Decollating dolls is what Dexter did
He has done it since he was a young kid
Hid these doll heads in a box beside the pond
Or buried them deep into grandma’s mowed lawn.
When her dolls were beheaded, Susie was weirded out.
She knew it was her brother, Dexter, as she began her pout.
He never admitted it, laughing at these headless dolls a lot.
She was angry at him most of the time calling him brat or snot.
It was a wonderful experience.
Creating plots and storylines,
Coming up with names and voices.
Moving and dressing the dolls,
Styling their hair, creating a perfect image.
Giggling by myself as my heart filled with joy.
It’s been a few years since I’ve found joy,
I’ve grown up, my world experience took away the imagination.
I still play with dolls with my niece, but it doesn't bring me the same joy,
It’s so cold when I touch the doll, to me it’s just plastic now.
Pick out only one doll,
the one you love the most of all,
and another one for your younger sister who weighs less than to know how to choose,
My mother used to say when I was a child.
I chose and ran away, but I returned.
When I grew up, my mother still used to say the same thing,
I chose again, ran away
and again,
I returned.
Now, amidst Rafah's today's bombardment guested on our home,
I knew I had to leave, but neither is a mother shouting from a dark inflatable boat,
nor any dolls to choose from.
All that remains is an Alzheimer's house
whose rooms have forgotten that I am grown up,
and all of my dolls are dead.
A house that is still waiting
for someone to return
to their own land
and plays with dolls
until the next morning.
Glass Dolls
Glass dolls in glass houses.
Glass dolls with glass douses
Of reality, don’t they know?
That the girl who lives in fantasy
Still sees a rainbow?
And all the poems seem so hollow now-
Because the light inside her is almost out.
Because of the existence of
Glass dolls in glass houses
Dosed with reality, but they are so
Hollow now.
I will NOT be like them.
No, not twisted and molded, not me.
Not my hope slipping through
The cracks of reality.
But my brain is so hollow
And Death is like a swallow
Fluttering around in its little nest that is me.
Through my brain, through *my*
Reality.
Does anyone care? I ponder with these thoughts.
No, surely not.
Because if anyone knew that me and Death are still friends,
That I’d play cards at his table
Until the bitter end, surely *that*
Would disturb them. And so I am quiet,
Day after day. Because at night my brain shatters
Deep
Against the duvet.
I had heard about Cabbage Patch dolls, but now they are alive….
Growing in a garden near Winsted Ranch on Highway Five
They parted their leaves and began giggling when they were ready
Discovered last month by their benefactor, master gardener named Freddy.
He was fretting at the time about whether he could keep his farm going.
Not seeing at the time this is the way God had his future growing.
Now everyone and their partner wants a selfie with the Cabbage Patch dolls.
Freddy has made this into a destination place; he gets all kinds of calls.
Girl Scout Troops and Girls on the Run have him booked through twenty-six.
He has been able to pay off all of his debt, and is no longer in a “fix”.
Freddy is grateful to the Cabbage Patch dolls, he would like to keep them all.
“But we want to go with the girls!” They argue. This is their battle call.
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
I was a Tomboy to the core,
Went to Kindergarten – hoping for more
Than merely dolls and tea sets but some things
Like cars and trucks, airplanes with wings
All the things that make a boy’s heart sing
Also brought me to dreaming of every good thing
Despite the tomboy who lives inside this lass,
When I entered the kindergarten class
I was met with a doll, Raggedy Ann - while
This new teacher, with her kindest smile
Offered me Ms. Raggedy – I accepted her
Despite the thoughts that came in such a blur
This is mutiny, revolution… this could create
A uprising in my soul, but patient, I’d wait…
Ms. Raggedy, once I’d secreted her beneath
My desk - I realized that, once lost, I’d bequeath
Her to my friend – since then, I’ve decided to become
A poem writer – writing about the lost doll who would overcome
The tomboy who had won her as a trading tool
This lost doll who she’d market became the best in school!
Winged mannequins dot the forest trail,
forest fairies in the dale -
so lifelike in their chalkware skin,
unexpected in the vale.
