Best Dolls Poems
There is a tiny box of dolls
On the shelf by my bed
Each doll is for one worry that
May swirl inside my head
The box was given to me by
A friend, whom I adore
It started me to wondering
Just what is Worry for?
Does it serve any function as
I purpose through each day?
Will it relieve my deepest pain
Or guide me on my way?
Can it lesson my misery
Would it minimize strife?
And, will it add one single hour
To the end of my life?
The answer to my question is
Of course, "NO", it cannot!
So, Worry has no place in me
No victory it's wrought
The dolls-- I'll keep them anyhow
And use them differently
I'm sure my good friend wouldn't mind
A new idea, you see:
I'll pluck each miniature doll
From its box every night
And thank the Lord for giving me
A more eternal sight
Yes, with each petite figure I
Shall count one blessing too
And pray before I sleep that He'll
Make anxious hearts like new!
Suicide Dolls
Tiss a maddening state of affairs
Why my lovers don’t gas themselves to death
Have they not the decency to assist my endeavors?
Is my future to be written in stone of no importance to them?
The public would breath and eat the words
Of all my little suicide dolls
If only, if only they would find the ovens
Yeast you have failed me in these dire moments
Let me rise above it all
With poetic verse
Sing to all my tragedies
My death and re-birth
In the gas chambers of poetic verse
Little sweet Lucy..four years..so small.
Her pink teddy bear.. and her Barbie doll.
Pushed strollers of fun. ..in traipse of malls.
Then a Topsy turvy evil.. stifles her a thrall.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Crawls a cruel connive...arrives a sudden sinister.
Wrangles her hard destiny. .lurks a doomed disaster.
Poor Child, ...Leukemia is now her master.
She collapses into the arms.. of a malevolent monster.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Wasn't Blood red. .that flowed in our veins?
Her's was a translucent black. ..
only strains..and those pains.
With her curly hair shaved. .the ugly doll sustains.
Syringe of thorns prick. .a rose.. to sick bed detains.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Crummy " Chemo" of the 'Crab '. .
creeps on the little dummy.
There's yucky throw of food...
from her aching tummy.
Fear stricken Dad.. and a tear streaked Mummy. .
Her outstretched arms.. say..
"I know you both love me"
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
The helpless girl.. gets weaker and thinner.
She longs for the table...sit together for dinner.
Forlorn she quirks.. in the MRI shiver.
Fighting with Cancer. .her spleen and liver.
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
Painkillers help ..seeing windows and walls.
Doctors are elves... and Fairy nurses call.
To live without dying. .she daily sprawls. ..
She cries, " Where are my dolls? "
A desolate girl..she dreams. .playing with dolls.
PLACED THIRD IN SCREWED POETRY CONTEST by Rob Carnack
7th October 2018
A Poem of Reaction Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Julia Ward.
In life,the world lay in
uncertainty with vague
knowledge of the future.
There are rare guiding
angels in our midst who
are sent to illuminate our
dark paths with love and
happiness.
Leonora Galinta,I wish u
can fly to me so that I
can hold you in my
arms...together we recite
the sweet melodies of the
singing dolls we have
met.
Poet destroyer sings like
muse from the golden
land,Skat's humor and
docile look melts the
depressed heart,Dr
Mentha is as stable as
everest,Andrea a rare
gem,deschler one of a
kind,Adams a soothing
balm to the wounded
soul,Bob a man of
honor,Shadow a lovable
one,Jay loveless a friend
that flows like a sparkling
spring,Gopela a warmth
to cold mind,and host of
other dolls.
Sing,sing,sing
ye singing dolls,your
songs are songs of
wisdom freedom and
inspiration, an elixir.
In my dreams I hear
melodies of your songs
echoing poem is life.
If am to live again,may
I dwell in the world of
poetry.
A special tribute to my
unique friends who have
touched my heart and all
the wonderful soupers.
Across the blue sky in golden warmness,
birds fly in a 'V' shape in total grace.
The sunshine bathed in softhearted kindness,
caressing a child's delicate blush face.
Birds fly in a 'V' shape in total grace.
She sits entertaining in her small world.
Caressing a child's delicate blush face
on a table set for tea; time unfurled.
She sits entertaining in her small world
by the vibrant bed of blooming flowers
on a table set for tea; time unfurled.
She pretends she is with her friends for hours.
By the vibrant bed of blooming flowers,
she says to her dolls, "Hello, Brie and Dee,"
she pretends she is with her friends for hours,
"I'm so glad you dropped in for cake and tea."
She says to her dolls, "Hello, Brie and Dee,"
a perfect day against blushing blossoms,
"I'm so glad you dropped in for cake and tea,"
as butterflies flitted among the mums.
A perfect day against blushing blossoms,
the sunshine bathed in softhearted kindness,
as butterflies flitted among the mums
across the blue sky in golden warmness.
1/15/2019
Paper Dolls
She
likes
to cut
paper
dolls
in
strips
of stark
white and
fashions
them with
one part
lost:
the arms
or legs
which calms
her down
so she can sleep
in piece.
Paper dolls, with real lifes, real hearts....
Where did they go wrong
When did they get lost??!
Standing on the corner, their worlds passing by
Strangers everywhere, while trying to forget
Always running; their empty eyes....
Memories, of when they were young
All they have, is what once was ~
Paper dolls, with dreams fading inside; fading inside
Hollowed; hollowed mornings and darker nights!?
