To dust, The old boxes in the attic, the old toys in the basement, they turn to dust as they stay forgotten, the cotton rabbit going rotten. The boxes taped close, as if reopened they'd grow and Molden. the small bed in the room, needing dusting, the frames rusting and the sheets clustering. the pictures turned down, the stand broken and the glass broken, the frame cracked and dusted. The kid in this room loved it, but moved out for peace, getting a lease and building a life, new bed, new pictures, new boxes and new toys for the kids they had themselves, and soon enough that kid's room will dust too. Not in dirtiness but in affection, showing how much it was looked in, slept and cried in, and used. SO if you dust it don't throw out the boxes, don't resell the toys, don't throw out the broken pictures and please don't dismantle the bed, leave it to be, leave the memories fly around, leave it as a museum until the kid comes into that house, picking that same room, using that same bed, ripping those same boxes and playing with those same toys. To dust, is to love.
Lego Blocks
Lego blocks—
I love them so.
Building with them
each and every day.
Whether they become
a colorful tower
standing tall
or a sailing ship,
they are so much
more than play.
Do my parents love
them as much as I?
I really don’t think so.
They loudly yell
when they find them
in the dark
scattered on my floor.
Rumple Stein tapped his cane
on the dusty floorboards,
gathering the children in the
mansion's dark parlor.
"Long ago, this very house
belonged to a hunchback
goblin named Quasimodo, "he
whispered, pointing up.
"He had ears like a bat, feet
like a duck, and a crooked
back shaped like a giant
potato."
The grandfather clock
chimed midnight, its heavy
ticks matching the rhythm of
the children's racing hearts.
Quasimodo didn't want to hurt
anyone, Rumple Stein grinned,
he just hated people making loud
noises.
Suddenly, a loud, scraping
THUD- THUD- THUD echoed right
above their heads from the
dark attic stairs.
When the kids don't clean their
rooms, he stalks through the
halls and hides their favorite
toys!
The children gasped, looking
nervously at the dark corners
of the room as the curtains
rustled.
"He is watching right now,
waiting to see who leaves
their shoes on the floor
tonight."
Rumple Stein chuckled softly,
closed his book, and said,
"Now go clean up before
Quasimodo finds you."
Deep within the twinkling
clouds lies Toylandia, a
magical island where toys
come alive.
Teddy bears wear tiny
golden crowns and dance
with beautiful, glittering fairy
dolls.
Toy trains chug along tracks
made of rainbow strawberry
licorice, blowing bubbles into
the blueberry sky.
Every morning, colorful
plastic blocks build
themselves into magnificent,
soaring castles.
Friendly dinosaur toys gently
carry smiling children across
rivers of sweet chocolate milk.
The trees are made of green
cotton candy, sprouting shiny
marbles and bouncy balls.
At night, soft wind- up music
boxes play a gentle, soothing
lullaby to the stars.
No batteries are ever needed
here, for pure imagination
powers the whole land.
The toys gather around a
warm campfire, sharing
happy stories and eating
marshmallow clouds.
It is a wonderful place of
endless playtime, where the
fun never, ever stops.
I love the glitter in your eyes
musings of a child
manners abandoned
because you're safe here
Sorry I didn't break a bigger piece
I thought at least
I'd see you again
God did decide
that you'd be free
So you came to me
Eyebrows raised
Marked with the stain of the misbehaved
I was imperfect
Impatient at your rights
but no matter
It's your time, not mine
Her force ends course
Your words and their worth
hold onto gravity
You've grabbed hold of me
Know that it matters
And it matters to me
Your choice
A shaken voice
now on repeat
I love the glitter in your eyes
Ravaged Flesh
Marred by the colors of death
Locked doors and sweat
Life hasn't been beautiful yet
but you jump and play
because all you had to say is,
"I'm scared to go home"
Sweet sweet baby
I love my bicycle
Which is blue, it screams
I love you
With my basket
Hanging low
It's faster than
You can blow
With reflectors
On my mags
Even my stickers
Has its own tags
My handlebar
Tassels hang low
They fly as my
Bicycle goes
Grandpa, this is really neat ~
So this car's going to drive sideways?
Fix all my toy cars !
Wordku: 5-7-5 words
AP: Honorable Mention 2026
Tiny train...tiny memories...
how toys bring us back,
travel great distances
without actually moving --
how replicas resurrect
the plastic solders and tanks
in an attic trunk, my favorite
gun -- dry, bet the caps still
bang...?
Should these shaky old hands
pass them on? Or let them
desire their own -- to see what
future dusty attics will hold
after a fresh settling of years?
Spears, arrows, muskets, laser
blasters -- does anything really
change? Christ has not returned
despite our subsequent crucifixions....
Yet, love gives me hope....
Santa! Santa! When you will come for gifting me?
Santa! Santa! When you will come for celebrating Christmas with me ?
I have made a list of toys and decorated a tree,
Santa! Santa! When you will come for gifting me?
I have left treats for you,
so, Give me best as possible for you.
Please fill my socks with candy,
I'll Keep a jelly for you, which is very bendy.
I know you have nine dears,
and a big white beard,
I also know after reading this poem you will laugh and say
Ho! Ho! Ho!
He always wore that tattered coat,
always black, not a whiff of white.
Those mischievous eyes wore
such a sinister and obsessive gleam.
Were you that toymaker?
Or is it part of my neurotic imagery?
We know your toys can be perfect,
whether creating light or darkness.
Perhaps you are cunning,
or it is I who am so.
Yes, a so-and-so, with eyes
that have light or darkness.
So am I that toymaker,
with a gleam that I wear and bear?
Do I see you, then it, then myself?
Life can be a playroom, filled with colourful toys.
(8 Sep 2025)
Boys Forts
The boys would climb up,
taking toys and making noise,
into the tall trees.
Wearing funny hats,
yelling~ were their pants on fire?
we did laugh at them.
Girls Castles
Dining room table,
with long lace cloth was our spot,
under on the floor.
Dolls were everywhere,
tea and cookies were a treat,
we were princesses.
I came upon a windup toy.
He danced a jig to bring me joy
because I was feeling low.
My name is Pinocchio.
I'm no ordinary boy.
I told him I was made of wood,
He said that he understood.
The pleasure he could bring
radiated from a spring.
Soon, I was feeling good.
The sadness that his jig belies,
which I detected in his eyes,
was eased as friendship brings
a boy with puppet strings
in a plaything's disguise.
parade had it all
toy soldiers, planes, tanks, salutes ~
a wannabe game
what a mess
dog toys strewn around house
he doesn’t care
Growing up no childhood destroys,
Even grown-ups play with their toys.
Each to own fun at once,
There’s little difference,
Save that, elders glued to their toys get no great joys.
_______________________
Tongue-in-cheek|35.01.2025|Quintain, humour, childhood
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