Best Toy Poems
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
None will ever live to see age twenty four
None of them even know what they're fighting for
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
The world has always been this way
With Emperors and Kings
Fighting with toy soldiers
And the glory that it brings
Land, beliefs, religion
The basis of the war
fought by young toy soldiers
Who all die by the score
Time has taught us nothing
But, it's changed the way we fight
War is a full day job
Now that it is fought at night
The boards of little armies
Are now shown up on the screen
With all the little soldiers
Lit in different shades of green
They used to be all metal
Painted up in nice bright shades
With a General on horseback
Leading all his smart brigades
Then, the men were plastic
glued to bits of wood
Behaving as a unit
Just like a soldier should
Now, the war is different
They're up there in different hues
You can watch them fight in real time
Just like on the nightly news
The only thing remaining
The thing that's stayed the same
Is that nobody in power
Know the Little Soldiers names
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
None will ever live to see age twenty four
None of them even know what they're fighting for
Little Toy Soldiers going off to war
April 29 2018
lit up with the power to attract and excite
and framed by a window of the toy shop that night
a miniature world of trains, bridges and hills
took my mind off the cold from the late autumn chills.
there were signals that moved and tables that turned
and lights in the engines as if coal had been burned
frustrated by others who had gathered there too
I pushed them aside for a much better view.
I stood there transfixed and stared through the glass
at the landscape of plaster and fields of fake grass
I watched as the locos passed by on the track
to then vanish through tunnels somewhere at the back.
there were small plastic figures all standing in line
frozen on platforms and frozen in time
they weren't duly bothered they'd missed the last train
safe in the knowledge it would be round again.
Christmas was near and if things worked out right
I'd be playing with trains Christmas morn, noon and night
but I let out a sigh before turning to go
- I had already asked and my wife had said "no".
Think, children: what will you tell
your grandchildren when they ask
about Earth--once bursting green
and red and yellow with blossoms
everywhere, and bushes serene
in shadows of lime-colored trees,
with bird songs filling the air?
I hope you'll remember turquoise seas
brimming with life, color dancing on
water, boats with white sails, beaches,
seagulls, sandpipers, whales. Men fishing
creeks, children's splashing feet, sitting
beneath Summer's lush leaves,
making toy boats made of paper.
I know you'll recall purple mountains so tall,
snow-crested peaks of lilac at eveningfall;
inhaling perfumed blossoms and wonder
of pines, you could hear aspens whispering,
jays poking fun, noisy creeks in their run,
deer peeking quickly behind gentle oaks,
a magical potpourri for the mind.
Grandchildren will smile as you gaze out
the window, attempting to find memories
of Earth as it was long ago, before losing
our way in pollution's crazed mind. But now
all she can find: industries' emissions, urban pall,
oceans clogged, forests burned, icecaps gone,
plastics, dust, muck, sun going blind...
toy boats made of paper, bird so.......
forgotten now
One Toy Soldier
Little toy soldiers are all put away
Training is over for this time of day.
Where do these little boys go now to play?
Away from their home to die in the fray.
Little toy weapons are no longer there
But boxed in attics by mothers with care--
Where keepsakes still hold a lock of his hair--
While rockets and missles challenge his fare.
Little toy bad guys and little toy good
Haze in the distance when misunderstood.
Where fall the lilies on long crates of wood
And each gave their all--as good soldiers should...
Little toy soldiers are coming back home...
Mothers are weeping, laments all alone
Where flags lie folded--the gift of Shalom...
As the long box is lowered...'neath the loam
One little toy soldier is placed on the top
Remembering All--so that None be Forgot.
deborah burch©
4/14/2012
Dear Teddy Bear, My Teddy Bear
I keep you with me night and day,
Amazing how you always play.
When it is time to take my nap
You rest with me right in my lap.
You are my bestest furry friend!
May our sweet friendship never end.
I know you love me and you care
Dear Teddy bear, my Teddy bear.
5-8-19
Free Verse or Rhyme Poetry Poetry Contest
Sponsor Eve Roper
picture #1
A young man bought a tight pair of fleeces,
And their stranglehold filled all the creases,
But the fit was so thin
That he couldn't begin
To pump blood to his bits ... and his pieces.
Well, they made him look chic as expected,
Though his girlfriend was feeling neglected,
Cuz from belly through bum,
His poor junk was so numb
That he just could NOT get it ... erected.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "What's Bugging Me" Poetry Contest, Kim Rodrigues, Judge & Sponsor.
