Best Playpen Poems
Leave me alone you beautified 6itch ;
Oh ghastly and ghoulish playpen of a witch.
Vases of roses are covering your deeds;
Eloquent verses describe your sick needs.
Many come calling but none ever leave;
Even my dumb heart now wants a reprieve.
written 04.02.2016
Categories:
playpen, fun, humorous, love,
Form:
Acrostic
Oh, the stress-free, carefree world of children
O' take me back to the lil kids' playpen
When we tried on mom's cosmetics and lipsticks
and built playhouses with plastic blocks and bricks
And had fun with cooking set picnics
Anything could be a toy
and our racket could annoy
We turned everything into play things
We played pretend queens and kings
We then played 'mom and dad'
Oh the squealing fun we had!
Teasing, chasing hens and kittens
climbing the grumpy neighbour's fence.
There was paper airplanes
and frisking in the rains
Paper boats too were made
and hide'n'seek was played
And when that wasn't enough
we played blind man's bluff.
We nimbly climbed the trees
hair flailing in the breeze
But our child's play naturally mimicked the grownups
Lil plastic ones instead of real porcelain cups.
Life was all play and games
in our growing mental frames.
Sand castles and kites
childish fights and frights!
And kind parents just let them frisk and play
for all work and no play makes one a dull boy
Categories:
playpen, childhood, children,
Form:
Couplet
I
I knew a time when my sister, tall and fair
with her sage sense of humor, dull and non-existent
Seemed positively,
metallic, blessed with flowing shackles, a gift, extended only to me.
Limiting my growth past 8 years, haunting my dreams until age 21
always advising her younger sis, to teary boredom
“Do as I say”, “whereso’er I may”
Lend me your shoe to prove my superiority.
By night or day,
I am your stone Buzzard and I will pick your bones
II
This I suffered
The rainbow might as well have been between us,
For the roses lost their petals long ago
I can no longer feel their thorns, my toughened skin
Yet lately when I turn to cry for you,
The pain is far greater than I should bear
For (you) seep, from my tear ducts, a bloodless water driblet
Injury that keeps finding its way out
Purging the likes of you
In twin tissues
III
Infuriates me.
Each night from my pillow writhed
Come darkened silhouettes of your pigtails
I inhale one, in each nostril,
just so I can blow you away
Are you a sister of another mister?
My tormenter, my thumb umbrella
Cleanse me from your sticky sight
Allow my legs to find that gentle breeze called freedom
Before the very bone that we share dies
Making us look upon our mirrors
To find the frozen cordial face
As we pretend to plant, a history, of fond remembrance
When we are but plowing, our indignations in the ground
IV
Unbeknownst
I knew a time when my sister, tall and fair,
Sat braiding her curly brown hair
Finding me sleeping, without nary a sound
Wrapped her tight braid, around and around
Laughing as my life was slipped from sight
Dragging me constantly, round that night
So what if I, but a babe in skin
Was found by Dad, in the playpen
Hence, since, even now, my skin, crawls
Afraid of the hair in red overalls
Categories:
playpen, childhoodme, night, me, night,
Form:
Ode
There is an echoing whispering amongst the trees,
A deadly chanting’s whistling, of disembodied voices
Calling upon the living to beware, for you are entering
A no man’s zone, turn from here humanity,
Dare not enter look away in fear, for
Beyond this point of no return, lies the
Of the Island of the dolls.
Beneath the waters rippling edge deaths drowned
Children reach for them, these dangling dollies of dread,
With hallowed out hearts of evil intentions, enticing these
Fallen angels of innocence, and laughing at their anguishing
Screams muffled by their watery graves.
Cold eyes shine above, hanging amongst the trees,
Soulless spirits dancing on the evening breeze,
Calling unto the muted hushed.
Come play with us, they so tease, but the children
Are locked beneath this black lake placid of deaths
Nightmares, unable to grasp freedoms spiritual release,
As these plastic, porcelain jackals laugh down wards at them.
In the sizzling heat of the jungle thick, vaporous phantoms
Walk alongside the murky shore, tickling at the feet
Of the dollies, tormenting the tormentors, begging them
To seize, but are they not a child's toy, just that and nothing
More, a haunting reference to say the least, nay they
Shall not stop at their child’s play!
A suspended mobile of dirty cupie dolls,
Hangs on the limbs above the cradle of humanity,
In this island playpen for the spiritually deceased,
What a harsh lullabies song do these spiritually
Disembodied sing, unto suffrage’s children!
