Poetry

AFP photo

By

Lianne Kamp

Trapped On The Playground

In the fall of the fourth grade I was cornered

on the playground – shoved against a brick wall,

her hands slapping me in rapid succession while

the words ugly and stupid spit from her mouth

and flew into my face

her groupies laughed from the sidelines

for no other reason than I was an easy,

awkward target and she was queen of the

playground – and I was destined to turn up

day after day

Now, in this September fall decades later,

I am cornered once again between playground

bullies – this time I am not alone, but one

in a crowd of faceless millions backed

against the wall

while they spit out insults and threats from

different ends of the courtyard, daring and

double-daring – a global pissing contest with

ballistic consequences –  we are destined

day after day

to wonder where we will find shelter

when their madness finally rains down

on all our heads and the heads

of all our children and

all their unborn dreams

Lianne Kamp

I came to Boston many years ago to write poetry.  Although I never abandoned poetry altogether, life had different plans for me. I have rediscovered the importance of writing and over the last year have been published in a number of Prolific Press journals. Mainly, I write poetry to make my world more panoramic by watching it more closely.