Mannequins Poems - Poems about Mannequins

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...

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The mannequins put on skin pretending to be human feigning familiarity with lives they’ve never lived performing a pantomime of proficiency in poverty the wisdom won from doing without playing the part of people they consider inconsequential believe are below them with whom it would be unsuitable to be seen socializing unworthy of a welcoming word as they parade about before the...

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The Second Year of Barely Breathing David J Walker When can we breathe again exhaling the dust Of a long-lost day Safe from the safe distance Look them in the eye and pray a prayer Of resistance to the unknown God of goodbye Our Father If we ever get to sit together again hear our prayers of common fears A faceless family of mannequins...

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Tranquil mannequins, You'd think they are showcasing Perfect harmony, But their lack of expressions Is simply restrained anger...

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My hands are bleeding My face is dirty My clothes are rags This is my reality Talking to myself in third person She, her, them What's with me? I want to be her too Walking down the street Looking at myself from outside mirror I'm different from those stick thin mannequins I'm broke, but I want to be that mannequin Little black dress Sophisticated pearl...

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i never know where to start with you, so i just choose to walk away and end it it makes no sense to cause anymore stress, so instead of confronting i bookend it my life is a hole in the wall circus with bogus clown paint, and as a result your life is forced to be the same we find ourselves...

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Solid mannequins stand in the shop of society wearing clothes that they think is right to wear because of the sheep. Being put, put in poses and having photos taken of there empty faces. They're everywhere surrounding me in places, faces I can't distinguish. People are mannequins until you paint on them. But I don't...

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It is here In this alley littered with trash. Where a man drives alone in the night. Braking. Motioning. Waiting. Where a high-heeled woman bends down to his window. It is here On this street I come to find you. With your skin that is smooth. With your face twisted and pale And a name no one knows. It is here In this dark room Where your naked body...

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People/Mannequins I speak to them I sit next to them What appears to be still limbs No smiles, only in place do they stand Yet they seem to no longer Appeal to the unreserved face of this man I no longer bother to greet them Should I It’s become a non movable film “a guy sitting in a room full of mannequins” "writing for pictures"...

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Iconoclastic lots of marshiest beauty Clenched sublime altruistic nature bore – Morals indefatigably humbled, reasoning in bondage – Bondage of the highest periphery Blessings encountered in watered chaos. Blocked nuts with scanty feelers, Inducing mere bouts of euphoric impasses Rarely a gift of fatherly nature. Hay filled tubs called but heads Preferably a misfortune To their worthless masses. Maevius a reader’s delight be In the fumbling...

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