Adults look foolish – wordprompt

Give to me a life of laughter
Smiles, silly faces and random noises all submerged into an existence where *adults look foolish*
Lend to me days and seconds and weeks and minutes where the foolish look (as) adults traipsing through the playground of growing up in a world governed by Pan and designed by Tink. I am suffocating beneath the corruption of adult expectation, too quirky to grow old gracefully and to delicate to survive Neverland and the endless swings and roundabouts. My toes tingle when forced into heels, my hips twitch, my fingers rat a tat tat my eyes crawl across the landscape looking for adventure, but alas all I ever find is greyscale billboards declaring, “Do not play on the equipment of life, else stuffy adults look foolish” and I sigh, imagine myself a cherry pie, lay back and dream of clouds floating by.

Karen Hayward ©2018

 

This poem was inspired by a wordprompt I came across this morning by the talented Teresa Creation’s check out the prompt by clicking right here on this word….boom

Three word prompt #69 “adults look foolish”

 

Image from wordpress library 

The ocean that devours my soul.

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Be the roaring ocean that engulfs my body caressing me beneath the surface current.

Be the blazing sun that reddens my shoulders teasing out little freckles across my skin.

Be the tiny waves lapping at my feet as I skip through them to entirely different beat.

Be the sand that tickles my toes causing me to giggle as I walk along the shore.

Be the blush in my cheeks, be the passion I see, be the solitude of a dipping sun,

red skies tinged in orange and bathed in hues of purple.

Be the eyes that watch me in awe, the smile that knows of the passion that burns.

Be the warm breeze that skips across me entangling itself into my soul.

Be the roaring wave that surges from deep inside, rising as the ocean devours my soul,

releasing as my spirit bursts through.

Be the reasons for the giggles of excitement as I search for the flames.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016

 

Blue skies behind a hue of white clouds.

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My soul feels in a constant state of chaos

and it feels like home.  With odd socks

and mismatched undies, with pony tails,

plaits and wildly, messy, hair. Shrills

of delight as the stars warm the night.

What the world see’s as plain I see as

divine beauty, a snail and his broken shell,

a lonely pebal on the beach, a petal floating on

the breeze ignite fires deep inside of me that

otherwise lay dormant. I skip through the

seconds in the day searching for new flames,

some burn on recognition of the soul and refuse

to burn out, flaming slowly day after day without aid.

Others burn in a millisecond flooding my soul

with passion that seeps into my fingers and onto

the empty page. Some days I search tirelessly

but the blue skies sit behind a hue of white

clouds and my soul feels momentarily empty.

 

Karen Hayward ©2016