Tidal currents rush against the island shore,
Splashing, crashing with agonies pain, but
In this isle of the forgotten Neverland,
These spiritual lost will obtain the livings
Fondest wish to never grow up, but remain
The banished forever under the waves,
Of the island of the dolls.
There is an echoing whispering amongst the trees,
A deadly chanting’s whistling, of disembodied voices
Calling upon the living to beware, for you are entering
A no man’s zone, turn from here humanity,
Dare not enter look away in fear, for
Beyond this point of no return, lies the
Of the Island of the dolls.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
Categories:
playpen, adventure, fear, halloween, history,
Form:
Free verse
for my two little energetic grandsons - Presley and Brenden...
PB the polar bear cub, was born in a southerly coastal den,
And for about 15 weeks or so, he’d stay inside his 8x10 playpen,
He was born blind, deaf, and with only a few strands of white hair,
And not being a twin or a triplet, made his single birth quite rare-
After two months he would venture out, to romp in the icy snow,
Where temperatures in the winter dipped, to -70 below-
He’d often watch his mother, sitting by ice holes on the sea,
Trying to catch a peeping bearded seal, for a delicious meal to be-
PB too would become a master, at this waiting game,
But not be very good at it, until after his 2nd birthday came-
When grown he’d smell his catch, from forty miles away,
The largest, most carnivorous of bears, seals were his diet’s mainstay,
His loving mom would teach him, all the skills he’d need to live,
And if he were in danger, her life for him she’d give,
PB was amazed how polar bears, could hold their breath so long,
Under water for nine minutes – they must be very strong!
Thirty months would pass, before PB was out on his own,
This 1500 pound bear, for 25 years, would call the arctic tundra his home-
Categories:
playpen, animal, education, life, nature,
Form:
Rhyme
Time slipped like a shadow in the dying moonlight
Locked in yesterday’s dreams
I wished to sense the warmth inside her cradling embrace
Once again
Thoughts of you penetrated my anxiety
But like a squirming fish in my hand
You slithered away
Turning time into bits of elusive sand
Sand that continues to pour out of my hourglass
Becoming part of yesterday's eternal fun sandbox
That lovers dwell and play in as their youth wanes
And later, vainly try to hold on to their vanishing years
But Time? What is Time?
If not God’s joke to make us hurry to get on with it
Mine is no joke but to keep the sand from pouring out
And hasten my urgency to dwell in your playpen
Categories:
playpen, anxiety, love, love hurts,
Form:
Free verse
A soldering wire pushed into the skin,
the bubbling, crackling burning of hair,
scents of a barbecue, roasting pork,
hazy blue smoke, fascia stripped bare.
A razor blade slash and the welling of blood,
staining the steel with a crimson hue,
slicing enough to maim, not to kill,
a badge made of scars for the cutting crew.
Is a change to the flesh a change to the soul,
either deconstruction or reconstruction?
Reinvention of self into something else,
or a playpen stab at mock self-destruction?
It’s a cry for help or it’s body art,
or it’s self expression in other ways;
or it’s seeking attention or fooling around,
a mindset for life or a transient phase.
Sculpting the flesh to let the pain breathe,
to shock, to relieve, for something to do,
no matter how scarred or disfigured the canvas
when it all comes down you are still left with you.
Categories:
playpen, health, life, people, social,
Form:
Verse
Way back then when I was ten
Naïve and still quite humble
Worldly wise but not yet grown
Each day would amuse again.
Games were skills of time to hone
On occasion there were tumbles
But magic still pursued my roam
And life’s truths were left for olden men.
Homemade kites to fly the breeze
In every mist, adventure, in which to join.
All around stood natural trials
Feats spawned by climbing trees.
Tiny creeks became the Nile
Castle walls were dreamed from groynes.
New quests to take with every mile
A thousand leaves the sound of ease.
Rod and line with shiny lure
Peace, beside a tuneful stream.
Hypnotic pools with mystic shadows
While fish my mission to procure.
Tranquil glades in which to doze
Harmony designed from simple dreams.
Unbridled futures were composed
Happiness my sole duty to ensure.
Yes was luck, but nature formed playpen
Confidence formed in solitude
Thoughts formed best when left unsaid.
Now, with age and years, I yearn, for this again.
I pray to move and leave these days of dread.
So youthful hope, might be renewed
Walking backwards steps, to move ahead.
To way back then; when I was ten.