~ 1st Place ~ in the "Bawdy Limerick Contest - Let's Keep It PG-13" Poetry Contest, Tania Kitchin, Judge & Sponsor.
* One of my weaknesses is expensive clothing, and my pet peeve is the new "slim fit" men's suits and clothes - I hate the way they look and feel, like a little boy who can't afford new clothing and outgrows them. I can't WAIT 'til they go out of style! * ;o)
("The World's Greatest Toy" is the motto and ad line used by the makers of The Erector Set, which I had as a boy and remember fondly ... though the word later took on much "grander" meaning, lol)
* Syllables - 10, 10, 6, 6, 10, counted at HowManySyllables.com *
Dark sky overhead
Never seemed to leave her alone
Everything chilled to the bone
She wore those grey sky eyes
Kneeling down in the sand
While catching teardrops in her hand
Her sould cried...
Rain poured down into her heart
Happiness did depart
Oh how she longed...
To live a life of joy
Instead she was the broken toy
The outcast
Who was pushed around
The one who made no sound
But who's soul cried..
And who's heart screamed...
And oh she dreamed!
To live happily
But instead she laid in wet sand
And caught teardops in her hand
vintage coin bank
dispensing
cash for tootsie rolls
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
The other day while rummaging in a closet I was instantly overcome with joy
when I ran across our storage bins filled with our children’s once used toys.
Toys our children and grandchildren played with when they were young and new…
Toys that don’t grow up…like children and grandchildren do
A set of nesting cups for the bathtub, noise makers and little bouncing balls
plastic telephones where every child made imaginary calls.
Toys that at one time were their favorites…
toys they once adored.
Toys that served their purpose
but don’t get played with anymore.
A bunch of bendy action figures…which much to our elation
our children and grandchildren used…
to fuel their imaginations.
Those thick little baby books, a stuffed doggie, soft and brown
wooden blocks with painted letters they'd stack up…
then knock down.
As I picked up a plastic microphone and a bunch of different tiny cars
I thought how every toy inside these bins are part of who they are.
Because each of these toys was special once…
because each had their own heyday
there’s no way we could ever throw them out…
no way we'll ever give them away.
So they live in quiet comfort…
who knows…
we may live to see the day
when great great grandchildren come to visit…
who will no doubt want to play.
“Hey I remember playing with this when I was your age!”
We imagine their parents will say
and we’ll sit back and we'll smile
as we watch a new generation at play…
I imagine there are toys like these
in closets all across the USA…
quietly resting in bins of their own…
patiently awaiting that day.n…
patiently waiting for that day.
Child play. Dawn, as a wind-up toy,
jumping up and down, keen.
A buoyant verdancy of joy -
waking up fresh and green.
Waking up fresh and green.
The ivy…the oaks and weeps.
On the salient morning I lean.
Whatever this day…it is for keeps.
Wiping tears and sand from ducts.
The ascension of the sun display.
Pink and purple passion constructs.
I hit my knees, look up and pray.
I hit my knees, look up and pray.
A humble approach - prism of self
seen through Christ - in Him I stay.
To deep dive today, I entrust myself…
To deep dive today, I entrust myself,
into God’s faithful word. The good news,
sharp and alive, off my bookshelf,
With Christ, my hope, I’ve nothing to lose.
Whatever this day…it is for keeps.
There is one who shapes each cockcrow.
I know my Lord and Savior never sleeps.
His faithfulness - dawn’s enduring glow.
6/1/2023
MORE THAN A SOFT TOY
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Raggedy Ann with her patchwork heart,
more than soft cotton, calico, embroidery, and yarn,
a doll created with Mother's love,
stitched together with gentle hands.
Her gray button eyes understood my childhood world,
her red yarn hair meticulously combed,
her smile eternally stoic,
her face bore the promise of a forever friend.
She walked with me to school,
first day of school jitters, she sat, a steadfast sentinel,
on the corner of my desk,
absorbing my fear, radiating calm.
Hospital smells, a white, sterile fear~
Raggedy's soft body, a warmth against my chest,
before the cold steel, after the raw ache,
her doe-like, button eyes, unwavering.
We shared tiny cups of cocoa ‘neath the pecan tree,
her embroidered face never betraying
the weight of my childhood dreams,
my childhood fears.
My first editor, she listened tirelessly
to the endless stories I told her~
the one’s created from my fertile imagination,
without judgment, without end.
Now, she sits in Mother’s curio cabinet,
still a steadfast, quiet comfort,
her threads and stitches connecting me
to the fertile memory-filled fields of yesterday.