Stumbling under their glossy gaze,
lost inside a leafy maze -
I back up slowly, turn and run,
clawing through the morning haze.
"Join us", they plead now - reaching, falling,
all of them so sweetly calling
"You need some flowers in your hair",
as I am gasping, crawling.
"You could be one of us", they sigh,
"abandoned here we know not why,
creating almost Xanadu -
we never have to live or die."
At wood's green edge I glimpse the street
and glance back, oddly incomplete:
I see just pallid mannequins
posed stiffly in the summer heat.
My aunt Shay was creative, inventive and fun.
She made dolls for us out of scraps of our clothes.
It was terrific to see what she concocted and constructed.
She could make things out of ribbons, yarn, bits of nothing.
She was clever and playful, and the dolls reflected it.
She had the personality and the childlike qualities of a pixie.
To all you sweet ladies of the Soup
I send each one of you my love and kisses
At my advanced age to feel such love
It's beyond words, it's purely delicious
You've no idea what you mean to me
Every day I feel your love flow
The happy day when I discovered the Soup
My heart started to glow
From that day to this, my life has changed
I wake up with a song in my heart
And it's all because of you sweet lasses
My sincere appreciation I impart
The day I discovered this wonderful site
Was a momentous day for me
It opened up a new chance to express
The love in my heart was set free
Now for you talented gentlemen out there
Sure feel quite at ease with you all
Kindred spirits is how I'd describe you
Each special friendship stands tall
Realize I didn't give you guys equal billing
But I'm partial to the ladies you see
They turn my crank, they bust my buttons
And fill this old heart with glee
Marionette soup comes in a midnight bowl
Filled to the brim with mushroom tumbling
Under the golden moon dolls cut their strings
Nutcrackers on crash diets sink saltines
Welcomed to float inside awhile
But not included in the price of dining
Russian dolls introduced to soup dive in
One after another dropped into darkness
Each one becomes smaller and smaller
Within themselves only they know why
Perhaps pretty painted faces need flavor
To appreciate the human race
There is no soup for you!
Forget about spoons at this hour
Two dainty fingers made of wood
Hold the bowl sides in balance for taste
Preparing to slurp what is inside
But marionettes are dignified. They don’t slurp
Discerning humans understand this part
It is an art
They have come to eat you and your soul
Assuming you have one worth consumption
Years before 13th birthday
Sun beckons me run play
In the street under golden ray
With neighborhood kids on hills of clay
Learning to ride bike and skate
Playing kickball run chase
Playing football basketball too
Dodge ball softball all in June
In Clanton Park we all are one
Hiking green woods under red sun
What to do on rainy days
Play with dolls do hair makeup face
Drawing dresses or playing cards spa
Not so much t.v. but it had a part
We had just begun our training bras
Tomboys galore we are stars
7/3/2022
When did those girls of childhood disappear,
Those wearing shorts, summer tans, jelly smears.
Who, loving paper dolls, hours of fun,
sported Band-Aids on knees like ev'ry one!
Those girls loving mysteries, Kick the Can,
roller skates, sleep-overs, movie star fans;
playing dolls, bicycling in soft moonlight.
They're gone forever: grew up overnight.
Idyllic summer days, lightning at night;
telling ghost stories that gave awful fright!
Strawberry shortcakes, bigger than our eyes:
disappeared joys that our lives once comprised.
A long-lost time: childhood's magical place;
gone to make room for our children's embrace.
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
Like many little girls,
My childhood was all about playing with my dolls,
Tiny handmade dolls - an adorable family,
They had a tiny house, which My Dad made for me,
A house made of wood, with balconies, and railings, and stairs, which enthralled me,
Which fascinated me so much, I thought,
My Dad was the most powerful man on Earth.
I don't have that enchanting doll's house any more,
It was lying uncared for, in a corner after I left home,
Somebody thought - it was occupying too much space,
Nobody played with it any longer,
This should be gone,
And...it was gone!
An unequaled, unrivalled, ultimate house in an imaginary world
of a young girl who visualized the world as flawless as
her father's vision and creation,
With tiniest details, and tenderest wishes
to hand in,
A Perfect World from a Perfect Father to his Perfect Daughter!
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