Long Playground Poems
Long Playground Poems. Below are the most popular long Playground by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Playground poems by poem length and keyword.
Scattered down below,some still falling down at ease.
Goldenbrown and yellow...dry and rustling in the breeze.
Their origin like a guard of honor,all tall and stand upright,
aligned to sheer perfection, on the left and on the right.
The midday sun makes appearance and peers through a wayward branch,
It's focus like a spotlight, illuminates a squirrel's dance.
The cobblestone-pathway is transformed 'nto a golden-leafy stage,
To host a squirrel dancing, for peanuts as his wage.
Timid and meek, with his cute and furry feet,
that traverse the leafy playground...the recital is so sweet.
The spotlight recedes, as the midday sun retreats.
Alas!The show is over and he scurrys to the trees.
Hopping left and skipping right
The squirrel's dance is my delight.
SAGEBRUSH RANCH
holding his small hand,
jumping up and down,
in the silver box —
a playground with mirrors
and three buttons.
people that look like us
are all around.
when the box is full
they disappear.
the ding-ding sounds
and doors part ways,
as we exit into the gallery,
where only grandma takes note
of the paintings that blur
as we hurry to the Sagebrush Ranch.
the stagecoach rocks,
horses hooves sound a steady beat,
as we watch the scenery (on a little screen)
the buckaroo protects his grandma,
with fingers cocked, ready for an impending shootout.
the checkerboard sings
as we press buttons —
the crooning of a cowboy in our ears.
we “sit a while” in the wicker rockers.
there’s a room in the ranch
with a rope-style bed, and
a treasure chest of play clothes.
the four-year old grins, as he digs,
putting on boots way too big
and a black and white faux-cowhide vest.
i help this towhead into the saddle
of a life size horse, teaching him
the little that grandma knows —
“giddyup” as he stirs the rein
and “whoa” as he leans back on his critter.
the boots oft slip, and he orders
“the princess” to pull them on again.
assisted with a dismount,
he runs to the chuck wagon to beg
a carrot from the nearby cook,
pats down the horse and urges him to eat
after the long and dusty desert ride.
the excitement as he gallops to each station,
enterprising in each task, never letting “the princess”
relax. he climbs the ladder into the loft,
and makes her ascend. they watch cowboy t.v.
at the end, they ride the stellar box, up and down
then to the cowboy store, where his cherub cheeks
blush and his eyes twinkle, with a dollar in his hand.
he pays for a lollipop in the shape of a cowboy boot.
this cowpoke falls asleep,
as the modern carriage rocks him
and grandma smiles as she wields the reins.
2/27/2019
As memories scatter in echoes of laughter. I recall childhood dreams now lost among old trees. Hope once ran free and wild, but now I just feel tired. A playground of conflicts, which no longer exists. Sharp slides, see-saws and swings, where we fought with bare fists. They built posh apartments, dull, ugly and heartless. We weren't high achievers, as we had bad teachers. Now our school's a care home, where many die alone. But the graveyard is full, whilst the church seems obscure. The shop where we bought sweets - a homeless man now sleeps. Some say it's the owner, who became a loner. Closure meant he lost trade, became bankrupt, but stayed. Streets look so untidy, faces that seem shady. Homes are in disrepair, life seems a bit unfair. Time is abrupt with change, but reflections remain. Even when we move on, we think of life foregone. Your past is what your breathe, no matter where you reach.
As memories scatter
in echoes of laughter.
I recall childhood dreams
now lost among old trees.
Hope once ran free and wild,
but now I just feel tired.
A playground of conflicts,
which no longer exists.
Sharp slides, see-saws and swings,
where we fought with bare fists.
They built posh apartments,
dull, ugly and heartless.
We weren't high achievers,
as we had bad teachers.
Now our school's a care home,
where many die alone.
But the graveyard is full,
whilst the church seems obscure.
The shop where we bought sweets -
a homeless man now sleeps.