Awakening to these walls, I see them all
Standing there smiling but dying; dying
Where did they go wrong
When did they get lost??!
These dolls turned to paper; the substance of their lives....
I gaze, with this fire burning deep inside
How could this be I wonder
These precious, these precious eyes; deep inside
This world, this place; where did we go wrong
When did we get lost??!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
....“Paper Dolls” ~
Broken Dolls
Broken dolls within crumbling walls
Winds through ghettos whimper with decaying echoes
A little girl mourns…
"Mommy! Mommy! Can I have a baby dolly?"
"My precious one. Money, we have none."
A little girl mourns…
Her cries are heard by the mimicking mockingbird
Scattering sorrows throughout the morrows
A little girl mourns…
"Search the skies my little one, until the day is done,
for in the clouds you will see a new baby dolly."
A little girl mourns…
Her tears eventually dry after searching the mourning sky
Holding her mother's hands, she finally understands.
A little girl mourns…
"Mommy, I don’t need a dolly any more."
"Why is that my little Angel?"
"I would like to help my friend who has no mommy,
little food and sleeps on the floor.
...and Mommy, her name is Rachel."
Two little girls…
Music by Paloma Faith - 'Broken Doll'
Sept.28.2018
A Poem of Reaction Poetry
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
N/A for contest
Your dolls grin in my summer
melted silver plastic sin
and I heard a crow caw
all for my belated needs
I never intended life
finding my self six feet deep
My pall bearer lover-needs
me and my simple sweet soul!
All for you I oiled
your soul machine
and I am cosmic
mechanic heart
I have the skills
to fix your devour-mouth
My pall bearer sees crow caw
and I'm still six feet under
Under your high heel-career
and Versace style psychotic needs
And who (you) bury my bleedings
I keep your longest kiss under
-- neath my broken bone cap knees
and nothing hurts like my mouth.
: 07-16-2014 ::
Little sisters
enthralled
in a world
of fairy tale
making sense
of the universe
role playing
in
teeny
high heels
and glam clothes
in a big pink castle
One learns to run the show
and grows up to be a director
while the other stays
caught up in the fantasy
of her Barbie and Ken reality
AP: 2nd place 2020
Posted on March 2, 2019
My little doll's smile
is fading away
a small crack in its beauty
a forming decay
My little doll's paint
is starting to strip
each colorful strand
departing
they'll be missed
My little doll's clothes
are tattered and torn
worn from living
and worn from the scorn
My little doll is leaving
a truth I rarely face
My little doll is leaving
her truth behind
erased
If I could change the world
I would not change it at all
for change has killed my dolly
for change has stained my heart
cartoon dolls
devour my time
laughing at my angst
soothing away troubles
I have not come to terms with
Luckily with my art and poetry I no longer have to face them fully
There is an echoing whispering amongst the trees,
A deadly chanting’s whistling, of disembodied voices
Calling upon the living to beware, for you are entering
A no man’s zone, turn from here humanity,
Dare not enter look away in fear, for
Beyond this point of no return, lies the
Of the Island of the dolls.
Beneath the waters rippling edge deaths drowned
Children reach for them, these dangling dollies of dread,
With hallowed out hearts of evil intentions, enticing these
Fallen angels of innocence, and laughing at their anguishing
Screams muffled by their watery graves.
Cold eyes shine above, hanging amongst the trees,
Soulless spirits dancing on the evening breeze,
Calling unto the muted hushed.
Come play with us, they so tease, but the children
Are locked beneath this black lake placid of deaths
Nightmares, unable to grasp freedoms spiritual release,
As these plastic, porcelain jackals laugh down wards at them.
In the sizzling heat of the jungle thick, vaporous phantoms
Walk alongside the murky shore, tickling at the feet
Of the dollies, tormenting the tormentors, begging them
To seize, but are they not a child's toy, just that and nothing
More, a haunting reference to say the least, nay they
Shall not stop at their child’s play!
A suspended mobile of dirty cupie dolls,
Hangs on the limbs above the cradle of humanity,
In this island playpen for the spiritually deceased,
What a harsh lullabies song do these spiritually
Disembodied sing, unto suffrage’s children!
Tidal currents rush against the island shore,
Splashing, crashing with agonies pain, but
In this isle of the forgotten Neverland,
These spiritual lost will obtain the livings
Fondest wish to never grow up, but remain
The banished forever under the waves,
Of the island of the dolls.
There is an echoing whispering amongst the trees,
A deadly chanting’s whistling, of disembodied voices
Calling upon the living to beware, for you are entering
A no man’s zone, turn from here humanity,
Dare not enter look away in fear, for
Beyond this point of no return, lies the
Of the Island of the dolls.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
empty cave
save for three corn husk dolls
tide takes one
4-7-13
I write upon my twisted trails of fairytales
Whereby some arcane beauty is defined
As meek blonde girls sweeping the coals
No chance to dance at balls
Hoping only for pity from some magic elf
Or a royal's fetish for tiny feet
But now she's shattering those mirrors of deceit
crossing out lies left too long on the shelf
She needs no prince to break her walls
No damsel wrote this scroll
while the black haired adventurer partakes of wine
riding on backs of disappearing whales
whose red shadows splash over purple pirate sails
by colors erupting outside gray lines
as she cuts holes in paper souls
of heartless paper dolls
Once she rescues herself from this passive pale self
she will quiver the air with her drumbeats
2/1/21
'I Write Upon' contest
Sponsor: Constance La France