Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
September Rose Mar 2018
Little house
Timeless street
Childhood garden

The scent of your preschool playground after a storm on a Wednesday in may

The distinguishable noise of your parents' doorbell

The weepy feeling looking at childhood photos and knowing you'll never get those moments back

The melancholy moment you realize the book you're reading was your favorite bedtime story

The second the atmosphere shifts and you're suddenly thrown back to memories of your mothers embrace on a stormy night

The suffocating feeling of revisiting tales thinning at the ends as your recollection slowly fades

The slipping grip of what once was that will never be again, slowly turning faded and acid washed until its nothing but a feeling you cant put a name to

Nostalgia
Thugger 5d
On an empty street I once walked by a playground,
Abondened 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.
s Aug 2018
Hi there.
Sometimes it hurts to think.
I'm driving around in my hometown
I saw this old park that me and my friends would run and laugh and play at all the time.
We played cops and robbers
Lava Monster
Freeze tag
We acted like knights in strong armor and princesses with glittery dresses and we all slayed the dragons
Well now here I am staring at this old swing set that no one swings on anymore.
I used to think that I could touch the clouds with my feet if I swung high enough.
There is something so lively about a group of kids laughing and playing on a playground.
There is something so empty and eerie about an old empty playground where no one goes.
That playground used to be so alive.
Now the swing creaks as it sways in the slight breeze.
You can almost hear faint whispers of the kids laughing from years before.
Now all those kids are adults with lives and responsibilities that are much more important than slaying a dragon.
The wood has splinters that get stuck in your fingers.
It is not shiny and fun anymore.
It used to be new
But I have found that everything changes eventually.
I wish people didn't leave so unexpectedly.
Anyways I am just rambling
but next time you see a playground
just try to look away.
it hurts to think too long
Bye.
I am so sad. So many people keep dying
Ivan Brooks Sr Jan 2018
The world's gone mad but my mind is made up
Time to let ya'll into the darkroom of my mind
A place where I'm referee of a poetic world cup
This where I am creative even though I'm blind
Don't get me wrong I am not leaving from town
No more radio orTV saturated with very sad news
I have got enough breaking news of my very own
Breaking to me each and every moment as it brews
Come and meet the hard drive of my creative doom
That contains my beautiful and liberated mind
Welcome to my one bright side I call my darkroom
This where I feign affection to know who is kind .

You have to know that I always act blind but I see
In my mind I can walk stack ***** and levitate
My mind is where I remain totally black and free
Come join me set my poetic dial and help me activate
The code that will outshine any power on this earth
My mind is where I live and where nobody has access
Here I can run a poetic marathon without taking breath
Call it my playground and intellectual fortress .

My mind is deep, a place of absolute calm and refuge
Somewhere I will always see as the final frontier
It is dangerous and toxic like a nuclear centrifuge
In there I am all alert and vigilant like a soldier
My mind is a darkroom where I give birth to new ideas
A vessel and place in which I gather loose letters
It is my holy land of thoughts, my own creative judea
Where each idea is sacred and light as bird feathers .

Welcome to the epicenter of my creative mind
This is where I turn loose letters into spoken words
A front line of creativity where no one leaves behind
Come and see where all words becomes useful swords .
My mind produce powerful words like some light beams
Courageous and powerful words for extra motivation
Spoken Words that will light up people's faded dreams
Now you know that up in my mind are no limitation
There exists an enormous capacity of time and space
Welcome one, welcome all to the darkroom of my mind
Take a seat and be calm, be quiet this is my place
For this here is my personal creative post of command .

follow....comment

www.poemhunter.com/IvanBrookssr
#Vanguard-poetry23
#IvanBrookspoetry
twitter @ivanclappers
My mind is the final frontier..the bright side I call my darkroom where I process loose letters into spoken words..
Solomon Ngonyen Jul 2018
I searched everywhere
In the rain kissed green grass
of a playground
That laid in bliss underneath the azure skies
In the sea of words
That the books held captive
In the inky trails of a flowing pen
That penned the pain
Between the melancholic vibrations of the strings
That let the fingers sing
At the bottom of an inconsolable
bottle
Where the fury of an angry clenched fist dwelled
And inside those eyes that saw Genesis.
Yet I still stand here
bare,unhinged, scared and
Rudderless.
eva-mae Jul 2018
back and forth the
pendulum swings like those
playground kids
at midnight

me and him
dark moons and orangey
streetlights
his shirt

my frozen frame
he pushes me
and i swing
back and forth

like his drug habits
back and forth and i am thrown
into time
headfirst then backwards

and i see him, all of him
his childhood, his happiness
his trauma
all coming together to create

one chaotically beautiful human being

and as i swing i mention
my childhood, my happiness
my trauma
and he calls it fascinating

calls me a beautiful tragedy
and back and forth we swing.
i am so so so in love with you.
Maria Etre Jul 2018
"Let's" she said
as she walked into
a play ground
of timeless
unknowns
&
Him
ryn Sep 2014
I see you, monster...
In your sockets bore dead, dark eyes
They hold the blackest of stares
Nebulous swirling pits of demise

