Best Playing Field Poems
I went to visit Farmer Fred
Found him out in his wood shed
He was splitting up some oak
As I approached, he paused and spoke
“When I was young, I served my country and was willing to give my life for what I believed this country stood for.”
“Today I’d give my life to protect my family from what this country has become.”
I looked at Fred a bit askance
And he could see at a glance
That he should explain his new stance
‘We will bury you’ is coming to fruition.”
“Our country is becoming the very thing I fought against.”
“Pravda had nothing on the propagandist news in our nation.”
“Give it any name or label you will, government control over people has failed “the people” throughout human history.”
“I do not hold that government is evil, rather power which is corrupting and evil.”
“It has always been about power over others.”
“Kings, Emperors, Chancellors, Prime Ministers, and Presidents all abuse it.”
“Using government power to control others by controlling their means of earning and amassing wealth.”
“Feudalism, Socialism, Communism, Fascism, all place government at the top and make all people beholden to government.”
“Free market capitalism was the only exception.”
“Some played it better than others and acquired more wealth and wealth is power.”
“Thus, the role of government should be to check that power by ensuring the playing field and rules were applied equally.”
“All men are created equal, not all outcomes should be equal.”
I hold my hand up
Fred paused quite abrupt
With a pained look like please don’t interrupt
“I will simply say, we are no longer ‘The land of the free and home of the brave’ rather the land of the aggrieved and home of the knave.”
This was all he had to say
Fred dropped his ax and walked away
Cupid tapped my sailor on the shoulder,
“That one…” he pointed at me.
He aimed at me, sent the sailor’s seabag too -
we shoot to the top of Everest
with all its dangers.
We tumble and climb, tumble and climb
until at last we are forever in each other’s grasp.
My sailor proposed too fast with a golden ring.
I accepted after he begged for two weeks.
Mind over matter was defeated by head over heels.
I had been shy. If we had met earlier we might have passed by
each other but the playing field was all new. There was adventure
in his soul and longing in my heart to soar to new heights.
The sailor’s seabag was heavy with his past
but he found love and loves (children and grands)
and a God that was bigger than everything.
Tulips delirious dance, twelve with big fat leaves. Tulips alive
with life not death. Roses hold beauty but tulips last.
A sailor’s ring surrounds my finger. Ebon-etched leaves, unique.
Cupid’s bow in shadowbox - a little worn and bent in our heart shape.
2/7/2021
Piercing screams slice the air
Creating a sense of joy with laughter
Coloring the moments in exhilaration
Left behind from some child’s imagination
Echoes of small feet darting and sprinting
Leaving stirrings of complete abandonment
The knowing that comes from sharing hours
Spent in breathless bliss, creating wonders
That last through the day and well into night
Stabbing at the hot sun and startling the stardust
Twinkles of a night breaking into angelic song
One little girl holds the jump rope’s end
As another child skips to the beat of its spin
Leaving another girl waiting by the oaks
Hoping to take a turn when the time is right
A small boy holds a ball and seems intent
On tossing it across the grassy field
Where so many others have played this game
Before, moving to the bases and shouting
With enthusiasm… children filled with elation
Dancing in waves of lavender and rose, azure tones
Caress the buttery sun with sincerity that comes
From knowing this is a day about to be spent swirling
Twisting and turning, spiraling out of control, thriving
In the kind, but fleeting hours that awaken gladness
And soothe the soul in seas of compassion and creativity
Discovered on the wings of fairies and friends who grow up
Together, on the playground that holds such charming memoirs
On this playing field, this playground, every soul is essential
A thought expressed by the one who knows that this world
Dances to life when their feet hasten across fresh grass
Leaving only the dreams to last beneath the melodies of dew
And sun, rain and moon, starry nights when every thought knows
The playground is where a yearning goes to find love alive inside
It is captured in the reflection of laughing eyes on every smile
From child to child – playing out the song inside their hearts!
On the playground… there is butterfly dreams and kisses
From a breeze that whispers of serenity which brings
Faithful friends together on wonderous wings of innocence
On the playground… there is pure love
Playground Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Shreya LN
June 13, 2021
Finally my blood began to coagulate,
signalling that wounds inflicted by fate had healed,
paving way for my presence, to pass through heaven’s gate.
