Poetry Stretch Results - Childhood Games

The challenge this week was to write a poem about a childhood game or pastime. Here are the results.

Jane Yolen left this poem in the comments.

Jacks

I was no Jill at Jacks,
tumbling gracelessly down a hill.
Instead I swiped the little iron-legged tokens
with a quick hand, snagged the ball,
was on to the next round with hardly a wasted motion.
Champion of my camp, of my elementary school,
I privileged jacks over real boys,
keeping my winning streak going
until my first kiss the summer I was thirteen.
The next time I played jacks
was with my own children
who could sit on the floor with an ease
I scarcely remembered.
The last time was at a conference,
with two women friends,
one of whom brought her own jacks and ball
in a velvet drawstring bag.
We sat on the hotel floor
watched over by conference attendees.
They cheered us equally.
But two of us lost.
We lost big.
Never play pool with anyone
who owns his own cue stick, Daddy had warned.
It’s true in jacks as well.

©2009 Jane Yolen, all rights reserved

Amy Ludwig Vanderwater left this poem in the comments.

Ouija Board

My hands hover over
hoping for hints.

Who will I love someday?

I close my eyes.
I hold my breath.

What will the Ouija say?

Letter-by-letter
my future is told.

Word-by-word
her secrets unfold.

For me to make true.
For me to blame.

Ouija board –

Truth?

Or game?

Amy Ludwig VanDerwater, 2009

Easter of Owl in the Library shares two poems this week.

Carol Weis left two poems in the comments.

POGO STICK

Up
down
hopping around
how many times
can I go-go?

Up
down
hopping around
zillions of times
on my pogo.

-----

ONE POTATO, TWO POTATO

One potato
two potato
three potato four
rang around our yard
on chilly
autumn days
in our northern
Jersey neighborhood.

Fists held tight
we’d huddle in a circle
ready-or-not to play
the next round of
hide and seek
all wondering
who would
be IT.

Tapping fist to
chin and other
eager fists
it turned out
only
the potato
knew
for sure.

Janet of Across the Page shares a poem entitled Boggle Dreams.

Harriet of spynotes left this poem in the comments.

Rope

Skit skat
Paddywhack
One foot, four;
Jump rope,
Turn twice,
Holler for more!

Double Dutch,
Never such,
Ever such rhyme;
One foot,
Two foot,
Four feet time.

Hold hands,
Back to back,
Shake it sweet;
Whip round,
Skip down,
Don’t miss a beat!

Turning,
Turning
The rope goes round --
Faster,
Faster, that
Whirring sound

Touch down
Turn around
Back against the wall
Oh, no!
Caught a toe
Trip then fall

Jump rope stall.

Get up
Dust off
That’s how you learn
Once more
Jump back
One more turn

Turn once
Turn twice
Count each leap
Skip day
Skip night
Skip in your sleep

Skit skat
Paddywhack
One foot, three
Inside a
Jump rope’s
The place for me.

Jone of Deo Writer shares a rictameter about hopscotch.

I wrote several poems, one about playing in the dirt and mud, another about climbing trees, and this one.

That old rope wore my hands bare
but I couldn’t stay away

It traveled high over the corn field
and came back to the edge of the road

Swinging was as good as flying

As I got older, I swung upside down
rope twined around my legs—over, under, between

Swinging was my dare
my truth was freedom in the air

It's not too late if you still want to play. Leave me a note about your poem and I'll add it to the list.