Long Doll Poems
Long Doll Poems. Below are the most popular long Doll by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Doll poems by poem length and keyword.
My dumbwaiter thoughts circle
beyond dumb tongue,
nummed by the enigma of autistic brilliance.
Now that I only see in infrared spectometry.
If I am eclipsed by the pre morrows dusk,
the impending vise, gripped in your sojourn.
What do I be, what is left of my journey done.
A flaccoid doll left out in your storm
in your subduing gauntlet thrown,
Queen of the Stormborn,
Rider of Dragons, come.
What then is the cast of shadows for,
the White Walkers of the North?
While you dance in my marrow
as unattainable scorn.
To have your cold-snap lull me to death
and jar me back to life.
A tempered oscillator of hapless bulwark,
a still-born of your broken water
left in the care of the Angels
and whisked to God's Holy Throne.
In my delusions of warped moonbeams projecting phantasms upon my minds fantastical means.
Who takes care in the packaging,
in the warning labels in the free falls
into livewire nets or none at all.
To be but a pilfered statue in Life's Adventure of you.
Where do damaged wings go for the impossible mend.
Where does the haughty breath go of endless debris blowing winds.
I am but screaming in digital,
the dark spectrum of light at rainbows end.
Those are not the scent of roses in the breeze.
It is more like the smell of aged provolone cheese.
It wavers along with some olive oil and oregano.
Those are some scents I already know.
Who is lurking nearby do I suppose?
It is none other than my dear Hoagie-nose!
She is a woman I can’t possibly forget.
Everywhere she follows me this Italian coquette.
This ragazza has a kiss as sweet as anisette.
This little woman always accommodates a man.
That’s why she drives around in a mini van.
She makes sure the fellow is nice and comfy
in the back of her Chrysler Town and Country.
There was a valuable lesson I would learn.
The flames of passion gave me a third-degree burn.
We crossed the Rubicon to the point of no return.
My Hoagie-nose and I will tie the knot in June.
We will be joining forces around the rise of the full moon.
Yes, this little Italian doll is the one I must choose.
Her daddy made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.
Going through some old things that just had to go,
I came upon something that nearly got tossed.
Memories came to me from long ago. . . .
I thrilled that my treasure was no longer lost.
Toys come and toys go. In the 60’s, one fad
was to own an odd doll not seen much today.
This doll had long hair and was scantily clad
but wasn’t a Barbie with which I would play!
Its body was squat and it had a pug nose.
I probably loved it because it looked droll.
Its hair could be orange, green, yellow or rose,
but if you don’t know yet, that doll was a troll!
How I wish I could dredge up some memory
to know what was happening inside my head
as a pre-teen with friends and what it might be
that we did with those dolls and what fun things we said!
The trolls that I owned must have been at least four -
both sexes so they'd make a small family -
their hair different hues, each a doll to adore.
But one day they no longer mattered to me. . .
I can’t say where all of my playthings got stashed.
When I left for college, they vanished from view.
But knowing my mom, they must have got trashed.
She doesn’t hang on much to things like I do.
Now four decades later, I looked at my prize,
bare naked and smudged but its hair still jet black.
It stared up at me with its cute amber eyes.
I couldn’t believe how I got that thing back!
It somehow had ended up in my new state.
Good luck for that troll, I throw few things away!
That doll would be learning soon of its new fate
and meet other troll dolls with whom it would stay.
Just like Peter Pan, I refuse to grow old,
and new trolls I’d bought with long bright spiky hair
when troll dolls again in the 90's were sold!
But I had to recall where I’d stored them….. oh, where??
(I found the dolls and added the old one to the new collection,
but my daughter's family moved in with me a few months ago.
My daughter is a clean freak like MY mom is (apparently it skips
a generation or something), and my daughter took my troll dolls
and put them out of sight somewhere so currently they are floating
around who knows where!
For Paula Swanson's "Yard Sale" Contest
While meditating earlier today,
a flashback leapt
clear for me to assay,
those ever receding
early boyhood daze,
now subsumed within fifty,
plus nine shades of gray
blissfully innocent naivety,
(though blessed) no way
would, aye desire to turn back
the hands of father time (hypothetically),
where unstructured play
regularly with older sister
(thirteen plus months
my senior) predominantly
slicing, sliding, and slipping
stockinged feet skittering
across slippery basement floor,
this then soul full
skinny thing bellowed hooray.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
"I'm Matty Mattel; I got hurt;
Can you go out?"
