A lot of Playmates look like Playmates, but I look so girl-next-door and wholesome.
quote by Karen McDougal
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As a boy, I didn't need a lot of playmates to have a good time.
quote by Bruce Boxleitner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lawyers and soldiers are the Devil's playmates.
The Yellow Frogs
On this rainy day
The yellow frogs are croaking
To find their playmates.
poem by Asif Andalib
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Their Own Traps
Sexy playmates and,
Raw to the skin!
It was like a cave and,
They plotted against me!
But they fell into their own traps and,
The glory of Yahweh prevailed.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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When I was a teenager, 'Playboy' was the most interesting magazine in the world, and not just for the playmates. I liked the interviews and the stories, and all that, but nowadays most of the stuff in there doesn't interest me.
quote by Chester Brown
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have had playmates, I have had companions; In my days of childhood, in my joyful school days - All, all are gone, the old familiar faces.
quote by Charles Lamb
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I did Playboy. There was an ad in the paper for playmates. Playboy called me and flew me to Los Angeles, and I was on the March cover of 1992.
quote by Anna Nicole Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grownup's toys
Words are my toys
I have no others
Words are my playmates
My sisters and brothers
Rhyme is my milieu
I must capture and tame
Prose is my playpen
And poetry is my game
poem by David Whalen
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Remember Me, Lord?
Remember me Lord?
I was that little child
Asking you to take care of my dogs
To send the rain to water my plants
To take care of my Mom and Dad
And even my neighbors and my playmates
Remember me again Lord?
I was that little girl
Who pleaded you
To stop the rain
I cannot play with my dogs outside
And swim in the river
To my heart's content
Ah, at last, you remember me now
I was that grown up lady
Seeking your face
Pressing on so you can see me even in the dark
You stop sending the rain
Sunshine has taken its place
poem by Meggie Gultiano
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My playmates
The wind comes whispering to me of the country green and cool--
Of redwing blackbirds chattering beside a reedy pool;
It brings me soothing fancies of the homestead on the hill,
And I hear the thrush's evening song and the robin's morning trill;
So I fall to thinking tenderly of those I used to know
Where the sassafras and snakeroot and checkerberries grow.
What has become of Ezra Marsh, who lived on Baker's hill?
And what's become of Noble Pratt, whose father kept the mill?
And what's become of Lizzie Crum and Anastasia Snell,
And of Roxie Root, who 'tended school in Boston for a spell?
They were the boys and they the girls who shared my youthful play--
They do not answer to my call! My playmates--where are they?
What has become of Levi and his little brother Joe,
Who lived next door to where we lived some forty years ago?
I'd like to see the Newton boys and Quincy Adams Brown,
And Hepsy Hall and Ella Cowles, who spelled the whole school down!
And Gracie Smith, the Cutler boys, Leander Snow, and all
Who I am sure would answer could they only hear my call!
I'd like to see Bill Warner and the Conkey boys again
And talk about the times we used to wish that we were men!
And one--I shall not name her--could I see her gentle face
And hear her girlish treble in this distant, lonely place!
The flowers and hopes of springtime--they perished long ago,
And the garden where they blossomed is white with winter snow.
O cottage neath the maples, have you seen those girls and boys
That but a little while ago made, oh! such pleasant noise?
O trees, and hills, and brooks, and lanes, and meadows, do you know
Where I shall find my little friends of forty years ago?
You see I'm old and weary, and I've traveled long and far;
I am looking for my playmates--I wonder where they are!
poem by Eugene Field
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However This Is Perceived
I am in no mood,
To prove I'm familiar with those same tired games.
I've graduated to another playground.
Consider it an upgrade.
Or...
At least a fading of immaturity.
However this is perceived,
Makes no difference to me.
Just scratch me off your list of playmates.
Take your time.
Or do that as quickly as you please.
Whether that is before or after,
You have digested from your prolonged recess.
Too long regressed...
In an outdated and overdone self repression.
Needing to be addressed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Poet's Rue
I remember as a young boy
Sitting on top Mount Parnassus
Consumed in writing I enjoyed.
Mostly poetry to express
At the time my innermost thoughts
While below my childhood playmates
Romped and played and most often fought.
And myself trying to translate
Feelings into coherent thought
And writing them down on paper.
I recollect those times that taught
Self- discipline behavior.
Yet if I lived it all again
I would be one of those children.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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By The Fireside : The Open Window
The old house by the lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravelled pathway
The light and shadow played.
I saw the nursery windows
Wide open to the air;
But the faces of the children,
They were no longer there.
The large Newfoundland house-dog
Was standing by the door;
He looked for his little playmates,
Who would return no more.