Thin lips would spout the most sibilant of hisses
Every so often would curl into a snarl
Dry and chapped, almost unworthy of kisses

Large, rough snout, jutting out like a crag
You sniff around tirelessly for easy targets
Preying on the unsuspecting minds of those under your flag

Tapering chin, sprouting strands of coarse hair
Unkempt and gritty from your last meal
Decaying teeth, crooked due to little to no care

Your face is cratered; tales of trying adolescent years
Wearing a face only a mother could love
Expressionless but it screams out your fears

**** jointed limbs that grew out of sync
Disproportionate, misshapen, grotesque
Little noggin with sparse hair, packed within, a brain that thinks


I hear you, monster...
As you stalk your sleepless nights
Nocturnal ambience be your playground
Lurking in the dark; places with no light

Bulky, heavy feet but deft and silent
Can barely notice when you're up and about
As if cloaked yourself stealthy, with steps ever transient

Respire you do, exhaling breaths so gnarly
Ingesting good air, converting into fervid, loathsome notions
With which you paint a portrait so ghastly


I feel you monster...
Deep within the recesses of my heart
Destroying and distorting all that was pure
Testing my will till I should fall apart

You're but the twisted manifestation of conscience
Feeding on my trials and nurturing them into vile abominations
I despise that of you but I seem to have developed dependence


I see you, monster...**
You're horrid and beastly, an embodiment of absolute horror
I await the day that you would finally dissolve
For I am weary of seeing you staring back in the mirror
Still riding out the storm... Please bear with me
A M Ryder Dec 2018
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?

Because life is hysterical
Because **** is other people
And I think we love who we love and
There just isn't a **** thing that can be done about it
Sarafina Nov 2018
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.
My first poem
Jimmy Bowman Aug 2017
The world is a playground, the rich ring the bell,
the poor queue up and get lost in the smell.
That stench is the lies we're fed to believe.
Depressed, deprived, downtrodden, forgotten, we see
this system is broken, we cannot conceive,
a house where no one has anything in common.
A house that's failed us for so long.
One side shuts us out,
the other cast their morals with doubt.

Hey! Who's this Blair? He could make this our lair.
If we gain power no longer will we cower,
we'll have all the nice things they have over there,
we'll run the playground, sit in the big chair!
And more money, lots and lots of money...
Unlike the people we're supposed to help, how funny.

Things can only get better, it's a d:ream dream.
Play keys today and a scientist tomorrow
Noel at number ten look at our popularity grow!
A real alternative, a party for the working man
pack them up and send them to Iraq while you can!
There's nothing Socialist about a war criminal.
Tony, Tony, Tony how clinical.

Must this injustice persist.

Back in the playground we continue to queue.
Awaiting the bell, looking up at Teresa, wondering...
can we tame a shrew?
A lady turned and muttered to me,
this is no life, I'd go to uni 'cept for the tuition fee,
I work 'til I can't I stop when I die
I've nothing to show, ask yourself why.

There once was a man...

Like in that film when the Jedi appeared
and we all rejoiced and cheered as the leered
because the Jedi ****** off the Tusken Raiders
'cept this aint Tattooine this is earth we've our own Darth Vaders.
Yet I'm sure the Death Star had free health care.
That weren't under threat, that weren't stripped bare.
Workers rights left a little to be desired
but to be fair half of his staff were totally wired.
But this galaxy's not far far away, it's far far too close to home.
And that man I spoke of was purged by his own.
Yet 313,209 voted return of the Jedi.
All those in favour say aye!
To the return of our party, the return of a new hope
the return of an opposition, to the end of this *****.

No to the Blairite,
no to the far right,
and as for austerity?
He sees the severity.
The times are a changin',
the people are raging,
the Tories need caging
and parliament rearranging.

The bell rings out and we start to walk.
We're back to the classroom where no one can talk.
We're spoon fed more lies and then we go home.
Now we have a chance to make government our own.
Written in the wake of the second labour leadership election Jeremy Corbyn won and touches on the state of politics in the uk as well as harping back to the horrible idea of new labour.
yúyīn Jan 2017
We're all looking for someone,
Whose demons play well with our own
Try to drown my demons
But hey,
The ******* can swim
Learnt every trick in the book
They've come to stay
Toying with my emotions
Their playground is my mind
The day is done
Light disappears
Darkness settles
They've come to play
Shall they have their way?
The dark invites them in
They're inside having fun
'Just one cut', they whisper
And it is done
My razor-kissed hand,
Is a pretty awful sight
No more space for damage
Where next shall I try?
They want to feed off my pain
They love to see my beautiful red blood run
What do they gain?
I've had it!
No more!
I'm taking back my thoughts
I'm taking back my mind
Kiss this place goodbye
Play time is over
Robert Ronnow Aug 2015
You can feel it spinning
                                         fast
the Chinese, Japanese, American and European junk
orbiting at several thousand miles per hour could
                                                           ­                             punch
a hole in your armor, future. Thanksgiving passes, then Christmas.
A nuclear detonation, we absorb that fact. The scientist in us
delays sadness by recording observations. What is is,
sorrow's for tomorrow.

