Best Playroom Poems
Poor Little Boy Lost plays a game of peekaboo
Pretending everything in his world is well
Spoiled was his plan for organizing a coup
and now he hopes none of his friends can tell
that he's been evicted as some had predicted
Biding his time, twiddling his thumbs in a cell
The entry door is locked. It's safe and secure
He's a cast away... on the outside, looking in
How much longer can he possibly endure
Is Little Boy Lost maybe missing kith and kin?
No one is listening to his babble and prattle
He wears the sorrowful look of sad chagrin
There was another sighting, just yesterday
when again he knocked on the playroom door
Not being allowed entry is the price to pay
for returning seeking praise with another encore
Bitterness smolders inside the blighted apple
where the wiggling worm is rotting the core
He was dragged off stage by the dreaded hook
No longer can he read his script in the limelight
because of the low road and wrong turns he took
A playground should not be a place meant to fight
Kiddies there have been getting along very well
Apologies, Little Boy Lost should be made to write
Beyond the breakers, dreamers hoist their sails
Lost in the clouds, on ships of make believe
A stowaway, escaping life's travails
Adventurer, Inventing hearts to thieve
Imagination wakes the inner child
A problem, is an island to explore
An argument, a king to be exiled
Where grown ups, for a moment are ignored
And yet we rarely ever take the time
To let the inner child come out to play
Or watch the clouds in silent pantomime
Act out our fantasies of childhood days
Beyond the breakers new horizons loom
Imagination is your child's playroom
Daniel Turner
To her, their apartment was the whole world—a small but cozy place where she felt safe and loved.
It was early morning. She heard her sister squeal with joy hearing that schools would be closed today due to the heavy snowfall.
In her pink onesie pajamas, she shuffled across the speckled brown-and-gold carpet. It was worn and frayed in places but soft under her little feet. The living room was cramped, the walls filled with photos of a family's happy life. An old sofa was wedged between mismatched end tables and a wooden bookcase overflowing with encyclopedias. The plastic-lined cushions sagged from years of use.
A crack and stain on the ceiling traced where water had once leaked. The radiator clanked and hissed, making the windows sweat against the icy city air. She climbed onto the sofa. The plastic cold and squeaky beneath her pj's. Her small white footies barely reached the edge.
Their living room was everything—
a playroom, a dining room, and, on the coldest nights, a bedroom where they all huddled together when Mom turned on the oven for extra warmth.
Her pigtail tickled the back of her neck,
but her eyes stayed glued to the TV.
A gray rabbit with twitching whiskers dashed across the screen,
and a little man with a big nose and chubby legs was chasing after him, gun in hand.
Outside, snowflakes swirled around the window, piling in soft heaps on the fire escape.
She and her sister would make snowballs today
and lie in the snow laughing, making angels.
The smell of coffee, fried ham, eggs, and toast wafted from the kitchen.
She was looking forward to the delicious frosted sugary oat cereal
Mom would be preparing soon.
Dad had just walked in from work.
His usual booming voice echoing down the hallway. Mom’s quiet hush followed from the kitchen.
Everything was perfect. Everything in her little world. . .
Until she heard the gunshot—
and Dad lay dead on the kitchen floor.
It's a place I know,
my feet familiar
with each timber plank
that deck the way,
the smooth ones
and the ones buckled
and raised ready
to trip an old man's foot.
I know the name
of every boat moored
along its length,
the repertoire of sounds
played by the tides
and restless swells,
its intimate whispers.
It could be any place
but for me
it's here in the solemn quiet
of a late evening
on the end of the pier,
when the world
returns to an order,
gathers in the strewn pieces
of itself like scattered toys
on a playroom floor
and puts them back
into a labeled drawer.
The time when hurry settles
and strung nerves
are loosened
and soothed by sleep.
For a moment
the world fits neatly here,
snug in this small pocket
of calm on the end
of Ferguson Pier.