Those words uttered
by the very first
pull-string talking doll
Mattel did tout
circa nineteen sixty
revolutionizing the birth
of quasi simulated (lifelike) toys,
and made of common
materials found scout
ting around the house simply comprising
hard vinyl (i.e. pseudo
plaster of Paris) head he did flout
with remaining body
stuffed with padding,
a definite no
no (chew toy) when Fido about.
Actually that pooch,
would be Georgie to you,
(a hybrid Boxer Dalmatian)
with docked tail
my young parents acquired,
when as a newborn,
aye did inconsolably wail
though recollection of such memory
fifty nine years ago tis of no avail
yet, a resumption of meditation,
sans lightness of being
(analogous trancelike state),
that doth prevail
replaying silent film preceding,
when psyche seem so frail
plummeting into emotional abyss
the nadir i.e. anorexia nervosa
pleading return to nostalgic boyhood
decrying change hide didst bewail!
I just saw her one day when I took a quick look at Ebay.
And I just don't really know why but she just drew me to her too.
I quickly emailed her owner who told me that she was a haunted one!
Yet I thought to myself~ "It's just a doll that I am seeing with my eyes".
Well I just bid on her and won her that same day.
I asked the seller more questions about her and again she reassured me.
She insisted that my doll was the host to a human spirit she's seen and talked to.
No! She informed she wasn't evil at all~ she was just a nice spirit a haunted one!
So I sent for my supposedly haunted doll right away ~ just the next day.
But part of me still didn't believe it~ I kept saying she just cannot be!
That sounded creepy to me- a haunted doll with a real ghost around me.
It was something that I didn't really need it each night and day you see.
The more I thought about it the less I believed it could happen to me.
My very pretty porcelain doll can't just be a haunted one!
I am a born skeptical person you know~ just like most of you.
Yet I've seen so many things called "paranormal" over the years.
Well here I got me a haunted doll now- and I got her from ebay.
Is she a man a woman or child~ I just don't know that for sure to this day.
But my pretty doll seems to be the haunted spirit of a girl-she's a haunted one!
She doesn't say much~ she just stands there on display for me.
I can feel her presence at night and all thru the day too.
She doesn't leave me alone ~ she lives home with me.
She's shown herself to me~ I've caught her with my own eyes.
I can't believe it but I got me this time a haunted doll at E-bay.
I paid for her quite a little bit of money if you asked me.
Before this I didn't know much about any haunted doll you see.
I wasn't much of a believer before but now I know my doll is a haunted one!
Don't get me wrong I'll still keep her with me~ I'm okay and she's happy with me.
I keep her very close to me by - And I am not afraid of her in any way.
I've grown quite fond of her by now after all these nights and days.
She doesn't say much~ she just sits there on display for me sometimes too.
She's the real deal you see~ she not just a pretty doll,but, a haunted one too.
And I'm looking at new York canvas
Man in the mirror
Big lou Adler
?
Copy print
He teaches desire as illusion in anger
Next day air
In the lonely night
Without a lonely write
It's the next day bourbon
Forced regard
Article un, lend, take ribbon
Set type
Articulate
Juliet Society friendly alien
Anime graphic coupe design
Interworx server adlib maintenance up?
Cellular diplexing and atenuation adlib it
On atom photon plan it
Photon up
And back
Illuminate addiction devicing
"Mobile" station "worker"
Involved in grid i.e. infrastructure bands
Desktop publishing rubbish
Good for nor bot Chomsky
demons in illusion anger desire
Sniffy states of adhd
Slow jam design access key level nerd dropout
L.A. Doll
New York Doll anime coupe sign ups
502 bad gateway newswire interupt day
Your bad
Illiterate rebels
Body body body
A mesmerizing purple and pink unicorn with an orange mane is staring at me.
I cannot feel uncomfortable.
Because….
I created her.
I also drew and painted the glittery glitzy giant pink bear,
the turquoise cat with the fluffy tail and orange polka dots,
and the friendly blue and yellow daddy dragon, who is almost ridiculous in his happy cuddling of a flop-haired baby doll.
