Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, May 21, 2012

Playground Games

The Circus With the Yellow Clown, 1967, Marc Chagall

Come over here 
and join the fun
We'll make you dance 
We'll make you run
Don't be scared 
I'm just a clown
We'll play a game
I'll hold you down
Let's all pick teams
Which do you choose?
Now don't complain
about that bruise
And don't go home
and tell your mother
unless you want
to get another
Do you think
that it's not fair
because we like
to pull your hair?
Don't start to cry
We're all just friends
We'll meet up when
the school day ends
There is no use
to make a fuss
They're playground games
Come play with us!


Brian Miller said...

these kind of playground games kinda scare me...esp when being held down and bruising are involved...

Helen said...

With the focus on bullying today .. your Magpie is timed perfectly!!

Buddah Moskowitz said...

Love how the singsong nature belies a nasty truth. Great.

hyperCRYPTICal said...

Brings back memories. I was a playground 'softy' bullied to a degree.

Decided to fight back at the ripe old age of twelve - full blown 'girl fight' after school and outside of premises.

I well and truly lost - but they never bothered me after that.

Anna :o]

Trellissimo said...

Oh, the perils of the playground...

Tumblewords: said...

Ouch - timely tale...

JustRex said...

Children can be so cruel.

Anonymous said...

a sinister note to this poem,
there is a quality to the eerie
circus music threading your writing here. fine job.

Unknown said...

The rhyme in your poem has a spinning cadence that suggests hidden agendas. Through this well chosen structure, you have developed the theme brilliantly. I think your poem should be included in primary reading materials at every school and discussed thoroughly with all students! Thank you.

Tess Kincaid said...

This brings back a few memories I'd rather forget...

Helena said...

lol....it brings back this game in my primary school called 'Pile On', where if you were unlucky enough to be on a certain section of grass when the bell rang, you were obliged to be part of a heap of bodies until the janitor came to chase us!