Best Mannequin Poems
A Fantasy
There was I, forgotten in the attic.
Mannequin discarded, ready for demolition.
Cracks everywhere with some rags thrown on
Haphazardly over me like a scarecrow.
Suddenly all lights went out, an outage.
Immediately the generators went off but failed.
In the attic, the air went into a trembling atmosphere
Thunder boomed and lightning filled the room.
An electrical power surge lit everywhere.
Suddenly I felt alive and began to walk, rags and all.
There were other mannequins, so completely ruined,
Some in good shape. But one caught my attention
As she walked towards me. The static turned into music.
May the last waltz last forever. I took her in my embrace,
The dance began, not a word was spoken just gestures.
Mentally I counted one, two. three, around the attic.
Occasionally I twirled her around on her toes,
Suddenly the lights went on and we all went back
To where we were initially, rags and all.
Some people came to inspect the attic and said:
We must get rid of these mannequins once and for all.
Decisions, decisions, and consequences of balance,
deciphering the outcomes can leave you paused like the mannequin challenge.
One brain, one mind, and influential abilities,
mathematics can be the catalyst to spiritual connectivities.
If you completely overstand this world, then you are frustrated by malice,
deciphering the outcomes can leave you paused like the mannequin challenge.
No blank page to scribe
No empty spaces to scream
Should I down on knee?
Too much to be seen
Exhibition life had shown
Privacy in threat
Fortitude concealed
Scratching behind walls of heart
Endurance break down
Love deep, better not
Sacrifice all, better not
Your life, your option
God's Mannequin
God's female mannequin stood proud and tall in the window,
Elevated with fashions beautiful and elegant.
Gazed at the scenery the trees majestic and tall,
Protected from the thunderstorms and lightening.
The night sky cleared and the clouds an apparition of darkness,
Sunlight shone brightly in the distance.
The opposite window a male mannequin clothed in a tuxedo,
Stood tall and refined and winked at the female mannequin.
Care to date princess,
She waved regally and he courted her off in his limousine.
They had a whirlwind romance,
The town silent and quiet in the evening,
The lights in the city, lanterns of warmth and friendship,
They went to city hall to be married.
Escaped their window to live happily in a cottage in the country,
Wove days and nights of happiness and mystery.
Author: Gwen von Erlach
20/8/2009
In my cupboard life
creeps
a living mannequin
The deception:
no acceptance
and tepid;
a biological kind
Gaia prevails
while I fall
into disarray
Bid thee-
make me whole
Whisperin winds
by my bed declare:
"Always pay
the price
today"
Grandeur on stiletto
Tis' the blade,
not the shoe
that offers escape
Yet,
preference falls to-
the leathery hide
Luscious lips,
a glint in the eye,
renewed bust;
the goddess Aphrodite
Scalpel and skin
A book of vanity,
Another year to hide:
"Patience my dear..."
Confused fleshly desire
Life's destiny yet realized
As Agni succumbs to frost
A shadow forlorn
A kinder memory
I resonate plush
and wantonness
Solution absolves me
from torment
As I pass upon
the fiery gorges
of acceptation
and far away gone
bigoted taboo
For three hundred days
my mannequin stirred
Something inside,
emerges through
Braving forward,
I steer the porch;
fire and lightning
at the same time
Not the boy they knew;
just me
The perfect me
I'm going home.
I slip your lies into my skin,
beauty plastic and skin deep
watched by those eyes again
tonight there will be no sleep.
And there's frost on the window,
too cold to remember if I feel
white to blue falling so low
what's it mean to be real?
There is more to this than breathing
or at least so we believe,
until hearts ripped open bleeding
show us how well you can deceive.
A murderer of this queen of hearts
still she doesn’t shout, "Off with his head!"
Murder was your greatest of arts
perfected as you watched as she bled.
So, I slip your lies into my skin
let them cut these veins who weep,
for the plastic flesh of a mannequin
whose beauty was only skin deep.
We want to instantly harvest the fruits of our aspirations
But cant stand perspiration
Planting seeds steadily that form no roots lack of dedication
Easily led to frustration
Afraid that we may stumble so we drive
Where we should walk
Our tongues sometimes to humble like unalive
When we should talk
We see the paint but unfocused the picture
Then want to critique
Thats like entering a bank wanting a loan to be delivered
But credentials weak
Skipping various portions of the alphabet
Vocabulary needing those discarded consonants
Skiing without caution then comes regrets
Like killing and leaving the evidence
Compliments on the mannequins fashion
Disregarding the behind the scenes action
I am but a marionette,
my cross is in your hands
move my strings slightly to watch
me waltz to your commands.
I am but a mannequin,
I hide behind plastic smiles
watch me close but never see
I act fine in my trials.
I am but hollow glass,
you will never again see through
I reflect all you wish to see
and not what I really do.
I am but a puppet
whose strings are in your hands today
put me through my paces
because I am a toy for your play.
