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Linda Bergman-Althouse

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The Playground
by Linda Bergman-Althouse

Tuesday, July 24, 2007
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Recent poems by Linda Bergman-Althouse
•  The Day
•  Backyard Fatality . . . . . .
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{Written years ago at a difficult time on a lonely day while yearning for simple}.

Walking along and reaching for the pink Kadena sky, I pass a playground, the sky and I.

Although the winds are warm and lean, the playground is as empty and alone as me.

I wonder why.

I see a slide but no one speeding down.

A gentle breeze moves the swings ever so slightly but no one sits in them, and
there are no two-legged animals on the jungle gym.

The merry-go-round rests without turn and there are no children rolling down the soft grassy hill painting a green knee burn.

I stand as quiet as the playground. Soon there are many of me, small and red-haired, on every attraction.

Yet, I stand so far away, never approaching, but watching the blissful innocence of youth.

They are smiling, frolicking, wandering because the are full of unknowing.

This time is brief, for all those who are me soon disappear, and the stillness of the playground returns too quickly.

The pink is gone from the evening sky and darkness consumes me.

There is no playground.

© linda bergman-althouse

Linda Bergman-Althouse
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Reviewed by Jim Compton (Reader) 10/19/2007
Reviewed by Larry Lounsbury 8/22/2007
What a wonderful playground of contrast you have created here. Moments of the past that thread together to make your soul. Enjoyed
Reviewed by Phillip William Allen 7/24/2007
Great visuals throughout. Love that tree you're sitting on.

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