To her mum's spanks,
let her cry on your tender shoulder,
oh, soft toy Teddy,
Through all her sleepless nights,
lull her to deep sleep
by her side remain steady.
When the weather burns hot,
soak her sweat away.
When cold wind whispers
let your warmth be ever ready.
Though you are a toy,
be more than that to her,
If you had a tummy
Let her feed you, as if you live.
Though, she dislikes your silver shade,
in the darkest nights,
let your brightness calm her fears.
Throughout her childhood
even for a breath, never leave.
Remain her best friend;
though wordless, speak to her heart,
for only in your comfort she believes.
Such were the tender words of my aunt's sermon,
to my beautiful Eliza,
for she fulfilled each promise
made to Aunty Jane
showering me with nothing but relief.
Joana, here I hand over to you Eliza,
from your grand Aunt to you my niece,
As it guided my childhood,
let it guide yours too.
Keep it clean, take good care of it.
As I hand it over to you,
one day hand it over to your niece too,
a bond of comfort
that will outlive just us two.
A busy day
a lazy one
I say busy
is more fun
When I’m busy
hours fly by
If I’m lazy ~
minutes sigh
All babies acquire natural habit
to take a soft toy in bed relishing
its touch and develops attachment
accepting that as most favourite .
Entry for the MORE THAN A SOFT TOY Contest
More Than A Soft Toy
More than a toy--
This poly-cotton blend,
A plushy bear,
My bestest friend.
His name? Chuckles Beary--
And boy can he rock!
Kept his guitar
In an old woolen sock.
When I was down,
All alone with the blues,
He’d “Roll over Beethoven
and tell Tchaikovsky the news.”
Chuckles played his guitar
“just like ringing a bell.”
His hugs and music
Made everything well.
Even today, grown up
And turning gray,
I can still hear Chuckles
Tune up and say:
“Let me hear that rock and roll music,
any old way you choose it.
Got a backbeat--
you can’t lose it.”
And I’m young again
With Chuckles Beary,
When Rock and Roll was young
And the world a lot less scary
“Go, Johnny, go! Go!”
“Go, Johnny, go! Go!”
“Go, Johnny, go! Go!”
Miss you C.B.
More than a soft toy,
she kept these Puffies
for years; she kept
them free and safe.
I left, right..left..right,
out of her everyday -
her sis marched right
out of her life, but
her Puffies so proud
on a shelf; its shelf life,
who knows, but they’ve spent
nearly half a century with her.
Wallace Berry Cream Puffs
stayed in the palm
of her sister’s hand,
never looking forward
or back, never going far.
This soft toy enjoyed
the chatter, laughter, love
of her new owner.
Reminders of a faraway home,
a forever after,
the sweet kiss of a 5 year old.
She held her Puffies tight; tighter
the memories of so long ago.
It all matters - not the toy,
yes the toy, yes the girl.
The small basset hounds,
coffee brown floppy ears,
cream bodies (like wool),
and ample pink snouts.
The sailor in me knew
these two would
be well-cared for. This child
held her responsibility
in high-regard.
There’d be other collectibles,
but sis never neglects
the treasures of the past.
Those
days are gone
When anything makes
You Angry or sad ,stressed
You just cry
When I was a young girl,
I had a soft cuddly teddy,
he was my friend,
and I adored him.
After my sister died I needed him,
he was my comfort each night,
so soft and cuddly ... and he had a scent !
Then, one day he was gone,
our house was on fire,
we lost everything,
I lost everything,
Of course, I was given another teddy,
but, it was just not the same,
not as soft or cuddly ... and he had no scent !
Pumpkins are made
For pies
And pies are made
For jack-o-lanterns
To
Please little girls
Who ride swings high over the city on
Cold
Mornings when others
Have found the schoolhouse
Under the ghetto waiting to transform the little leftovers
Into Wallstreetbogeymen scaring the country into
Unwanted
Growth claiming ‘More Pumpkins Are Better.’
