Toys!!

TOYS and Nostalgia...

Did you have a favorite toy as a child?
a toy that you can remember playing with in that amazing land of the childhood imagination...
G.I. Joe, Stretch Armstrong, PAC-Man, space invaders, Lego, transformers, Barbie?


Tell me about it, whatever it was
be descriptive and try and take the reader to that place where you played

any style poetry or prose ONE, NEW ENTRY EACH


ALL WELCOME TO ENTER



include the name of the toy!!!!

Toys? Nah, Beatings.

i had a daddy
who had a temper
and when I was around
he found a reason
to teach me martial arts
except
it wasn't
it was ass whoopings
without instruction
it didn't matter what was around
a belt, slippers, extension cords
remote controls, chopsticks
which were the worst because
he would hit my knuckles
so
sorry I didn't have toys
he would have beaten
my ass
with
Transformers and Barbies
if he could
You know how embarrassing that would be
to be beaten with
a Barbie.
Toys?
Nah, beatings.

Thank you, bofantastic
for starting us off

FARM BOY TOY

I was raised a poor farm boy
Couldn’t afford no store bought toys

But Ma made good with what little we had
She warmed up her Singer and made me something grand

She stiches me up a new pair of overalls
In the front pockets she cut out two holes

So I had something I could use
And something I could play with too

Since I’ve come to the realization
The best toys are for…………….?

I’m sorry, I apologize, but I believe in that within every poet, there is a naughty thirteen year old struggling to get out.  Sometimes I just can’t help myself.

Oto-Mashine

Mama says go outside and play.
Dada is no deferent.
My parents had my buttocks whipped.
The best toys they could offer me was the sand and mud in the compound.

The kids in the movies I watched intimidated me with the fun the had with thier toys, that ignited my creative mind.
Alongside my street kids we turned into thugs, ranging from stealing raw materials for making our toys to scavenging the refuse bin.
We innovated loads of toys for ourselfs.
Some of 'em are;
Automobiles,
Super man,
'Baram' (a round toy)
Football players made from bottle corks, the list is endless.
The fun was real, the kids in the movies would have wished for our toys even more.

I'll drive you through the memory lane of one of my favourite toy as kid.
It was the constructed 'Oto-Mashin'(cars) we made as kids.
The materials were;
Barb wires- we stole 'em from our neighbours fences. We used our bare hands to cut them, we folded 'em back and forth till the broke.
Second was the copper wires- We scavenged 'em from the 'bolas' (refuse dumps)
Third was the tires- we had 'em made from flip flops by placing small opened empty tins on fire. When they get very hot, we press them against the flip flops to obtain our circular tires.

We constructred various 'Oto-Mashines'. We broke the barb wires to form the car parts and we bound them with copper wires.
The steerings were made as long as from the car on the ground to were our hands could grip them.

We pushed them and they moved like true cars. We had other accessories attached to them, like; touch bulbs used as head lights, radio fans used as car engines
We drove around the streets, sometimes we were as stubborn as driving beside the highways.

I swear automobile companies could have employed me at age ten if they came across me then.
I wish I was a kid again for just a day to reminiscense such surreal of fun.

My little bear.

Oh I remember it well
you shall never pry this
from my hands
for I have not a friend
just this voice following
ill play
with you all day
little pooh
you come from the tv
to be with me
seemingly

I have family
I love them so
but I don't always like them
you know?
of course you do
little pooh
for you, physical
and then the voice in my mind
I have made you mine
one day
along about thirteen
I shall leave you
you'll bring me shame
but you always reserve a place
in the toy hall of fame
for playing game after game
and you'd never change
always staying just the same
to remind me
and never confine me
to being what you want or need
and the face I could take out this anger
and you wouldn't bleed

your fabric absorbed secrets
and the first blood of a knife
your fake, but a memory for life
I write this for you
toy winne the pooh
you never could care
but you were there
for a mixed up child
you were my stupid little bear.

