Just Child's Play
Towards the end of a bright sunny day;
Children enjoying life; occur what may;
Clouds began to form and drift our way;
As we rested on grassy bank from play;
Spotting shapes the clouds would form;
Naming them; hoping for no dire storm;
First coming slowly and then very fast;
One comes on scene; then a whole cast;
There's a bear; a horse; and a big mouse;
Then came orders from Granny's house;
You children be very mindful of the rain;
If it starts come in; when over out again;
Uncle added, alright now you young folks;
Don't you all be telling those filthy jokes;
We could not understand what he meant;
So back to enjoying what the winds sent;
Pleased just to be children without a care;
None of the worlds difficult loads to bare;
Owning every spectacular feature of a day;
That is what we all used to call child's play!
poem by Joseph Blitch
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Related quotes
White mist
The White Clouds
Morphing wonderfully
Changing into Elephants
Then...
Rearranging into children
Playing with balloons.
White clouds
Shaped into swaying cradle
Pushed by the winds
With its toil
There is no sadness
Clouds
Strolling since eternity
When there was nothing
They were here
If they could
Telling us
Strange fables
Grand olden cities
Worlds of acient souls
Wars and battles
Won and lost.
White Floating fluid
Dispearcing the suns light
Covering a landscape
With cool mist
Grey and silver shapes
Giving way to storms sulking
Off in a near horizion
Finding joy and gladness
From their soft shapes
Without any sharp cutting corners
Will I never forget
They lay pendent
Between our two worlds
poem by Howard Johnson
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Seashore
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead
and the restless water is boisterous.
On the seashore of endless worlds
the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand
and they play with empty shells.
With withered leaves they weave their boats
and smilingly float them on the vast deep.
Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets.
Pearl fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships,
while children gather pebbles and scatter them again.
They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter
and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children,
even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle.
The sea plays with children,
and pale gleams the smile of the sea beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
Tempest roams in the pathless sky,
ships get wrecked in the trackless water,
death is abroad and children play.
On the seashore of endless worlds is the
great meeting of children.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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On the Seashore
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.
The infinite sky is motionless overhead and the restless water is boisterous. On the seashore of endless worlds the children meet with shouts and dances.
They build their houses with sand, and they play with empty shells. With withered leaves they weave their boats and smilingly float them on the vast deep. Children have their play on the seashore of worlds.
They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again. They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.
The sea surges up with laughter, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach. Death-dealing waves sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby's cradle. The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.
On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships are wrecked in the trackless water, death is abroad and children play. On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Clouds
I watched the clouds up in the sky,
As they drifted silently in the air,
So relaxing and peaceful in that moment am I
That I sat back and relaxed in my chair,
I watch the clouds as they passed me by
With one joyous form after another,
Bringing joy and wonders to this mans eye
If only for myself, and to no other,
The wind it gently gives the clouds a nudge
So they might continue upon their flight,
Unto another persons eyes so they can judge
The shapes and form brought to their sight,
I now see castles of white in the sky above
Followed by a cloud that resembles a tower,
Then I see the face of a long lost love
I am saddened, as now I see a flower,
The clouds I watch they again take form
As now they begin to resemble animals in a zoo,
I now see elephants and giraffes as they transform
And now these clouds becomes a whale and a kangaroo,
The clouds they change mystically in front of me
As though they are trying to play a game,
They show me how my mind and thoughts are free
As they become pictures inside a picture frame,
But now I look and all the clouds they have gone
Their parade is over for this day
As though GOD has erased what he had drawn
As now comes the rain to wash them all away.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Poem: 'Playtime Slayer
- 6. May.2006 -
Unsuspecting children play, nothing seems amiss
They are jumping, they are running, they’re just ‘being kids’
Unsuspecting children play, unnoticing this little girl
She is crying, she is dying, carrying the weight of the world
Unsuspecting children play, laughing to themselves
They are so unknowing of this little girls living hell
Unsuspecting children play, having so much fun
This girl is used to being bullied, but she’s not the only one
Unsuspecting children play, unknowing of this pain
They don’t even see this girl… they don’t let her join their game
Unsuspecting children play, as a young girls life falls apart
They don’t even suspect; this little girl ‘self-harms’
poem by Rachel Ann Clark
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Dublin
The children play in the streets, they say
The children play in the streets
While the ships dock fast in Dublin Bay,
The children play in the streets.
Och aye, the blarney blunderbuss,
He's corked, and who's to blame?
'Tain't that his wee son with a pint,
Too soon to walk the same?
Across Ha'penny Bridge his Molly
Bends to scratch for coal,
And one last fire to celebrate:
Today she quits the dole.
But what of Barry? What of Shane?
Who'll give the tykes their bread,
With Pap in one dyke stone-cold drunk,
In the other Mam stone-cold dead?
The children play in the streets, they say
The children play in the streets
While the ships dock fast in Dublin Bay,
The children play in the streets.
Clouds
Stop looking.
Lay back.
Can you see?
Shapes in clouds follow me.
Horse running free.
Camel walking desert dunes.
Ship sailing blue sky.
Stop looking.
Lay back.
Can you see?