The swing's chains are cold in late October
The seat can be wet
She
In her own glory does
Not
Notice the silence. Dreaming of
Dancing at the Met exposing truth to the music of Mendelssohn.
We linger
On the damp cool October morn
She peruses the skyline looking for the
Spot she might run to
As the swing finds a higher plane.
In the quiet corners of my mind-
A fuzzy friend named Cubby still resides.
Years ago, when I was three,
He tumbled into my life, so warm and free.
His legs once jiggled, full of beads,
Now gently limp, shaped by years and needs.
Stitches faded, fur rubbed thin,
Yet love, not fabric, holds him in.
Psychology whispers: attachment, security,
But Cubby is more than theory-he's memory's purity.
He's comfort on restless nights,
A silent listener to childhood's frights.
One summer day, a suitcase closed-
Cubby missing, my heart exposed.
Tears spilled all the way back home,
I felt so lost, so all alone.
But surprise! My brother's gentle tease:
He'd tucked Cubby away, aimed to please.
The ache of loss became relief so sweet-
Reunion turning sorrow to heartbeat.
Why do we long for what can't speak?
Why do soft things make us weak?
Perhaps in Cubby, I see a part
Of something gentle in my heart.
He's more than cotton, thread, and fur-
He's childhood's echo, comforter.
Psychology says it's just a phase,
But Cubby's love, it never decays.
Angry voices from the kitchen
Trading bitter accusations,
The sound of a palm hitting face,
Endless hateful exclamations.
I held you tight against my chest,
You felt the pain I tried to hide,
My tears that soaked your small brown head
Have left some stains now they have dried.
When there was none to cling on to,
I held on to your stubby hands,
As I--to drown the guilt and shame--
I drifted off to distant lands.
Somehow though I was young and frail,
Afraid, alone, and not so wise
I found some comfort and some strength
When I looked in your button eyes.
In that dark corner long ago
When sun, moon, stars all lost their shine
It was so cold but you gave warmth,
Your knitted body pressed with mine.
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
Sheila lives in more than one world, traveling with delight
Yesterday she was in the Orient, flying a gorgeous Japanese kite
Today she traveled down the Amazon, petting black pumas on her way
An avid reader, Sheila journeys a new world, each and every day
Every book she opens is a potential notch off her bucket list.
Today a faerie castle popped out in a lovely lavender mist.
Sheila learns more in her chair than most travelers know to do.
She has been around the world many times, maybe twenty-two.
There are no more saviors, only shadows dancing in the mist,
The rivers of memory no longer flow gently, but disappear into the abyss.
Myths that soothed the mundane have faded, leaving only silence,
Only waiting remains, an echo that never ends.
The voice repeats like a refrain of lost time,
The short breath hides between two silences.
The world does not end with divine revelations or dreams,
But with stumbling steps, absurd replies, and wanderings.
In this vast void, a new, fragile ethic is born,
To endure the empty time, to laugh in the face of cold ruins.
To speak even when words are lost in echoes,
To move forward, even if every step brings you down.
“Try again, fail again, but fail better,”
Is the minimum dignity in a world of shadows and dreams.
The only heroism left to us in the face of nothingness,
Is to rise from our falls, to reinvent ourselves from the ashes.
More than a soft toy,
Is a childhood friend of mine,
He's been here for ten years,
Maybe even eleven,
Why do I feel such connection,
Towards you?
You've been in most of my memories,
Grown beside me,
Is that the reason why?
When i sang a song for the first time,
Or when you consoled me in the darkest nights,
Is it because, i shared my everything with you,
Even my childhood and heart?
Oh my dear lovely jaguar,
I still remember when I hugged you while sleeping,
On the day I got you when I was five,
I just want you to know,
I still do this now.
You're my snuggling partner,
My first friend,
And my whole childhood,
My dear friend.
Shape of the mouths
Silence of the footsteps
Harmony of the tears
Firmness of the handshakes
Emptiness of the buffet
Declare:
Were they in love or in need.
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