THE HIDDEN

Once
a small boy, upon a time,
hiding in woods away
from the real, in his head,
a small
orange
bear.
Plastic blue eyes that caught light,
simple thing, arms sticking out,
well worn,
little bit of blue in the ears...

He was home, he was love,
he was the center of imagination,
a Hobbes named Jonathan...

A memory,
never outgrown,
a first friend,
lost.

A lesson,
in death,
in abandonment,
love lost
(as many are)
in a hotel room in Niagra,
bitter boy withdrawing
from the woods,
from love.

Little Missy Bear.

Let me take you back to a time when I was a child.
A time where life should be simple and imagination that's wild.
Instead mine was full of heart breaks and tear's,
I'm glad that through it all I had my missy bear.

My great aunt gave me her when I was just two years old,
A small dainty teddy with a dress of red and coat of gold.
She was the size of my arm but she was perfect to me,
And i knew my secrets she would keep in her head is where they'd be.

In mornings when i awoke,
To Screaming and yelling voices as they spoke.
When daddy kept leaving and mummy turned away,
I hugged my missy bear tight and she'd listen to what i'd say.

When bad things happen in the dark of night,
When there was No bright and shining light.
Missy bear always caught my tears in her dress,
Didn't judge my runny nose or face filled with mess.

I grew older so did she and she has caught every tear that fell,
She has been my bestest friend and has brought me back from hell.
We have been through thick and though thin,
She has never let me down no matter the trouble i've been in

I'm twenty two now and though I have teddies by the lot,
That little Teddy is still the best that I've got.
She is missing and eye and her dress her body is just hair,
But nothing on earth or far beyond could replace my Missy Bear.

The Unpretty Doll

Irony,
oh how it teaches
the partiality of
lopsided universe
the elastic tentacles of
orchestrated illusions
holding impotently
echoing secretly in death
of racial class, with caress.

The suitcase was filled
with things
useful, un-useful, purposeful
but my eyes were transfixed
on the pretty doll
in the box, staring at me
with her clear blue eyes
and porcelain skin, under
pink ruffles, pink bows
shiny white shoes
silky blonde hair cascaded
like waterfalls.

Oh, how I wanted her.

The woman saw me staring
and asked if I would like one,
I nodded holding my excitement;
in one infinite breath
my wish upon the stars
but she reached for the dark one,
with olive skin, curly hair
green plain dress and black mary jane's
she stared at me with deep brown eyes.
I pitied her,
no one wanted her.

Oh, how I hated her.

The doll with olive skin
and sad brown eyes
sat in the corner
untouched,
collecting dust
pure and pristine
while days followed nights
and nights chased cloudy skies
but the grandfather clock
remained silent
for the key was lost
to wind with the times.

The rejector of the re-creator
flashing with giant reflector
I stared out many nights
out my window
watching dying stars
some shone brighter
than others.

Now I know
their silent
screams
were
the loudest.

alas..

Congrats to Vee for first place and thank you all for your entries.
Each entry has something special in it and I've enjoyed reading them.

Vee, your piece is actually speaking on a phenomenon that child Psychologists and Sociologists studied in depth in the 70s and 80s. There is one famous study (it was in damn near all of my textbooks) where groups of black female children were asked to rate the beauty of a white doll and a dark colored doll and pick which one to play with, the children by huge majority picked the white one. Early evidence of how society was shaping ideals and self esteem. Because of these studies, many programs were designed and implemented to address these issues.

Thank you very much MIki for the honor and creating a comp where we had to go back in time and dig up some interesting memories.

You are right that science has yet to prove the mysteries of the young minds how the idealism of beauty are formed before any outside influence have taken place.  This happened to me when I was about 5yrs old but to this day I have no answer why I preferred the blonde over the dark one.  I just wish I still had the darker one, cause now I see that the essence of beauty is from inside out.

Cheers to the other writers in this comp, I much enjoyed being in your company.

Great job Vee.  Your poem was wonderful.  And I loved reading all the other entries.  Great prompt moondancer!  Do it again next year, call it the 'Toys Our Us' comp.