,
proud stallions
here, stand still and gray,
golden poles tarnished,
Their hand crafted eyes
wide-open,
staring through the smudged glass mirror at the lives they missed.
while the music box wheezes—
a slowing tune,
a dying sound,
as shadows lengthen
on this fairground.
Deep in my pocket,
my fingers exhume
yesterday’s cold corpses
no longer jingling,
just grating tired,
clutched a handful of
these tokens—forgotten currencies,
now just pieces of obol for the eyes,
obsolete,
for games whose booths have long since shattered.
The Ferris wheel creaks,
half-dismantled,
Its empty seats
Swinging
in the twilight’s breeze,
crying tears
of rusted nuts and bolts,
groans high above my head,
emitting light
a weaker pulse
against the night.
As if they were embers
holding on to their glow,
if for a moment until the breeze snatches their soul out of their ashy bed.
I stand beneath it,
feel the wind brush past
And wonder if I’ll ever climb again,
or if this ride has ended with the spark
of something breaking,
and like with most
it is something I can’t fix.
Oct 18, 2024
Oct 18, 2024 at 10:47 PM UTC
the girls at the playground
started young and innocent
when their dresses barely
reached their knees
the played hopscotch
oh-so-carefree
then the girls at the playground
got a little older, got a little taller
they started drawing with chalk
sliding, swinging, free as can be
they were allowed to play with friends now
as their momma's chatted, and greived
then the girls at the playground
they had to leave the freedom of childhood behind
and they went, as children do, to their first day of school
what a pity, such a soul that can fly as theirs, trapped in a classroom
a prison made of chalk and divison
a teacher's monotoune words a death sentence
then the girls at the playground
made it through their youth
made it into middle, high school
maybe they had their heart broke
i just hope it was by someone
worth breaking for
then the girls at the playground
they lost their innocence
at the hands of boys too fearful to be named
the girls cried out their days and
turned to cigarattes to smoke their sorrows away
and drugs, to forgot their woeful days
then the girls at the playground
went back one more time to the
playground they had fondly grown up on
smoking around the corner, savoring
the taste of sweet vanilla rolling in their tounge
and i wonder
what ever happened to oh-so-innocent the girls at the playground?
it feels like they've been replaced
they're souls lost, far away
Aug 16, 2020
Aug 16, 2020 at 1:28 PM UTC
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.
May 30, 2020
May 30, 2020 at 10:04 AM UTC
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
Mar 26, 2020
Mar 26, 2020 at 12:35 PM UTC
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
Jan 13, 2020
Jan 13, 2020 at 5:41 PM UTC
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...
Oct 25, 2019
Oct 25, 2019 at 3:07 PM UTC
Boredom digs itself a hole,
its friends?
manages its soul.
A snare of despair
into the straits
of Hades,
Beware!!!
Jun 19, 2019
Jun 19, 2019 at 12:34 PM UTC
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
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 8:32 AM UTC
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.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 10:17 AM UTC
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.
Feb 20, 2019
Feb 20, 2019 at 9:33 AM UTC
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
Feb 19, 2019
Feb 19, 2019 at 11:15 PM UTC
On an empty street, I once walked by a playground,
Abandoned 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 could not forget the warmth of the sun under the tarp of moonlight.
Feb 18, 2019
Feb 18, 2019 at 3:46 PM UTC
swings drifting
in the ever cooling air
stars sliding down
and down
The monkey bars are for
climbing up and joining
the sky and the stars
to slide down again
In this playground
no one plays
until the stars come out
and the sky is dark
In this playground
there is no one
who is there to play with you
and you play all alone
Feb 1, 2019
Feb 1, 2019 at 9:18 AM UTC
Rain Rain go away
The Playground is a ghost town
who’s for dominoes
want to play twister
let us play marbles
who’s for checker game?
How bout duck duck goose.
Rain Rain go away
Jack and jill want outside play
Their fate isn’t to fall.
Jan 12, 2019
Jan 12, 2019 at 4:20 PM UTC
We aren't on
The playground anymore
There are new rules
We have to be mature
But mustn't lose the spirit
Of childlike wonder
What is love anyways?
Maybe it's supposed to
Break all the rules
Life is short
When two people
Find each other
What should stand
In their way?
Dec 16, 2018
Dec 16, 2018 at 3:22 AM UTC
If there were more swings you could join us,
So you get back some childhood memories
Enjoy the feeling of flying highs,
As well as the breeze in your face.
The beautiful landscape pulses the heart
It dress embodies health and longevity
From above everything was illuminated
By light which energizes the flowers.
The view of the sky has always amazed me as a child,
The freedom of swinging helped me gain self confidence,
Swings were my favorite in the playground,
And they will always be a part of my memories.
When swings are parallel their mouths are on fire
Their laughter as birds on a tree
Their coming together means “the world” to them,
and they’ll always be grateful for this.
Nov 25, 2018
Nov 25, 2018 at 3:46 AM UTC
I shall choose to romp around, in a playground of love.
Where heart sprouts etheric wings to fly.
Where breath intermingles with rays of sun.
I shall choose to expand, in the playground of earth.
Where heart opens to sing in harmony.
Where breath carries wisdom to bond with self.
I shall choose to dance with grace in playground of love.
Where heart beats with tempos grand.
Where breath tickles lungs to awaken dreams.
Yes I shall choose to celebrate on earths playground
The place I came to explore, before returning home.
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 10:20 AM UTC
Mankind was born
Once this universe was set up,
Designed by God
As a playground to explore.
I believe the universe
Will never get packed up,
And that when we reach the end,
There will always be more.
Sep 26, 2018
Sep 26, 2018 at 2:21 AM UTC