In the distance, city lights
float on a dreaming bay
as the tide silently ticks
the evening and me
away.
two story abode-
old white wooden planks and beams…
oh how I loved you
strong structured built frame -
cool basement to store; protect…
a great hiding place
vast playroom closet –
just right for a huge playhouse…
imagination
wood stove radiates -
prepares meals and heats downstairs…
sore bone therapy
family room collage -
old radio plays music…
period to relate
bedtime for four kids -
one bed keeping all cozy…
north room harbors ghosts
Copyright © 2015 By Caryl S. Muzzey
9/17/15
First Place Winner ~ "A child's first home" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Verlena S. Walker
September 30, 2015
15 December 2010
By: Noel N. Villarosa
I was at my age avid for adventure
Played outside the home, street as my playground
Every nimiety of joy, I want to capture
Never ran out of a game plan to lay down
At that time, robots are in the boom
Voltes V, Mazinger Z, and Daimos, among my favorites
But what most appealing for me to have in my playroom
Is a battery operated toy train with complete accessories
Christmas season is the best time to receive gifts
For a child like me, full of excitement and wishful
Life was hard before, wishful thinking somehow has gone adrift
Somehow, someday under the Christmas tree, I’ll find it circling in full
Watch the tiny trains buzzing along the tracks
It’s a fun to place little trees and people in the scene
Reverberating rhythm of horn and its wheels click-clack
Passing by a miniature bridge, tunnels, forest so evergreen
Make up stories for the little people in the scene
Why there are there and what’s happening
Still fresh and playing wildly in my brain
I’ll make it happen on Christmas day with my son mingling
6th place in "TOYLAND" contest
Sponsored by: Linda-Marie The Sweetheart of P.S.
1/13/2011
Hospital playroom
Child sits in stuffed toys box
His mother's soft lap
.
High in the sky
A dove in my dreams
Circles my head,
What does this mean?
I'm now in a garden
Full of bright flowers,
But I've lost my dog
And I'm hunting for hours.
Another has staircases
And loads of wood doors,
Up and down I go
On so many floors.
I keep coming back
To the same place,
Can't find a way out
Of this roomy space.
There's a ladder that goes
From ground to the sky,
I climb and I climb
But don't get very high.
I'm running on a beach,
Feet in the sea,
I'm not puffing or achy,
It's very easy.
I'm building with Lego
It's for an exam,
I keep getting it wrong
With no diagram.
There's been a car crash,
My daughter's inside,
I can't get to her
Though I've tried and I've tried.
I'm cleaning a house,
One that I know,
But there's more and more rooms
That grow and grow.
A beautiful playroom,
With wonderful toys,
Warm and inviting,
For girls and for boys.
Now I'm cycling
On top of the sea,
I'm looking for Zeus
Am I crazy???
Finding new courage many years ago,
I sang a love song in my quiet room.
I never sang dancing wearing a plume.
Nor did I sing live in a bar’s playroom.
I could not, would not, in the public croon.
I did sing it once in a studio.
Musicians there arranged a background tune.
My song went well; and it was good to go!
The records came; yes, it was way back then.
With my plan in place, I soon hit the road.
I traveled on mountain, on hill and glen.
Promotions on windshields, my dream echoed.
Radio interviews … there were a few.
“Make My Dream Come True” flyers passed along.
Air play came quickly and out of the blue!
From state to state I promoted my song.
Security was in one parking lot.
Flyers on the cars; they said were No! NO!
The hundreds I put out were all for naught.
They made me pick them ALL up … BAD; you know!
There were great days and many things to see.
I thought of fame, and where my life would go.
It was one outrageous dream for shy me.
So, I chose to give married life a go!
1/15/2017
I really do not like the thought of a God that makes things happen
Call it destiny, call it fate, call it pre-determination
Call it God’s grand plan or deity intervention
Call it whatever you want to call it – I don’t like it
When people say, “I want to thank God for helping us win a game”
Or, achieve a goal
Or, beat a disease
Well, it implies that God also made the other team loose
Or made someone else fail
Or selected others to die from the disease
I hope God is not playing favorites
I hope God is not sitting at the controls of a video game in which we are simply the characters
This does not mean I do not believe in God, because I do
I just do not believe that God is playing us like a video game
God created the universe in which we live
But, God did not select us as an avatar
God does not move us and those around us with a remote control device
Perhaps God works in mysterious ways
Well, so too does my son at the controls of Mario Kart,
I hope my actions are not the result of pressing Control A and rotating a toggle
I do not want to be in God’s video game
I want out of God’s wii world and into a world where I can control my own movements
I am not Mario; you are not Luigi; and no one, no God, no snot nosed kid sitting in his pajamas at four o’clock in the afternoon on a gorgeous sunny day playing video games in a dark playroom has control over my actions, my feelings or my decisions!