Categories:
playpen, appreciation, blessing, childhood, dream,
Form:
Rhyme
The Arctic Fire Bugs
Ice nights are the playpen
For the kids born to this land
Skating rinks and bowling shoes
Never touched a hand
Or foot that kicked at blocks of ice
As thick as you are tall
They scoff at jackets toss their hats
While through the drifts they crawl
Gather wood and getting high by tearing limbs from trees
Boozing up to get a buzz in temperatures that freeze
Building up a bonfire that will signal all their friends
Friday night is party night till sirens scream the end
Now it comes the fun part when they run from chasing cops
Scatter all directions and ignoring calls for “stop”--
Game they play that irritates and costs the city bucks--
What else is there to do unless they steal the fire trucks?
Note: In Alaska outback, bonfire is the key meeting place for teens--this poem is based on my teen son and his mode of fun in Valdez, Alaska--350+ miles from the next city--a town at the end of a long road (the Richardson Highway) with only one town tat the edge of the Bering Sea (often called North Sea).
Fire and Ice Contest
November 27, 2012
Victoria Anderson-Throop
Categories:
playpen, adventure, seasons, teen, night,
Form:
Rhyme
Congressional Follies
What’s happening in this world of ours
That use to be ideal
Congress has become a joke
They don’t care what the people feel
Politician's play the power game
Washington’s in disarray
Grown men acting like children
It’s time they went away!
They brought shame upon America
Leading us to the brink
Virtually playing poker
Gambling the other side would blink
Krushchov once predicted
They would conquer from within
Seems like Congress is abetting them
What they’re doing is a sin!
Let’s send GROWN men to congress
Fold the playpen up for good
Remind them who elected them
Make sure it’s understood
No more playing politics
Getting cozy with pay for play
Get America back on track
Or we’ll take their jobs away!
Copyright2011 Beatrice Boyle
(All rights reserved)
Categories:
playpen, political, men,
Form:
Rhyme
Good memories of our brother Tom,
I remember growing up with Tom.
He is my favorite brother,
When we came to Canada and he was born.
The beautiful days together,
When Tom was a baby.
I used to watch him,
I would walk around the playpen.
Mom hoped to have a boy with curly hair,
So she put rollers in his hair,he looked really cute.
When he was older, I remember him going to boy scouts,
He was friends with the son of the scout leader.
He liked staying at his friends house.
When our parents and I went on vacation, he would stay there.
Tom was photographed beside the Spruce tree at our parents, house to see how tall he was.
He went to elementary school and secondary school and teacher's college and graduated.
Tom became a secondary school teacher and taught for many years,
He retired and enjoyed his retirement.
I remember the years when he met his wife at
Erindale College when he was an AV specialist.
Father Dr. Wolf was a professor at the college.
He proposed to his future wife Gail.
They had a beautiful wedding at Pioneer village,
I was a bridesmaid at their wedding.
Antje you were a flower girl at the wedding.
I remember the coach where they rode.
Tom and Gail were blessed with two children,
Handsome Patrick and beautiful Frieda.
Frieda became a teacher like I did,
Patrick became a physio-therapist.
We have beautiful memories,
Do you remember the picnic at Whittchurch conservatiom area years ago.
The reunion here at at senior's residence,
Each person brought pot luck, a delicious salad.
Tom provided the background music,
Our parents wished us to sit at one table.
I think that it was Christmas,
I provided the Santas and Christmas plates.
Good time was had by all,
We have many good memories.
He had many happy years as a retiree,
We will always remember our beloved husband,father and brother, also uncle.
May God bless you in heaven,
You will stay in our memories forever.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz
Categories:
playpen, appreciation, blessing, family, god,
Form:
Free verse
i remember the houses through the years where we lived with our parents,
The Magnolia house when we came to Canada with our father and mother.
Our parents had a beautiful wedding,
Mother had a beautiful wedding dress and father a handsome suit.
My younger brother Tom was born,
I remember the days when he was growing up.
i would walk around the playpen,
Our mother would curl his hair because she wished to have a son with curly hair.
He would sit in the playpen and I would walk around and be with him,
We were friends at a young age, he is five years younger than I.
He became a Secondary School Teacher,
And I became an Elementary School Teacher.
Everything at my parent's house was homemade,
They had made their own furniture and sewed their own curtains.
We moved to their second house on Chopin Ave.,
We walked to school, two hours to school, very safe, later we had a school bus.
We graduated from Secondary School with our friends,
Both went to Teacher's College and went onto to be hired and teach school.
I received my twenty-five year pin and a certificate for contributing to
excellence in Education.
My youngest son was my escort and his older brother was at University.