I am in my living room, trying to not notice how clever I was when I painted the 70’s orange and green striped frog and his funky pink peace-out lily pad,
But it pops almost as much as the chubby happy honeybee with the hot pink wings that is zooming around my faerie with the pink, purple, and white hair. She is one of my favorites apparently, as my eye keeps straying back to admire her, not quite remembering painting her at all, but knowing it had to have been me, as my paintings are readily figured out as mine by anyone who has ever seen one. I have mastered the art of creating “Caren” stuff in a Caren-way.
I make no apologies for my living room menagerie.
I am the Goddess-creator of all I survey
If you do not like my kingdom you are free to play elsewhere today.
We will still be friends, but I cannot let you stay now because I am having a really glorious little “me” day, and it does not like to be ruined.
WALLPAPER
---------------------
Paper Thin
Cut down to any size,
Crumble, crop me wrong
Pull the insulation from my heart.
Never will I be "A Paper Doll!"
Thank you for calling me a "Friend!"
Thank you for wasting my "time!"
Enjoy the WALLPAPER display
---------------------
Layers and layers of lifeless brick
KEEPS EVERYTHING OUT!
Emotional poster boards of doubt
Envious fiberglass green never seen
Yuletide Carols warped around my energy
Merry and full of acrylic sh!t-
Hand full of putty maintains the makeup on my face
Arts and crafts display my inner fancy grace
Heavy installed Sheetrock so easily replaced
Tough paint chips away silently through the night
Rigid boards transform into fragile crystal light
The greatest illusion blinding reality
Smooth Tiger Skin, texture of orange simple peel
Beautiful mud swirl, L'Oreal.
Gypsum soft enough you want to touch
Dark walls of a thousand words
A plasterboard of discordant grey notes
Blots and clots of ink, enslave my skin
Colorless drywall, resilient to your charms
Printed designs of cleverly decorated lipstick
Morbid shadows underneath the ceiling veil
A double coat of Pacific Waterproof Blue-
Printing bags from -- YESTERDAY!
Plastered wounds of cement dry and roughens along the edge
A human-made barrier, not even God comes in.
by;PD
RUNT OF THE LITTER
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Hilda’s in labor!” Mr. Davis shouted across the yard.
barefooted I dashed next door,
witnessing the magic, the slow unfurling
of five milk-chocolate Dachshunds,
slippery and new, squirming in the afternoon light.
they were a writhing mass ‘neath Hilda's warm belly,
each Doxie pup vying for a place at the milk bar,
a frantic, adorable scramble for nourishment.
the runt~smallest of the litter, a tiny replica,
immediately claimed a space in my heart,
a fragile hope nestled in my palm.
giggles bubbled up,
a fizzy sweetness in my throat
watching the Doxies, their eyes closed, wriggle
drunk on instinct and the promise of warmth.
then, the shift~
Hilda’s nudge, almost imperceptible,
the runt, pushed aside,
its tiny whimper lost in the chorus.
the magic fractured,
my first brush with unfairness,
a memory, bittersweet,
etched in the sepia tones of a long-ago summer.
Mr. Davis's weathered hands, a gentle scoop,
a fragile life transferred to mine.
hands, small then, cupped around a life barely there,
a sparrow fallen from a nest.
the shoebox, a makeshift cradle,
lined with a doll blanket~
inside the scent of old shoes, the tiny runt stretched,
then a hesitant yawn, a twitch of his paw.
"Why, Mr. Davis? Why would she...?" the question hung,
a child's innocent accusation against the wild.
Mr. Davis, a sage in overalls,
explained the weight of instinct and
survival's brutal calculus,
too heavy for my young heart to bear.
Now, years later, I understand~
the hard choices and love disguised as pain.
But in the shoebox, in the dust-filled summer light,
all I felt was the fragile pulse
of a life I desperately wanted to save.
My bedroom mirror suddenly broke open tonight
I stared at it aghast; it spilled all my past
Images rolled on- how I fought with my young sister
In our childhood; how I hated her for being my parents’ darling
A dilapidated doll, its head severed
The incessant teardrops of her- how I felt an inner elation
Images again; I grabbed the innocent lover-boy by his neck
Fists and punches – his blood-stained stare
I liked it, because he dared to love my teenaged sister
I was in my teens too, and secretly made passes at some of her friends
But my sister having a boyfriend- that was different
A slashed wrist, a gaping face; two writhing bodies of my parents
A prosaic funeral, a teenage girl laid inside the ground
Has she ever found peace? I am not sure
Being her brother I must have done the right thing
31.08.2014