Her button eyes, dark pools reflecting
sepia-toned summers,
reliving ghosts of laughter,
rides on unicorns, and make-believe.
Her worn calico dress, faded and undamaged,
is stained with childhood tears,
a fabric chronicle of scraped knees,
childhood regrets, and silent fears.
She inspires me now,
grounding me in innocence,
showing that imagination
endures into adulthood.
Raggedy Ann, more than a soft toy~
she is the echo of my Mother's love,
a tangible piece of home,
carried in my arms, worn soft with time.
I hear little whimpers from out in the yard.
He is searching everywhere, looking really hard.
Then I realize he is missing his littler toy dog.
He looks in an old bucket and under a log.
I realize I haven’t seen it for quite a while.
He continues to look all around the wood pile.
I’ll help you look, I wont leave you in the lurch.
We will find it. I will help you. I care I search.
Then in the garden I see stuffing from his toy.
I hide it from my old dog, he is such a good boy.
Birds have taken most of it to build their nest.
I take it in, stitch more stuffing in, it looks its best.
When he isn’t looking I toss it near the wood pile.
He soon finds it. Who said dogs don’t smile?
You were there when the dark
crept loud through the door,
when my tears made small rivers
that stained to your core.
You never once left me,
you never once frowned,
you just held my silence
till sleep came around.
Your fur is all matted,
your seams pulled apart,
but I know every thread
is stitched into my heart.
Others see fabric,
old stuffing, worn eyes
but they don’t see the love
that your silence implies.
I’ve told you my secrets,
the ones I can’t say,
and you guard them so tightly
they won’t slip away.
You’re my courage, my anchor,
my shield, my safe place,
the first thing I reach for
when life feels unsafe.
One day they will tell me,
“You’re older—move on.”
But you’ll never be gone, Bear,
you’ll never be gone.
Even if I outgrow you,
and tuck you away,
you’ll live in the child
who still needs you each day.
So I’ll whisper a promise
to your threadbare old ear:
wherever I wander,
I’ll keep you near.
For you’re more than soft fabric,
more than my toy
you’re the keeper of childhood,
my comfort, my joy
It was shiny and bright sitting under the tree.
There were other things there, but that's all I could see:
a Lionel toy train on a circular track!
The caboose was maroon and the engine was black.
And to top it all off on this fine Christmas day,
was an engineer's cap that I donned right away.
I had deadlines to make and my job couldn't shirk,
so I rolled up my sleeves, and went straight to my work.
Utilizing impressive construction techniques,
I made Tinker Toy tunnels through newspaper peaks.
With an engine, a caboose, and three railroad cars,
I would ride to the moon and haul back the stars!
It sputtered and sparkled and went round and around
with a clickety clackety sonorous sound,
and an oily ozony odoriferous tang:
my thunderous wondrous electric toy train!
And then Daddy and I had to go out for bread,
and to pick up the big Sunday paper he read.
We're just about home when there was flashing of red...
and the crossbars dipped down at the railroad ahead.
As the freight train slowed up, I could clearly divine
the big engineer's head with a cap just like mine!
We dismounted and yelled, and I signed him three yanks.
He gave me three toots - and I waved back my thanks.
With my engineer's cap and my blue overalls,
I was dressed in a style to give anyone pause!
I had grand places to go and marvels to see...
but Mommy had my breakfast all ready for me.
It sputtered and sparkled and went round and around
with a clickety clackety sonorous sound,
and an oily ozony odoriferous tang:
my thunderous wondrous electric toy train!
Each of us has one;
each alone may see it,
and none is ever touched these days.
Its content, though, is real enough.
There little blocks of memory
are carelessly assembled,
rudely left by time to gather dust
that filters in to gently cover them--
not quite enough to cause
an aging child to close the lid too soon.
Mayhap a friend who comes to play
will bring along his own to share,
though I would never trade with him.
My blocks are worn; the edges rounded,
and now my hands retrace
the tumbling journey of their history,
those moments of surprise
when blindfolds were removed,
and gushing bursts
of sorrow, sighs and ecstacy
came to me alone.
My toy box is a treasure I may never share.
Storage is no problem; it is always there.
I do not outgrow it, for it comes along with me
throughout this life--beyond I do not know.
The toys are magical, and never change.
And, you know...they are much more
than keepsakes; they are just like life.
In fact, it streams from them
and never mind their age,
it does behoove me now
to give them better care.
So please. I find
I rather love the toys within my box.
Dust or no, I mean to keep them all.
~