Shapes in clouds follow me.
Winged dragon take flight.
Rabbit passes.
Tulip, petals falling.
Imagination growing.
Daydreams flowing.
Finger outlines shape.
One eye closed, now concentrate.
Stop looking.
Lay back.
Can you see?
Shapes in clouds follow me.
Collide, take form.
Breezes blow, rearranging.
Never knowing what materializes next.
Stop looking.
Lay back.
Can you see.
Shapes in clouds follow me.
poem by Gary Kedron
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We're All God's Children
Album: Peace In The Valley
Here comes a Baptist, here comes a Jew
There goes a Mormon and a Muslim too
I see a Buddist and a Hindu
I see a Catholic and I see you
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
You like the day, and I like the night
He's into country and he's isn't quit
There's folks on the left and the far right
But that doesn't mean that we have to fight
We're all god's children
All god's children
Yeah, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
White folks, yellow folks, black and tan
On the same planet in the same plan
A feminist woman and a he man
We're all playin' the magic hand
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Oh, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
All god's children
Yeah, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
All god's children
We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Yeah, We're all god's children
Why can't we be
One big happy family
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all black and white
We're all precious in his sight
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
We're all god's children
Why can't we all be
One big happy family...
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stupid
It's what the kids nowadays call weed. And it drifts
like clouds from his lips. He hopes no one
comes along tonight, or calls to ask for help.
Help is what he's most short on tonight.
A storm thrashes outside. Heavy seas
with gale winds from the west. The table he sits at
is, say, two cubits long and one wide.
The darkness in the room teems with insight.
Could be he'll write an adventure novel. Or else
a children's story. A play for two female characters,
one of whom is blind. Cutthroat should be coming
into the river. One thing he'll do is learn
to tie his own flies. Maybe he should give
more money to each of his surviving
family members. The ones who already expect a little
something in the mail first of each month.
Every time they write they tell him
they're coming up short. He counts heads on his fingers
and finds they're all survivng. So what
if he'd rather be remembered in the dreams of strangers?
He raises his eyes to the skylights where rain
hammers on. After a while --
who knows how long? -- his eyes ask
that they be closed. And he closes them.
But the rain keeps hammering. Is this a cloudburst?
Should he do something? Secure the house
in some way? Uncle Bo stayed married to Aunt Ruby for 47 years. Then hanged himself.
He opens his eyes again. Nothing adds up.
It all adds up. How long will this storm go on?
Anonymous submission.
poem by Raymond Clevie Carver
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Cry Clouds Cry (Haiti Tribute)
Cry clouds cry
tears from the heaven
showers the land as many die
so cry clouds cry
Bodies piled up in count
as many died
earth trembled beneath feet
as the heavens abide
so cry clouds cry
Children left with no hope
families broken apart
left a void in our heart
as masses quake and buildings
shake as relationships break
so cry clouds cry
Black rain fall from the sky
as to many die
all cause of so much lies
so cry clouds cry
It hurts to know you care
and for that we always hold you near
thousand left this world but we still bear
as the voice of the nation we began to hear
so cry clouds cry
Let your voice be heard
though it was observed
it brought our nation together
and that was well deserved
so cry clouds cry
poem by Robert Roberts
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The Oddball In The Window
The boy sat at the window
Looking out at the other boys
Laughing and playing their games
Enjoying their childhood days
The boy hopes that they will cherish
Those blissful moments of youth
That have been stolen from him
Moments gone forever from his childhood days
He’s not crippled in body or mind
He’s not allowed outside to play
Those boys point and stare at the boy
They call the oddball in the window
His parents have imprisoned him
To wrap him up in cotton love
He is just to much a gift from god
He is their only precious child
The parents say it’s for his own good
He’s such a delicate child
He just sits at the window
Jealous of the children running free
He will never laugh with other children
He will never join in their games
He never smiles in photographs
He’s not enjoying his childhood days
He’s grown up now; still sitting at the window
His parents can’t get him to venture outside
Everyone passing takes time to point and stare
At the man they call
The oddball in the window
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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Squatter's Children
On the unbreathing sides of hills
they play, a specklike girl and boy,
alone, but near a specklike house.
The Sun's suspended eye
blinks casually, and then they wade
gigantic waves of light and shade.
A dancing yellow spot, a pup,
attends them. Clouds are piling up;
a storm piles up behind the house.
The children play at digging holes.
The ground is hard; they try to use
one of their father's tools,
a mattock with a broken haft
the two of them can scarcely lift.
It drops and clangs. Their laughter spreads
effulgence in the thunderheads,
Weak flashes of inquiry
direct as is the puppy's bark.
But to their little, soluble,
unwarrantable ark,
apparently the rain's reply
consists of echolalia,
and Mother's voice, ugly as sin,
keeps calling to them to come in.
Children, the threshold of the storm
has slid beneath your muddy shoes;
wet and beguiled, you stand among
the mansions you may choose
out of a bigger house than yours,
whose lawfulness endures.
It's soggy documents retain
your rights in rooms of falling rain.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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The Children Trees
I’ve walked past the park’s restaurant time after time,
and by those tempting trees the children like to climb.
