My Dream Playground Innocence spent, stacked with children. Hues of amber, my dream playground. Clever get by, bullies prosper Scabby hungry weak in corners. Big get big, small get smaller. Never an upset, games decided. Don't interfere, nod with approval. Watch behind fences, stone-faced parents. Let the market regulate itself. Stone-faced parents watch behind fences, nod with approval, don't interfere. Games decided, never an upset. Small get smaller, big get big. Weak in corners, scabby, hungry. Bullies prosper, clever get by. My dream playground, hues of amber. Stacked with children, innocence spent. Plumb the Depths Unspoken feelings mingle at the bar with scuppered trysts and promises withdrawn. Forgotten, in the corner, plays guitar, Rejected holds the mic for Weather-Worn. A group of skeletons are dropping hints to worry dolls and children's marionettes. Such clumsiness will breed no fingerprints; they've heard it all before and placed their bets. Our dwellers and a few itinerants anticipate the day you plumb the depths.
Lawrence Moore has been writing poems – some silly, some serious – since childhood. He lives in Portsmouth, England with his husband Matt and nine mostly well behaved cats. He has poetry published at, among others, Dreich, Pink Plastic House, Fevers of the Mind, Quince Magazine and Green Ink Poetry. @LawrenceMooreUK