Snoopy, kewpie, Barbie, Ken,
Chicken-licken, Hen-len,
Can’t compete with Adrienne.
Andrew Jackson, William Penn?
“Bolero”, “Arthur”, “Tarzan”, “Ten”?
Not a patch on Adrienne.
My Adrienne’s a honey:
She’s witty, pretty, funny:
looks great in silks and satins
and mixes mean Manhattans.
Tagus, Tiber, Severn, Seine,
zloty, sous, sestertii, yen -
I prefer my Adrienne.
Armstrong, Aldrin, Colonel Glenn?
Zoroaster? Zion? Zen?
Think I’ll stick with Adrienne!
Categories:
kewpie, song,
Form: Lyric
“Come one, come all!”
The hawker summons
Try your luck
On the unmoored Ferris wheel
Hurl a dart
At the Kewpie dolls
Win one for the lady
To consummate the deal
(Chorus)
Intruders in the festival
Outsiders at the gates
Nothing like a carnival
To bring up dormant hates
Where the pavement meets the grass
Behind the stand of funnel cakes,
Someone's getting hornery
Their pants down at their feet
This balloon-tank life
Is more than I can take
This Friday night special
Affords me no relief
(chorus)
Prizes, prizes, and more prizes
Mustachioed lady dons disguises
The smell of ether and saw dust
A dead roller coaster under rust
They say life is a funhouse
That explains why everyone is so ugly
A grotesque face in a curvy mirror –
A cotton-candy bed for an endless nightmare –
It’s carnival time, again.
Categories:
kewpie, allegory, america, anxiety, celebration,
Form: Cowboy Poetry
My dream girl's not a doll, no Kewpie cutie,
Or an heiress, or an actress on the screen.
She's neither nun nor acrobat,
Nor wears fine feathers in her hat,
No frump for Trump Republican,
No beauty queen.
She's not a princess trapped inside an ivory palace
Awaiting rescue by a valiant knight like me.
She doesn't dazzle like aurora borealis,
Or sing arias from "Carmen" like Ms. Callas,
Or practice taekwondo,
Or even know tai chi.
But the girl I dream about has joy and laughter,
And her heart's as full of love as it can be.
When my spirit's low, she lifts it to the rafter,
And I know we'll have a happily ever after
Every time I dream of her
And she of me.
Categories:
kewpie, dream, humor, imagination, romance,
Form: Rhyme
I watch carnival of carnivals quickly unfold
intense barkers are yelling as if their large bears are gold
seeing ultimate thin man and fat lady never gets old
fortune tellers are so unique, they’ve created their mold
tickets are being traded, fought over, bought and sold.
elaborate stories are being bandied about in the cold.
silver is crossing palms, upsells are extremely bold.
acrobats are doing tricks with agile bodies that fold.
from the tilt-a-whirl ride an old man just fell and rolled.
kewpie dolls nod from their shelves inside the fold.
merry-go-round horses are touched up with gold.
old women are wearing minks, flashing that they're stolled.
carnival of carnivals is a treat that never gets old.
cotton candy is pink and puffy, spun right out of gold.
tickets are being traded, fought over, bought and sold.
traveling from town to town, her tales quickly unfold.
Categories:
kewpie, 10th grade, 11th grade,
Form: Monorhyme
A slip of a girl, button-cute, pigtails flying
her first figure-eights traced on roller blades
Effortlessly following the crude colored chalk lines
Emily aced the whole field her very first time
Number eight was magic, no matter where it appeared
In hop-scotch, in jump rope, or even in school
She traced it flee-flowing, vibrant with joy
Little Emily, the envy of even the boys...
She began to understand where all this might take her
to nationals, world capitals, and always the Olympics
in the back of her mind every four years, thinking that
the gold would be hers, no nervousness, no fears
At sweet sixteen she ruled the world, a pencil-thin body
with soft hair and curls, racking up 10's on those figure eights
Emily was a kewpie-doll sensation on skates
Sure that top honors awaited, she circled the dates
Now, of course, you are waiting for Emily to fail,
to fall, to prove that she's human
But forgive me, dear reader, you see
there's a wee bit of Emily,
in every leaf of my family tree
Categories:
kewpie, cute, growing up, identity,
Form: Narrative
I try to paint
with a shock I realize it is giving me no thrill
No joy; for the first time in six years
I return to the middle bedroom
darkest, gloomiest room in the house
turn on my electric blanket and go to sleep
wake up wondering if it is morning or night? Does it matter?