They walked not under the lindens,
They played not in the hall;
But shadow, and silence, and sadness
Were hanging over all.
The birds sang in the branches,
With sweet, familiar tone;
But the voices of the children
Will be heard in dreams alone!
And the boy that walked beside me,
He could not understand
Why closer in mine, ah! closer,
I pressed his warm, soft hand!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Trivia and Those Tripping Over It
I'm not one to trip over anything to keep it repeated.
Some trip and want it to be revisited.
As if in the doing,
A remembering of it...
Satisfies a preoccupation of a score to settle.
While basking in the glow of immaturity.
And self inflicting wounds...
Usually occurs between kids bumping into each other,
While at play.
To consciously do it to oneself is not mentally healthy.
Especially if some of those playmates have aged,
With the leaving behind of trivia and those tripping over it...
To explore a more broadened aspect of a life,
Rapidly in change mode.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Toomai of the Elephants
I will remember what I was. I am sick of rope and chain--
I will remember my old strength and all my forest-affairs.
I will not sell my back to man for a bundle of sugarcane.
I will go out to my own kind, and the wood-folk in their lairs.
I will go out until the day, until the morning break,
Out to the winds 'untainted kiss, the waters' clean caress.
I will forget my ankle-ring and snap my picket-stake.
I will revisit my lost loves, and playmates masterless!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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My Sunset
The sun slid down among the trees
and the moon shone big and mellow
as she her playful youth let go
her green eyes turning yellow.
With thunderous crack and mighty roar,
her world crashed upon the floor.
and though old playmates came to call
she couldn't raise a single paw.
Then fur balls replaced Sunset's smiles
as once bright eyes, grew old and tired
so huddling up by winter's fire
all spent and breathless she expired.
poem by Ruth Walters
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In Memory of a Child
I
The angels guide him now,
And watch his curly head,
And lead him in their games,
The little boy we led.
II
He cannot come to harm,
He knows more than we know,
His light is brighter far
Than daytime here below.
III
His path leads on and on,
Through pleasant lawns and flowers,
His brown eyes open wide
At grass more green than ours.
IV
With playmates like himself,
The shining boy will sing,
Exploring wondrous woods,
Sweet with eternal spring.
V
Yet, he is lost to us,
Far is his path of gold,
Far does the city seem,
Lonely our hearts and old.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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The Ugly Princess
My parents bow, and lead them forth,
For all the crowd to see-
Ah well! the people might not care
To cheer a dwarf like me.
They little know how I could love,
How I could plan and toil,
To swell those drudges' scanty gains,
Their mites of rye and oil.
They little know what dreams have been
My playmates, night and day;
Of equal kindness, helpful care,
A mother's perfect sway.
Now earth to earth in convent walls,
To earth in churchyard sod:
I was not good enough for man,
And so am given to God.
Bertrich in the Eifel, 1851.
poem by Charles Kingsley
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The Duty Of A Brother
Why on your sister do you look,
Octavius, with an eye of scorn,
As scarce her presence you could brook?-
Under one roof you both were born.
Why, when she gently proffers speech,
Do you ungently turn your head?
Since the same sire gave life to each;
With the same milk ye both were fed.
Such treatment to a female, though
A perfect stranger she might be,
From you would most unmanly show;
In you to her 'tis worse to see.
When any ill-bred boys offend her,
Showing their manhood by their sneers,
It is your business to defend her
'Gainst their united taunts and jeers.
And not to join the illiberal crew
In their contempt of female merit;
What's bad enough in them, from you
Is want of goodness, want of spirit.
What if your rougher out-door sports
Her less robustious spirits daunt;
And if she join not the resorts
Where you and your wild playmates haunt:
Her milder province is at home;
When your diversions have an end,
When over-toiled from play you come,
You'll find in her an in-doors friend.
Leave not your sister to another;
As long as both of you reside
In the same house, who but her brother
Should point her books, her studies guide?
If Nature, who allots our cup,
Than her has made you stronger, wiser;
It is that you, as you grow up,
Should be her champion, her adviser.
It is the law that hand intends
Which framed diversity of sex;
The man the woman still defends,
The manly boy the girl protects.
poem by Charles Lamb
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A Star's First Wish To Grant
Mixed in black and silver,
born in bright moon light,
with whispers of a new generation,
this star is shining bright,
a thousand years its taken,
to shape its bright new form,
and to be the first one seen tonight,
with a wish from it is sworn,
a child looks at this new star,
his wish is bright and keen,
he wants a little sister,
for his playmates they are lean,
and if he had a sister oh how happy he would be,
and he show her how to make a wish,
upon the newest star to be seen.
(rough draft)
poem by Barbara Norman
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