Some say it's the owner,
who became a loner.
Closure meant he lost trade,
became bankrupt, but stayed.
Streets look so untidy,
faces that seem shady.
Homes are in disrepair,
life seems a bit unfair.
Time is abrupt with change,
but reflections remain.
Even when we move on,
we think of life foregone.
Your past is what your breathe,
no matter where you reach.
The Reunion
I’ve been invited to a classroom reunion,
I can see my old chums over there.
Geordie Cockle has got a green suit on,
While Denver Crisp, is sporting no hair.
These people don’t look as I remember,
Some are grey, some old and some fat.
Willy Heather is in parliament as a member,
Lisa Tabby, has brought her new cat.
The years haven’t been kind to Tim Jolly,
But made a looker of Beverley Sprite.
Dandy Beano is still a right wally,
Sharing bad jokes and drinking all night.
Danny Sergeant has just left the army,
With a medal to make us all proud.
Des Troy clenches a fist and goes barmy,
Describing his war, to an avid small crowd.
Trudy Trotter now owns a small Pig farm,
Making bacon for the town folk of Wick.
Amy Fry prints Tee shirts “Keep Calm”,
and Tim Throup left early, feeling sick.
The problem with the old-school reunion,
Is the boasting, tall tales and the rest.
Familiar old faces, but no playground fun.
Why did I reply, to my reunion request?
When are you far right.? If for peace you call'
Where is far left..? Right now it takes my breath.'
Can't some democrats be Christian.? Who decides
On what, is what.? Like even stevens..We don"t hear
About him now, a playground adage he helped somehow?
Make it clear' yet along with kids not climbing trees, the offence of dirt
And fresh skinned knees, the label placers run amok
Handing out words the keep as stock' I see politicans
Austrian too..left the building, did Elvis get a view.? he had
His faults from what I hear.? Yet his passion for the U S
I beleive was clear.' Austrians can be the same.' Their land
Has vowed 'kein kreig' being as hitler is their shame.! And so
zelensky's session they left.. peace markers standing mute
Upon their desks.! What say you.? What do you think.?
Poets peers whats in your ink.? Wtite me something the
World is bleeding.' People are straving children dreaming
Of food of love a place thats safe.' Am i misleading? Yet war is raging in your
Face.' overtly peaceful institutions toil; to divide and
Conquer attain the land;? divide the spoils.' Their time is short
Their influence bought, the progress they offer is value naught.!
Outside at recess
How I love to play
On the merry-go-round
What a joyous day
Then some older boys
Come and start to push
Spinning it around
Getting it to go faster
I become afraid
Having trouble holding
On, afraid to jump, afraid to stay
Then more older boys
Add speed to the fun
Terrified with head spinning
I fall to the ground
Under the merry-go-round bam
The construction of the
Plaything wasn't a pretty
Sight from underneath
Long screws were hanging down
It shredded my dress
My undergarments too
Tore up my flesh
I was black and blue
Was it innocent
Just a childhood game
Or was it malicious
A sadistic game
(This is from my childhood. Years ago. Playground equipment was made different from the
modern hard molded plastic of today. It was a wooden floor that was fastened down with
screws.)
There once was a dragon, his name was, Little Lou.
His mind in a quandary, didn’t know what to do.
Dragon’s love children, this Lou wanted to teach;
how and where to begin, it seemed so out of reach.
Being himself, a young dragon lad;
Lou knew within, his wish could be had.
So up on the mountaintop, Lou did watch,
little village children, playing Hopscotch.
He began to think, with his young dragon brain;
an idea came to him, he could barely contain.
So down to the village, Lou swiftly did fly;
watching the children, with bright dragon eyes.
He landed beside, the fountain of Eros;
and watched with caution, little Billy Beros.
Billy was bouncing his little red ball;
back and forth from the side of a cobbler’s store wall.
Lou did approach him in a very slow manner;
so slow that Billy asked, “Dragon, what is the matter?”