Let your religious beliefs guide you as you will – I refuse to believe I am nothing more than a character in some grand video game conceived by a game-playing God. I am real and I defy my programmer – whomever or whatever he/she may be!!
GAME OVER … wah, wah, wah … boink
I’ve scraped together peace where I could find it
When sorrowed, I no longer feel the need to hide it
I’ve played the role again
Of a child’s favorite toy
Cherished for a short, short while
Then forgotten and cast away
Well, i no longer care...
Life will ever be unfair
But it goes on, so I should too,
and I’ll have to play this game
without you.
sorrylittlesharky.com
While I waltzed at the Ball
A little voice I heard
Go ask the Crystal Ball
It said, to have your future heard!
I left the dancing knight in doom in the playroom
Opened the door of the secret room
And verily inquired of the Future
If it will come with Defeature!
No, laughed the Happy Ball
You will not remain a Fallen Soul
You will be saved by your mate in Soul
All you need to do is to give him a Call
And tell him how miserable you are without his Enthrall
And how you will give your Catcall
To lament at Nightfall
If He is not here to stop your Fall
Smile, cried the joyful Ball
Your miserable state will be in Stall
For you shall Rise, along with the Sunrise
Together with your mate, whom you Idolise
Both of you will be Symbolised
Sing, whispered the overwhelmed Ball
For the Heavens will be singing words of Praise
At your mate's love for your Gaze
Your abandon in your Maze
That which you chose in a moment of Craze
So blind were you to be love of your Mate
Will be remembered as late
Dance, asserted the ecstatic Ball
For the Future is coming at the Birdcall
Your Mate cannot be without your caring Call
And neither can You be without his Recall.
Oh I am Impatient,
Without your Love, I am Deficient
I am still in Learning
To be Abiding,
Please forgive my Caprice
For I become heartbroken without your Edifice
Dream Home
I do not dream of a mansion
Not fifty bedrooms
Not with baths and toilets en-suite;
I do not desire a Jacuzzi in every room
Not a penthouse for ‘Yours Truly’ and
A playroom for even the pet dog.
All I ask for is, a house to ‘house’ my HOME, and, welcoming smiles on faces all around me - after a hard day’s job.
I remember the first time I saw him
He had just turned eight weeks old
His hair was a beautiful sable
But he looked much to small to hold
So I asked the man at the pet store
and here's what he had to say
He's new with us and still shy around people
But I'll bring him out to see if he'll play
And as I sat in the playroom and waited
I began to ask myself why
He's shy around people and he's very expensive
And he'll probably do nothing but cry
But to my suprise he ran right over
And he jumped right in my lap
It was there there that all two pounds of him
Curled up to take a nap
So I held him there for a little while
Because he was much to cute to disturb
And when he awoke he kissed my hand
And said Mommy that was superb
Easy are the paths to follow
when I'm young and fancy free,
home is comfort, joy, a blessing,
caring folks and constancy.
My borders are the playroom, garden,
narrow spaces, fledgling child,
questions answered with a bear hug,
nothing crazy, nothing wild.
Later, as my frontiers widen,
gone the band aid to placate,
in the cauldron of confusion,
far beyond the garden gate.
Childhood greeting, pale and fleeting,
life no longer black and white,
paths collide and intermingle,
as I ponder dark and light.
Walking through the forest blindly,
Hansel with no Gretel near,
breadcrumbs are a cruel delusion,
still my courage, stoke my fear.
Faith and pride and resolution
drive my journey on, because,
though I've traveled many pathways,
home is where it always was.