20 Lines A Day

A Community of Writers and Photographers

Role Play Plays a Role?

Mass murder? I don’t understand.

I don’t suppose I am alone.

But –

Role play enables learning in many situations.

Why not through computer games and television?

Can children really differentiate between the death they cause with a button and real killings?

Have we hardened their hearts and anaesthetised their minds through role play?

Where do the lost things go?

I have a lot of pens

and pads and books

and other things that I love

but sometimes I can’t find the one I want.

I seems to

disappear –

Just poof!

It’s suddenly not there.

I wonder whether it is the lost things go?

Does someone take them

all away

and hide them?

Under the bed,

in the garden,

down the back of a chair,

under a pillow,

in the bottom of a drawer that hasn’t been opened forever?

Who knows why

and who knows where it is the lost things go?

Or do they take themselves away?

Grow legs?

Run off on their own to play?

Are they all together, dancing in some wood?

Having a party,

singing and dancing?

Doing things they couldn’t do at home?

Eating and drinking and playing a game

with no one there to see what they’re doing?

I wish they would come back.

I wonder where it is the lost things go.

Sarah’s Challenge


Writing without being present to give

life to the words and sounds to the senses,

a child writing forever, through a sieve

of adulthood. Writing, no defences,

no beginning, no end. Explanation?

Should writer need ask for reason – enough

to say driven by some aberration

of gene, Muse or some other mystic stuff.

Not author not playwright not a poet

no description encompasses this drive

to express the very nature of it –

Better part of me writing to survive

than all those thoughts be stuck inside my head

and I be sad, unfulfilled till I’m dead.



As darkness falls

One is six, the other three years old.

It’s been a busy day and they are tired,

but not tired enough to give in.

Now, there is a feeling of renewed energy

as they realise it’s growing dark.

There is a moon

and a few stars have appeared.

Christmas lights are beginning to twinkle.

It is not Christmas yet.

Not for weeks.

It’s only the garden centre

in advertising mode

dressing itself up

showing off its new seasonal wares.

The two boys

don’t care.

For them,


in the dark,

watching the lights,

Christmas has begun.


I called you this morning….

I called, but there was no one home. Left a message after the tone.

I waited for what seemed like hours then called again to your empty house,

repeated the message and called again. No one answered. Where was my friend?

I tried to eat, I tried to sleep and from the phone there was no peep.

They sit with me, but don’t understand; it’s not enough to hold my hand.

It’s not enough without you here. It’s not enough to shed a tear.

Tears are cheap and I have none for without you my life is done.

I’ve become an insomniac just waiting for you to come back.

It’s not your fault – I know you can’t, no matter how many times I chant,

no matter how many times I lift the phone and leave the message after the tone.

I do it now just to hear your voice. I do it now because I have no choice.




baby thinkingWhat are you doing with that little square thing?

I saw you put my face in there before.

Why does it flash so – what are you doing?

You’re beginning to make my eyes quite sore.

What is that wool thing and can I eat it?

No, don’t wrap me up. I can’t feel my toes.

With too many clothes I’m overheated.

I won’t need a coat like that till it snows.

I’m beginning to dream of when I’m big

and I will be able to speak my mind

and tell you the foods that make me feel sick

and all of the stuff I’ve got on my mind.

But all I can do right now is to dream

And when you get it right, give you a beam.



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