With their low sprawling branches no child could resist,
and sunbeams that cut the dark, its a place of little risk.
But there is more to this place than first meets the eyes,
and when you look closer, the scene is telling lies.
I’m still not quite sure if it’s the light playing tricks on me,
but if I mention it to anyone, they’d question my sanity.
The tree’s entwining leafless arms move in a mysterious way
their twigs of fingers beckon the children to come and play.
I swear I saw a branch move slowly around a child’s waist,
but when it saw me looking, it withdrew its arm in haste.
This chilling, mysterious place worries me and horrifies,
and gives me that nightmare feeling when somebody dies.
But why should I worry? Parents are near in the light of day,
what possible harm could trees do, to our children at play?
poem by Orlando Belo
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Future of the Country
Tears in the eyes,
Fear on the face,
I often see children working,
Roads being there workplace.
Unwillingly doing work,
By the fear of being scolded
Or beaten by their employers
I see children working for bread.
Messy hair, torn clothes,
Children walking bare feet
And working really hard
Not caring about the rain or heat.
Children doing all sorts of jobs
Including selling and begging.
I have also seen children
Cleaning cars for an earning.
I feel sorry for them.
I feel it is very unfair,
That people make children work
When they should take their care.
Children are delicate,
We must care for them.
For every child in the world
Is as precious as a gem.
At least thinking about the country,
We must stop child labour.
We must stop burdening the children
As they are the country's future.
poem by Sneha Khedkar
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Children?
Children are the easily led,
Their learning is profound,
Their lift is happy and proud,
Why do parents forgive them?
We produce the fellow children
To lift and uplift each of us
When there happens a life.
Children need growth to boast,
To live and outlive, to death is their journey
After a life of straightforward happiness and bliss.
Felt good? Why children? Because, say Children,
We live among others who are like the mothers
In the land we call Children.
Child after child shall learn of the existing ones
That need admirals and generals of late.
The defence of a child is the greatest concern,
And I laugh at one who destroys life,
Ever in turmoil is a child because of this act.
Children will be enough to be today.
Children can upset no one who is old and ancient,
Selfless students are children.
However much you push and pull at the threads that children weave
And sort, and spread, and sew,
The adult will sew better and more often than a child.
That is the secret, children.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Million Miles Away
Blossom fills the trees with colour,
birds sing in the treetop high,
the sun bathes the world with warmth
and brightens up the sky.
Children run about,
enjoying the summer sun,
their parents look on,
remembering when they were young.
For a while the world is content,
to enjoy another beautiful new day.
Thoughts of raining storm clouds
seem a million miles away.
poem by David Harris
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Happy Winter
The clouds sift the flour over the plain,
children play with it,
they knead some snowmen.
People look wonderfully at these snowmen
that are so cold and live for only three months.
Children are very happy with them
for only three months.
When the wind is blowing
and it is very cold,
only the snowmen are playing with each other,
talking to each other, thinking about children
and waiting for children.
Nobody knows that
the snowmen are looking for
our happiness
and they need hearts
as them to understand
how short it is happiness.
Children know that happiness
has been for only three months
while snowmen stayed with them.
poem by Valentin Gabriel Cristea
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A House Of Joy!
A house full of just played toys, ,
Just fed bowls, just torn papers,
Newly added drawing to the walls,
What a pleasure to the eyes and souls,
The kids are there in that house,
Growing as inquisitive as they have to be,
Let them play in their own house,
Don't control them in the name of rules,
Young mothers, don't toil too hard to please,
All the notorious oldies of the world,
Teach your children the morals and to be bold,
Enjoy your life with your children and husband,
Unkempt house is not an eyesore,
When the kids are growing to be old,
Unkempt heatt is a real curse,
When the old and young comfortable with.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Why Do Children Want To Grow
Why do Children
of now adays
Want to grow so fast
to look grown up
to think grown up
But still be a child at heart
I would live my childhood
OVER again just to be a child
to have pure heart
Pure minds, pure dreams
Instead of a childhood of distain
To play without a care
And see the magic of Mother Nature
And use imagination
To dance on rainbows
And white fluffy clouds
To play hide and seek
In the candy land of our dreams
To ride on unicorns
And sprinkle fair dust
To take a flight in
A midsummer dream
Why would children of today
Pass all this by
Just to be grown up
In a world like ours
Why lose the innocence
Of childhood sweet dreams
Just to rush into
The uncertainty of life
Why bypass your childhood
Just to be an adult of today
only to yearn the loss
of you childhood of yesterday
poem by Kaila George
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Play Children Play
I came home late one night,
In my door stood my daughter-in-law,
Park your car, I have something to tell you,
As I entered the door, she said, "Mother left today."
Play children play, your mother left today.
There is no where for a writer to start,
When his wife leaves and breaks her children's heart,
When she walked out, she never said good by,
No one has ever known why.
Play children play, today your Mother went away.
Many things we planned to do that day,
For no reason she just walked away,
Twenty years has past and gone,
Some how we took care of our home,
You children have married, but still alone.
Play children play, for the day your Mother went away.
poem by Kenneth McKinley Davis
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