I am but a porcelain doll
so of course I have no heart,
and the glass skin will not let me feel
so it matters not if I break apart.
You love skin
that cannot feel
a mannequin
she isn't real.
She ripped herself open
to find what was beneath her
maybe a heart she was hopin’
but, she is a plastic little girl
she'll never feel
her skin's plastic
she doesn't heal,
even if it’s drastic.
She cut skin away for you
maybe then love would mean something more
but you left her in the shades of blue
was she nothing but your little whore?
She is a mannequin
lost in the reflection
used for her skin
of twisted perfection.
She peeled back all the layers
to find raw red creed
to find she had no takers;
never knew she could bleed.
Don't let her forget
you don't love this mannequin
make her a regret
just wanted her for skin.
It would be great to be a mannequin,
For they never put on weight,
But for me, it's too late.
/|\
22~11~16
In a pensive pose
Steel and wood combined as one
Oaken mannequin.
In the lingerie dept. stiff as a board,
a man came up and ogled and explored,
struck another pose,
right in the nose,
man passing flat out on the floor.
11-20-16
When the
malevolent moon
drapes
black current vines
around my neck,
etching
the blood of betrayals
in my white-whirling wings ~
I cease to scream
in sanguine sighs
within
sangria songs
of spring
when
I would wear love in lilac
and you saw me
in metallic maroons...
as in this moment,
my skin
is but a sea of scars,
sewn with
indelible stars
of dandelion damsels,
who once lost
their art of weaving hearts
in your hoaxed arcs.
And
my agony remains,
a secret
behind
wordless wisps
of breathless vultures ~
feeding
on the seeds of intuition,
sown in cursed waters ~
illuminating
insatiable infernos
within my
tulip-tinted temperence...
But, I ache to be
an apocalypse...
more than the hellfire ink
that stains your
chauvinistic cobwebs ~
threading
volcanic spells
ushered in
a storm of sepals
beneath tattoo tears
of periwinkle promises,
for you are
a mere imposter,
stranded
in ivory silks
of snowflake silence ~
gnawing upon
the merciless
manifestations,
manipulated by this
mannequin of
metaphors...
Kind-hearted displays never was
part of her intrinsic, fashionable support view
Genuine concern often got the facial window dressing ...
Feelings dismissively expressed
with distant half-smiles of plastic disaffection
In sad times of other people’s tragedy,
the principal thing
was to show some synthetic sympathy
Walk into a somber room,
and with vacant, steely eyes
support the teary-cheek weak knees
Giving the smallest comfort measure of
a little false posing empathy
In someone else’s vulnerable moments of need,
her self-interest
was simply to deliver lip-service compassion usury
Talk like a mannequin ...
sealed lips don’t ever open up to share,
expressing minimal, wooden emotions over the telephone
Walk like a mannequin ...
confessing to be moved enough to care,
she only gives the slightest effort to help someone move on
Never wanting to get too involved personally,
or let the on-lookers see too deep intimately
Mannequin skin feelings,
possessing a harden body of plastic emotions
Synthetic thoughts hidden —
seen only on display,
when her exit doors of naked truth are closing
She had Velvet eyes, Satin lips
Silk skin … Seamless hips
Threaded her way into his heart
and Stitched his mind up Tight
But the Needle Point, was coming
Pricking… with all its might! …
… Posed her Textile-smile
Watched Fabric – flow
All the Lycra-while
Sticking Velcro …
and Ribbons and Bow
… he didn’t know
she was only after
Every Scrap of his Taffeta
He thought she was quite fetching
… didn’t know, she was just Window-Dressing
‘can’t hold the Cushion, when Pins, Push and Shove
a man, can’t live on just a Thimble-full of love! …
… can’t move the heart of a Mannequin
… your living doll is running around, again …
… Window Dressing …
He was an honest man
nothing up his Sleeve
but, he had a gold-band
said, ‘Honey, Marry Me…’
… and he Wrapped her in Furs
Draped her in jewels
Lots of Cashmere
… she left empty Spools
She took his Tape Measure
and Material Cut
kept Sharp Scissors
for her Designs … but
… He’d seen the Hem Ironed
and Sew and Sew
He knew the Pattern
and which Embroidery to go…
… the last Fringe turn
and which Bolt to throw …
She sat in front of a Vanity
brushing her Gossamer hair
Basting in her Veiled beauty
like no Wool was there …
… to see her Window Dressing
To see him Yard-Catching
the Collar and Cuffs …
… He’d seen enough !
He saw them thru the Window
Zipper and Buttons undone
He had to stop the Fashion Show …
… then he dropped his _ _ _
… Velvet eyes, Satin lips
Silk skin… Seamless hips
Threaded her way into his heart
And Stitched his mind up Tight
… but the Needle Point came Darning
Pricking, with all its might …
…’Cause you can’t move the heart of a Mannequin
but your living doll won’t be running around again …