I am on strong meds; they keep me loopy.
Benadryl is a killer, keeping me sleepy, in perpetual lah-lah land.
Pink dots are parading up and down my arms and legs
I am scratching my torso until she bleeds
I look like a pink polka dotted Kewpie doll.
An angry pink polka dotted Kewpie doll
Thanks to yesterday’s prescription which I was allergic to.
Being sick is infuriating.
I am enraged.
Angry that it is me.
Categories:
kewpie, woman, women,
Form: Prose Poetry
Standing there
Arms outstretched
The haggard pasty washed up
Kewpie doll
Of a soon to be ex
Awaited his oxytocin fix
As the dutiful wench
Swallowed the stench
Of his distillery fermented fat
She thought
This puts the retch in wretched
And that was that
A good sense of humour
Is only embraced so far
5.31.2020
Categories:
kewpie, break up, funny love,
Form: Free verse
Along the shortest road ever (a treacherous journey)
An opening appeared before me;
bright equations bleeding time squished all memory
of who i was, am, or might be -- a preponderance
of suddenly)meets the long shaman of my Thoughts.
I lassoed upon a mote of dust (cherubs swinging
Cherubs singing) & rode myself )not that way( Toward
a Whole certain corner ) ___and touched mySelf
Searched mySelf ...forget mySelf when i think of
How many broken Kewpie dolls cry silently for-
Everfully & mySelf & and myHeart and mySoul
Invent grand ideas of Enormous Language
that touches allHearts!
::02-08-2020
Categories:
kewpie, deep, imagery, imagination,
Form: Free verse
Four foot ten, and yet you make my pulse rise,
my weakness is I love the petite size.
But height's incidental, when it comes to
my veneration and worship of you.
You're a genuine Kewpie-doll cutie,
possessing an innate idyllic beauty.
When we met by that weeping willow tree,
a fledgling Empath, you felt drawn to me.
Your aura shone so bright; I had to smile,
for my fantasies seemed so juvenile.
And lamenting the briefness of the hours
I lay supine amidst summer’s flowers.
An alluring angel, you’re pure of heart,
a splendiferous sculpture, beyond art.
A Goddess, to whom I’ll always be true,
I don't know why you love me, but you do.
(Rhyme)
07,27,2019
Theme "Adoring Love"
17 is the Lucky Number - Rhyme Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Lu Loo
Categories:
kewpie, 10th grade, angel, beautiful,
Form: Rhyme
Slow motion memories.
Street lit like a movie set,
outside the dance hall.
Muffler-less cars,
full throttle, then eerily quiet.
Self willed machines idling along the street,
flooding the night; flashing eyeballs,
headlining teenage girls.
A sashaying crush; glancing, giggling,
disdainful in stinging beehives,
plastic jackets, high gloss paint and oily pants.
Cruising crass flash
false virility in high gloss paint.
James Dean on Sunset Strip.
Hands on the stick shift; giving themselves the gears.
skinny boys glancing in the mirror, where dice and kewpie dolls hang,
squinting at astigmatisms of Steve McQueen on hunk steroids.
Nervous to fingered combs slink through their hair,
checking out the rear end drive,
outside the dance hall on a Friday night.
A curly haired boy,
red faced brother of my best friend, never owned a car,
pushes forward in the street,
to talk with sister and friends.
Asked a girl for a kiss.
Too easily dismissed.
In the science lab; class dismissed.
Counters gleam grade A sterility.
Chemicals stare coldly from spotless beakers.
Put his mouth over the gas jet.
A curly haired boy,
going nowhere on a Friday afternoon.
Categories:
kewpie, angst, dance, death of
Form: Free verse
My granddaughter is in the pink
From her double chins to those drawers that stink
She looks just like a kewpie doll
She’s chubby, pink, and oh so small
Her cheeks are a rosy-pinkish hue
Her toes and fingers, they’re pink too
When she gets sleepy she’ll protest
Then fall asleep there on my chest
Her eyes will close – her lips will part
A pinkish glow grows in my heart
And once I feel that pinkish glow
It tells me that I love her so
Until I met her I don’t think
I knew what’s meant by in the pink
Categories:
kewpie, daughter, father, happiness, love,
Form: Rhyme