They both have their careers and both married and i have beautiful grandchildren,
We moved to the Lorne park House with our parents and grandparents.
Our parents love child was born and we were delighted.
She grew up with our sons and they are good friends.
she is married with children now,
And has beautiful children and a handsome husband.
Beautiful years of friendship guested, picnics and days of tossing the frisbee.
Walks along the shores of the Lake at Jack Darling park.
Skipping stones in the water, recently we visited Jack Darling park.
Good memories always shared by my relatives and I.
Days when i drove the children to school in the turquoise chrysler.
Memories of the divorce, my husband and I are still friends.
Days and Nights with our parents and grandparents.
Blessings from God and i am truly thankful.
Author: Gwen von Erlach Schutz.
Categories:
playpen, appreciation, blessing, education, friend,
Form:
Free verse
There was a baby boy named timmy
Who didn't come from much
But he had all he needed in his playpen
He had blankets bikes toys and such
But timmy missed the park and time with mom so much
He had not been since daddy left
For reasons timmy didn't know
But war had found the country and mom often wept
It always sounded like thunder
with lightning in the sky
If this is what kept daddy away
All he could do is ask why
Timmy didn't understand war had found his country
And the dark days where death blocked the sun
If he had he would of tried to make a plan
But timmy was still to young to use a gun
Now timmy was not completely lost
his mind like a sponge
He soon started to figure things out
from watching the TV if it was on
He learned the war had soldiers
boats and planes too
Maybe he could talk to the fighters
And maybe he could convince them he needed his dad to
So as timmy drank his bottle down
He came up with a strategy
He would be like a shadow in this town
Something they can understand no matter how radically
They thought
What would he use to be superior not a boat or plane
Cars are to basic guns aren't scary enough
As mother patted his back into dream he sank
Timmy decided right then he would use a tank
Timmy used his tank at every base in the nation
Nothing but white flags his plan was flawless
But just one thing was off he started to loose patience
he couldn't find his daddy or where they might have placed him
Then timmy heard bombs in his dream but open his eyes to learn it was knocking on the door instead
It turns out his planned had worked his dad was coming home
At least thats what those man had said
With their faces as resolve as stone
Timmy was happy when he heard mam he coming home
Here are his things so you will have then here and choose what he want once he here
The he saw his mommas eyes full of tears and little did he know
When moma held him close and his daddys things were near
He couldn't wait to tell his dad bout his tank and his adventures
I bet he will be so proud and know that we have missed him
We laugh and play and take family pictures
But for now I just sit and wait with this flag the army sent him
Categories:
playpen, beautiful,
Form:
Free verse
Manchild , growing up as an asphalt wild
out on the streets , takin' the heat ,
every now and then , gettin' my beat
earnin' respect , every little speck
stripes on my neck , head strong.....game on...
Where the motto , " no blood , no foul "
everythang but bitin' , all is allowed
rooster struttin' , straight cuttin'
head buttin' , thick skinned
short lived , little boy's playpen
no room for romper , get played by a stomper
elbow's to hip's , sweat and grit
game is the same no matter where we play it
all the big ballers talkin' it up loud
all the whip's whippin' their bumpin' sounds
You give it , you get it
no soft play out here
take it strong to the hole
or , sit over there , where
the females be hangin' , what a sexy crowd
cat callin' cutie booties rootin' us on
" get off my jock girl !! " , it's flight time
gonna take this fool beyond
inside , outside , the game doesn't change
only the score at the end of the day
Slappin' and dappin' , " much love bruh , next time "
we're only combatants inside these white lines
leave it all on the court , tommorrows another day
i'll try to be a good sport , as i remember your battle way's......
Categories:
playpen, friendship, school, sports, urban,
Form:
Free verse
They tried to bring Egypt back
They treated them like Israelites in captivity
They were free
But their mindsets kept them in bondage
They ate the lies
And fell for the tricks
They tried to bring Egypt back
They forgot who they were
They sold their rights
They wandered away from the light
They wore shackles
Camouflaged as jewelry
They tried to bring Egypt back
They created a playpen
Threw in toys
But built walls around the pen
Around and around they ran
No exit…no doors
They tried to bring Egypt back
Very few saw it coming…
By Sylvia Chika
sylviachika@gmail.com
http://sylviachika.blogspot.com/
http://sylviachika.wordpress.com/
https://www.facebook.com/sylviachikablog
Twitter:@sylviaoz
© SylviaChika 2015
Categories:
playpen, humanity, people, poems, poetry,
Form:
Free verse