I played out my hand as of the cards, I was by destiny dealed,
equal in both joy and pain, dancing gleefully in the rain,
knowing God holds my hand on life’s playing field.
Detached from mundane thoughts of loss or gain,
I dissolved my wayward ego in the womb of love divine
and thus Holy Spirit magically cleansed my soul’s sin and stain.
As polarities orbit each other, I see how love for love does pine,
in timeless time entwining blissfully under God’s oneness sign.
Social injustice and economic inequality
have always been practiced in our Nation's working industry
Irish need not apply, Hispanics we don't want your kind
and Blacks don't even show your face
this was the typical response to ethnic minorities in America's workplace
nepotism and favoritism were the norm and status quo
as it was not about your knowledge or skill but about who you know
let us never forget the unions and labor laws which evened the playing field
for if it was left up to corporate America economic inequality would never yield
Racism, discrimination and segregation on our Nation's history is a blight
and in spite of all the civil rights laws we still have to fight
for a measure of equal opportunity
for some respect and a little dignity
let us never forget the Rev. Dr. King Jr., Medgar Evers, Cesar Chavez and Rosa Parks
those who stood up against injustice by igniting a socially conscious spark
they did not back down, they would not back off, they took a moral stance
so that every single human being in this country could have an equal chance
We hold these truths to be self-evident that all citizens shall be treated the same
regardless of race, color, age, gender or how we pronounce your name
and as we celebrate Black History Month let us never forget those who led the fight
in the struggle for social justice, economic equality and basic human rights
It’s funny how my father’s hobby became mine. He has been a sportsman all his life, he played basketball, volleyball and softball all his youth, but his real passion is soccer and even though he is 55 years old now, he still keeps playing it and loving it. He has had all kinds of cleats, all brands, all colors, different styles, but it does not change anything, he still plays amazing. But one thing I do find hilarious is that every time he comes from a game, he cleans his cleats, he washes them and takes them with such an unbelievable affection, that I’m beginning to think that he might love them more than he loves me, but now I do know the feeling of a new shiny, hard and beautiful pair of cleats. I still recall when he took me for my very first pair, I could not believe he was doing it for me, I was so excited, but now I realize that what I was excited about is that I could be like my father for just a moment when I had them on. Ever since I was little, I remember my daddy playing soccer, leaving home all dressed up, ready to fight, and win the ball to make a remarkable roll on the field. The playing field that we both love, the field all covered in grass, all green, so delicious and soft, so colorful… being crashed by everyone’s cleats and the rolling ball, feeling the sunlight on our skin, and the wind on our faces. Having a team, an extra family with whom we could find support and create new ideas, new plays so we could smash the opponent. So yes, I loved watching him play and cheering him up more than I could ever like watching official and famous soccer teams. I do find funny the fact that my father’s hobby became mine since everyone says we’re too similar, and even though he also has a son, his daughter is with whom he shares that connection. I love the fact that our simple relationship was started thanks to such a manly sport, and curiously, to transform me into such a girly girl.
By John Weaver
At school I learned to read and write, to add and take away,
Of geography and history and sports I learned to play
They taught me all about the world and even outer space
And how to beat another as competition I would face
I learned of lands and cultures that had a different cause
And so we fought and beat them in many different wars
They said that strength and power was the thing I needed most
That I should learn to conquer others, no matter what the cost
They taught me how to be a winner at my work and play
And never mind the loser who may fall along the way
Through all those years of learning the plan was plain to see,
The only thing that mattered was what I could do for ME
Then I met my teacher who taught me something new
That all those things I’d learned had nothing at all to do
With living life with purpose and thought for our fellow man
By showing care and love to others as often as we can
My teacher taught me that life is a level playing field
That we’re all in it together sharing wounds that must be healed
There simply is no difference between you and me
We’re all God’s own children and one big family
My teacher taught the needs of others and the hardships they have to face
May well have been my own, if not for God’s good grace
That handicaps and weaknesses are really there to prove
How fortunate I am to see and talk and hear and move
My teacher showed that happiness is just a case of choice
Instead of choosing sadness we simply choose rejoice
Rejoice that we are able to experience every day
The beauty that the blind can’t see and words the mute can’t say
To walk and talk and feed yourself are gifts you should embrace
It’s the taking part that matters and not who wins the race
And as each and every one of us is taking part in life
What matters most is our gratitude regardless of our strife
To be grateful for the gifts you have and not those you desire
Is the secret to your happiness and to which you should aspire
To show your love to others with help, support and care
To let them know if needed that you are always there
My teacher taught me lessons I never will forget; and I know it sounds absurd
But she taught me all of this and yet…SHE NEVER SPOKE A WORD.