Lou placed his head, upon the soft ground and
told Billy the idea he had found.
.
There, in the village, near Eros great fountain;
Billy and Lou began hammering and pounding.
Nails into the wood that, Little Lou had collected;
from their combined efforts, a playground was erected!
The folks in the village were all so amazed;
the playground became the village’s latest craze.
Billy and Lou, were the greatest of friends;
and little Lou’s love, fear it did transcend.
Sophie was born with an abnormal right foot,
So when she was nine she chose amputation,
She comes from Camden then moved to Bath,
And now studies at Bath College Illustration.
In 2011 she went to a Playground to Podium,
Event at Bath University because she knew
As a junior wheelchair basketball: was good,
But she preferred individual sports - she flew.
Her debut came at the Manchester World Cup,
In 2012 just before the 2012 Paralympic games,
Which Sophie made and competed in the finals,
Of the 200m, scoring a personal best in flames.
In Lyon, France, in 2013, Sophie came fourth,
In the 100m sprint, but then in the 200m sprint,
She came third, winning her very first medal,
Internationally, which raised the roof at her print.
So Sophie participated in the Euros in 2014,
Which were held in Swansea in Wales’s land,
And also accelerated in the Worlds at Doha,
Which gave her experience to mature grand.
In dancing Rio Sophie broke the top WR speed,
In the heats of the 100m which were lastly held,
On the 17th of September 2016, on the second,
Last day of these Para games eventually weld.
I returned to the place of my birth a few months ago.
Visiting there always gives my languid soul a glow.
The house still looks good but the old barn is showing its age.
How long it will weather the storms is difficult to gauge!
Sad to say, its once sturdy beams and doors are sagging.
Its former brilliant red paint and white trim are also lagging.
Decades of tempests and searing sun have exacted their toll.
I recall so many fond memories as about the old barn I stroll!
The old barn was our playground on snowy and rainy days.
Dad placed a hoop on a beam for our rowdy basketball plays.
Scuffling in the mow, burying ourselves in sweet-smelling hay,
We kids spent many happy hours there, whiling the time away!
All was not play for this feckless Hoosier lad.
Honest toil was proffered and expected by my Dad.
At the tender age of ten I was milking Jersey cows;
At hay-making time I was the kid sweating in the mows!
Even though the old barn is aging its hand-hewn oaken beams,
Will bind it together a few more years weathering all extremes.
'Twould be admirable if some good soul would provide the pelf,
To paint and prop it up and restore it to its former self!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
I look at them all
with their heads in their book
then I peer out the window
what's that? Have a look!
A squirrel passed by
and ran under that tree!
At this very moment
I must go and see!
Get back in your seat
pay attention to me
Now's not the time
to be wandering free
You're distracting the class
you rude little child
you must stop acting
so random and wild
But teacher believe me
it really isn't me
its just the affects of my ADHD
I don't mean to be naughty
or rudely interrupt
but the way that i'm wired
makes me act quite abrupt
I sit myself down
and I try once more
but am further distracted
by a sound at the door
What's happening out there?
I'm dying to know
my imagination runs wild
and refuses to slow
Oh not again
are you listening to me?
Why can't you focus?
Why must you be
too easy distracted
by a sight or a sound
always the one to stand out
from the crowd
but teacher believe me
i've told you before
my ADHD's
not a thing to ignore
I'm not like the others
I have different needs
less noise for me to focus
less sights for me to see
This time I sat to listen
but a thought popped in my mind
I had to let it out
though I knew it weren't the time
the thought is like a bubble
and it fizzes round my brain
I have to voice it out
or i'll simply go insane!
That's another interruption
I cant take it anymore
you'll have to leave the class
walk straight down the corridor
your behavior I wont tolerate
it simply will not do
let the head decide your fete
let him tell you what to do
I headed down the corridor
was going to see the head
but then I had another idea
for me to do instead
I seen people playing
on the playground outside
so I went out there to join them
until it was home time