By reducing probabilities to near zero I hope to avoid sorrow.
In yr suburb.
In history when there were many fewer people we still found reason
to cross space, explore, trade and war. Now
                                                             ­                 overpopulation
may not be the problem but food and water shortages
get our attention.
                              I have Korf's fears.
And hear what I want to hear.

Some hear singing, some hear speeches or complaining.
Martin Luther King sang his complaints, dreamed of a brotherly nation
which came to pass, spinning fast, past Thanksgivings, past jailings
into reconnaissance, small wars, drones, renaissance, inventions.
At the border,
                         where the Juaristas fought Maximilian:
Benito Juarez (1806-1872) Zapotec Amerindian who served five terms as president of Mexico. He was the first Mexican leader who did not have a military background and also the first full-blooded indigenous person to lead a country in the western hemisphere in over 300 years. For resisting French occupation, overthrowing the Empire, and restoring the Republic, Juarez is regarded as Mexicoxs greatest and most beloved leader. 

Each soldier chooses what war at what border, or just
                                                            ­                                   shows up
spinning with the planet.
The neighborhood and surrounding nature is orderly.
But always there is implied force, violence holding it together,
                                                       ­                                                       chaos
is contained
kept out of the playground, government buildings, childrenxs games
but lies within
the force maintaining order, a spinning tumor, a gyroscope of
                                                              ­                                                inertia.
The force of the spinning, the speed of the force bring one to one's
      death
seasons, weather, earth.
                                         While the emperor's being beheaded
enduring seeds are discovered and invented, cross-fertilized and bred.
Corn, yams, potatoes, sunflowers, rice.
                                                           ­       Food is life and a good study,
useful discipline
                           daily meditation.
                                                     ­   The fighting man protects the farmer
and the farmer feeds the fighting man.
They elect the governor
                                        who serves the people. Peace out.

Peace and war are transitory manifestations of spinning
electrons, planets.
                               The sun's a nuclear detonation, essential
to spring and planting. Food is life. Seeds endure
if man goes to his daily discipline. If woman is man.
Birth and death
                           together are orderly, the border can be known,
voluntarily. How we live together, by prayer or force,
is our story.

Knowledge
from laboratory to starry corridor keeps us very
                                                            ­                         versed.
Did Juaristas consider the rights of animals not to be eaten?
Not during that spinning.
                                              And perform the history that surrounds us.
All that can be done
is written in the spinning:
"The people of the land, the Indian farmers of North America - like their counterparts in Mesoamerica, the Andean region, and the Amazon - have continuously cultivated maize, beans, squash and other crops for more than five thousand years. One of the salient features of their traditional farming systems is the high degree of biodiversity. These traditional farming systems have emerged over centuries of cultural and biological evolution, and they represent the accumulated experience of indigenous farmers interacting with the environment without access to external inputs, capital or scientific knowledge. In Latin America alone, more than 2.5 million hectares under traditional agriculture in the form of raised fields, polycultures, agroforestry systems and the like document indigenous farmers' successful adaptations to difficult environments."
--Wikipedia,  "Benito Juarez"
-- Altieri , Miguel A., Foreword to Enduring Seeds: Native American Agriculture and Wild Plant Conservation, by Gary Paul Nabhan, The University of Arizona Press, 1989

www.ronnowpoetry.com
Mary Gay Kearns May 2018
The bungalow in Isle of Wight brick
Surrounded by concrete flag stones
Was my perimeter playground
Lifting tanned legs under smocked dress.

Against the side walls bees suckled
On those red berries amongst leaf
I watched their pollenated wings buzz
And thought of honey yet to be made.

Round and round like a circus animal
I danced the summer sunshine out
Waiting as my shadow fell on ground
Announcing cool sea air and home time.


Love Mary **
Free Metro Jun 2017
I told my mother I wanted to be an astronaut
And she smiled and said, "My sweet child,
If you go to space, you'd miss your years:
The laughter of your children,
The embrace of your beloved husband.
Better not waste your life amongst the stars
Once you are of marriageable age."

When I was nearing graduation
In the golden era, the high of the times
I wanted to venture out and learn more
For myself; I had dreams of becoming a hero,
A revolutionary mind, a change in the world.
Alas! My darling, he looked at me with love
And uttered, "But I will provide for you
And our children, in our pretty little house.
What of education, when you are
Of marriageable age?"

One time in a playground, watching
My young boy conquer the slide like a warrior
While carrying my newborn doll in my bejeweled arms,
My neighbor proclaimed, "Oh you are
The luckiest housewife in our neighborhood!
A rich and faithful husband and such
Beautiful children! How I wish
I were as favoured by fate as you were
When you were of marriageable age!"

And just today, while visiting nan
I sipped my afternoon tea, staring at the sunset
I recalled to her the missed opportunities
Of mine own personal growth
And she, rocking in her ancient chair,
She replied to me, "But what could you have done, my dear?
You were of marriageable age."
Next page