(I call Emily my teacher because although she cannot speak and can do so little, she has taught me so much).
amidst the resistance
we chose to go the distance
heavy hearts out on the playing field of life
one day at a time and you will climb
at times sublime
for that of the blind
put your running shoes on
the race is on...
the pain is real deep inside are heart
don't give the devil a chance
as you take part in the dance
with one glance a stop of pure romance
grasping at straws we sound the alarm
can't we all just get along
its a figure of speech
we have people to reach
many getting caught up in there past
having so much fun with a hope that it will last
you can't do something over and over
expecting different results
it doesn't work that way
bow the knee to pray
the stakes are higher
all dounters are the liars
receive each new day as a blessing
stop all second guessing
learn to practice more of what you are professing
I'm confessing the truth is real & the lie is a lie
this is my one last reply
save your drama for your momma
don't let your mind wander
going the distance & i'll pass every test
He stood still in the chilling winter breeze, with a carrot
for a nose, two sticks for hands, two buttons for eyes, and six tiny
buttons for a mouth. During the day, children liked playing around him,
skating and dancing as they danced, sung, and screamed; the smell
of happiness was in the air. The snowman was the only one who wasn't
enjoying these playful moments, for he was only a pile of snow
that was put together, to look like a human.
One night, two days before Christmas,
the nasty-looking gingerbread man crept into the children's playing field; he was carrying a torch."I will melt you, and make you part of the icy floor!" he whispered. He was once a jolly man, who was cursed by a witch, because of stealing her gingerbread. All his friends and family abandoned him, for he looked strange. Since then, he hated anyone or anything that resembled happiness or smile. “Tomorrow the children will have a different look on their faces….” he thought to himself. An evil smile formed on his face.
As he stared to melt the snowman, Santa appeared out of nowhere, riding his flying reindeer that carried many gifts.
“What are you doing my friend?” he asked gingerbread man. “I have brought you a gift. It is a wishing coin!” The gingerbread man was so touched, that he wished that that the snowman was alive, so that he could know how it felt to be alive. He then tossed the coin into the air. The snowman then gradually started to move, and utter words. Surprisingly, the gingerbread man turned into a human once more. The witch’s curse was broken by love.
**************************************************************
The Christmas tree lighting was reflecting on a lake; children were sharing gifts, as they sang Carols; the elves were sprinkling magical stardust in the air – it was Christmas after all! It was beautiful to see a man, once a gingerbread man, dancing with the snowman!
Picture this: you make a call
To straighten out a bill.
Of course, what you expect’s a battle
Being fought uphill.
Instead, you get dear Caroline
Who listens and who hears,
Which you have not experienced
In many, many years.
She takes your information down
And keeps you on the line.
You aren’t put on hold
Or disconnected by design.
She does a little research
‘Cause she really wants to solve
What the problem is, no matter who
Or what it does involve.
She tracks down radiology
And gets them on the phone –
(A 3-way call!) explaining
In a calm and measured tone.
I’m blown away to learn that such
A person still exists.
For those of you whose skepticism
Naturally persists…
I understand your reasons
For the playing field is bleak
But with luck you may find Caroline,
An agent quite unique!
SHATTERED DREAM
Rated the wise and best striker of the under nineteen’s,
On the playing field, left opposing defenders with headaches,
Rival coaches, trainers and fans with heartaches,
And labelled the inspiration for the teens!
As a result, my heart over-brimmed with joy,
For that career was worth and wisely chosen.
With tears oozing now, painfully lie I awaken,
For me, there is no more joy.
With leg amputation, my ability is permanently impaired,
After vehicle capsized, all dead save me.
But my dream to part of the world’s best completely shattered.
``Does God always care?`` I fondly asked the lad,
``Rejoice, being saved and alive shows that He
Loves and cares for you and me,`` he uttered.
Sandy stole my words.
Desolation and despair
triumphed
attempts at descriptive
narrative
paled in comparison
to the cold, desolate reality left
behind.
