Friday, May 26, 2006

The Playground

Cautious, I stepped through the grey gates
My world so new, carefree
And I, clutching my mother’s hand
Had butterflies dancing in my tummy

Then a friendly smile, some curious faces
They wanted to meet the new girl
When, you’re younger you’re not so stuck up
So I ran, my hair flying, to the playground

The slide, like a mountain to me
We whooshed down in ecstasy.
The swings, creaking in rhythm
Taking us to the skies with them.
The sand pit of Imagination
Stories and creatures, our simple creations.
And the jungle gym, oh what joy it was
To hang upside down, like orangutans!

Looking back, I see my first friends, who took me in
Lost in the thrill of the slide and swings
And the laughter
How simple it was, with not a worry
And years after,
Our foreheads are only lines of worry

Just a day of cheer
And everything was okay
If only troubles would evaporate
At the playground.

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Poetry

when language like bubbling streams flow




when words are laid down to fit like lovers' hands




when you feel the essence of the poet from within




when swirling thoughts are caught in the net of rhythm



when images reel as you read




when pen and paper create a symphony




then, it is poetry

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