dirt on the welcome mat

Tag Archives: children

Yellow metal armored things,

Drivers trained

For frequent stops.

Rumble under heavy weights of

Swollen brains

And childish talk.


Cherry red fingernails

Tap dance on a keyboard,

Callused palms

Grip a board and a saw.

Rotating wrists

Knit rows of warmth,

Muddy, curious fingers

Build sandy forts high.

Mind, body and soul,

We all work hard.

 


Cover the mind’s

Cracked concrete slab

With laughter streaks of

Sidewalk chalk.

Fill the silence

With shuffles of

Hopscotch feet,

And when you

Start to rain inside,

Let the colors

Wash away.

But clutch the

Chipped chalk nub

So you can

Create again.


The young sleeping monster

Rests his snoring head

On a cave

Nearly empty,

Except for two bloody bits

Of bone.

Nothing dares disturb the

Solitude except one other,

Larger beast.

Reaching into the

Pocket of darkness

With claws outstretched,

She holds her breath,

Snatching and substituting

With invisible instinct.

Then retreating into the night,

She clutches

Her stolen piece

Of childhood fantasy.


He didn’t just

Like candy and soda,

Cupcake wrappers

Filled his tummy too.

Ten chubby fingers

Trembled like Jell-O

As they reached

For the small

Pale hands of his pretty

Curly haired classmate

Who sat in trepidation

across the school lunch table.

But her chocolate pudding

Like the brown swirls of her hair,

Captivated his senses

And curbed his appetite

As he immersed each finger

In the sweet distraction.


Smothered by sunbathers’ towels,

Sliced by scowling men

Who push sharp blades into

Tender green tufts,

And rubbed raw

By wet children who barrel

Full force into 

Slip-n-slides,

Summer lawns babysit the world.

Enduring each painful piggyback ride,

They wait for winter

When they can sit all day

In solitude,

Soaking up the sun,

Cooled by the breeze,

Getting a nice, even tan.


Her latest,

Fondest wish

Has fallen into

Life’s chubby,

Childish fingers that

Jerk

On dangling dreams

Like sparkling earrings,

Grab

Hope’s soft, furry tail

When it bounces past, and

Pound

The most solid, inborn desires

Until a pair of larger hands

Bring silence

And peace.


Seven sleepers

Wrapped in fuzzy

Bright blanket cocoons

Are attached

By nature’s law of rest

To mossy green carpet

On their classroom floor.

They wriggle and shift

In their slumber sacs,

Some breathing heavily

As they struggle

In dreams

To break free.


Like unfolded clothes,

Her crumpled phrases

Raise the question-

Clean or dirty?

Selfishness and apathy

Often parade as innocence

And naiveté,

But timeout usually seems to be

A two year old’s unraveling.

 


Secret treasure he sealed
In a small sandwich bag
And hid in the depths
Of his first grade desk.

He didn’t dig up his goods,
But he did take a risk,
They were stolen,
At least in a sense.

His fellow buccaneer
Was none other than
A fair-headed lass
In the desk before his.

Their common enemy
Paced the classroom deck
With a red pen for a hook
And tally sheets for a plank.

These daring young pirates 
Had sworn to keep 
The desk’s sacred contents
A secret for life.

They might have sailed the high seas
With their cunning and skill
Had their dreaded foe
Not shrieked at her discovery.

From boogers to bloody band aids,
The teacher had seen it all,
But the plastic bag’s contents
Unleashed an unmistakable “Arrgh!”

“Jameson! You CUT her hair?”
The two scalawags bravely smiled,
Knowing all too well
They’d have to walk the plank.