Humvees and police cars patrol
debris clogged streets.
Red and blue emergency lights
strafe empty lots where homes
once stood.
Houses ripped apart,
tilted, torn, gravity defying
structures,
now open vistas to the ocean,
calm today
that last night roared through
and leveled homes
and the playing field between
the haves and have nots.
How can water wreak havoc of
this magnitude.
Unprecedented wave heights
on top of swells
went where they would,
unbridled, uncaring natural
force,
mother nature raging, roaring
not in spite
but because she could,
ran amok
reminding us of her majesty,
her power
and the fact that
there but for the grace of God
we have been privileged to
live.
I can't be mad at the ocean.
It is my life blood.
It courses through my veins,
grounds me, embraces me
unconditionally.
Dark, grey afternoons settle on
our town.
Houses dark since she hit
sit waiting for owners to make
the next move.
Restore the shore
to what?
Glory days of yesteryear
surface in isolated pockets,
quickly erased by scars that
will never heal.
Open wounds on a landscape
trapped
write it off as a once in a
lifetime event
or is Sandy the new norm.
There is a zombie like feeling
waiting in the wings.
Vacant stares, shaking heads
prevail.
Unrestrained optimism battles
resignation.
Fool me once and it's on me,
fool me twice, what then.
This is my home, a living
dream personified.
Sleeping, waking, walking,
loving living exactly where I
dared to dream about so many
years ago.
Time is not healing.
Each passing day another
storm related issue.
Another family lost everything.
Everything.
How do you get your arms
around that.
Where do these people go,
How do you rebuild what was
such a personal extension of
your family history.
It's the waiting.
When time becomes thick with anticipated difficulty and borrowed suffering.
No matter how attentive and involved I may seem,
Internally I am fixated on the clock.
Each agonizing tick strikes like a hammer on my already throbbing temples.
Waiting for the call.
Hands shaking, I stare at my phone as if that will make it ring.
I feel like a teenager watching a pregnancy test after the condom breaks,
Sure of the result, powerless to change it,
Doomed to wait for those lines to appear.
Time is relentless and cruel,
Simultaneously progressing us toward our eventual demise
While filling the seconds, minutes, hours, days with Instagram photos.
We have no right of refusal, at the mercy of two hands and twelve numbers.
A face that never expresses empathy or support.
Time has no favorites.
Our charms, our wealth, our pleas are all powerless.
The playing field is level, yet I am unexpectedly on the losing team forever.
Nodding my head, pretending I am present,
Until at last the phone ringing ends my agony.
Time can stop when you least expect it.
The slug of my waiting instantly became the moment that changed everything.
Just thirty seconds to exchange pleasantries before pulling the trigger:
"The biopsy shows your daughter has lymphoma."
Time is racing now, forcing me to begin training to cross the finish line first.
Opposing players join the gridiron in the valley of the sun
They feel the tension of the battle that is yet to come.
A calm then descends the playing field and the painted desert sky
Our team the Arizona Cardinals take to the field ready to fly.
The Red Sea awakens erupting in a flash of brilliant light
Opponents understand its nature and the power of its might.
The Red Sea’s voice trembles like thunder to the masses
It is alike a rolling storm except the Red Sea’s voice never passes.
Within the Sea is a roaring wind and voices everyone shall hear
This Red Sea affects all opponents causing them to dread and fear.
Opposing players look at the Red Sea eyes wild, faces pale
Their hopes and efforts already dashed, these teams shall indeed fail.
The waves of the Red Sea are livid as nothing controls it path
The Red Sea lifts the Cardinals to victory opponents shall feel its wrath.
To city limits...
to summer breezes....
to skirts and stilettos....
to thigh-highs....
to short rest stops...
all I wanted was a cracker....
all i got was....
and then....
a sunset....
all i got was....
a dream...
a banana boat...
a rest stop....
a stealer....
a theif....
one more....
a banana boat....
a stealer....
a waif...
and in all your healing....
i never leaned on....
trickery....
like a leaf....
falling...
sheisedo....
red like a diamond...
wrong wedding ring...
maybe i'll carry....
you in jest....
like falling out of the sky....
in rythym....
in a playing field...
in shattered gold...
nightengale...
i wanted to steal...
your strength...
and all i got...
was rythym.....