Short Mache Poems

ram.the touch of god
we wad the papaer mache
and say,"we day,day"...

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Marmalade moon
Walking in
Red high
heel shoes and
Silver handbag
Drifting through
This foggy night
Swinging her
Paper-mache
Orange lamp...

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Unfolding your 
Paper mache wings
Greeting this
Reddish brown
Mahogany wind 
Yes, sweeping 
These golden leaves, 
Swirling you, again
Around this 
Pink carousel...

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gazing toward eternity’s echoing faze
clouds torment in papier mache gloom
winds of destiny massage in propelling vibrations
trees and grasses disperse, adhering, dancing in rhythmic tune ...............

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Gorgeous origami dress made of paper but not mache’
It is colorful and bright, with art so clever and gay.
I watch her walking toward me and my cousin May.
Wondering if she and that dress might blow away....

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paper mache boat's of noah's ark
 made in sunday school, 
imperfectly sailing gripped
 by little fingers.

two of every kind of happyness, 
 the joy of childhood innocence
 returning to me with dove 
and olive branch....

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Paper mache love
Fragile   torn         
Splashed in hues of beauty
With bitterness and scorn
She hides her face   Unwilling
In truth of lustful lies
Unknowing    his love is taken
Within her deceitful eyes


...

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Papier mache love
Fragile   torn         
Splashed in hues of beauty
With bitterness and scorn
She hides her face   Unwilling
In truth of lustful lies
Unknowing    his love is taken
Within her deceitful eyes



______________________________

Original Post 10/18/14
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Heaven's drunkard is the butterfly,
Tipsy on flowers, Mr. flutter-on-by:
Papier-mache wings wafting along,
He flies on currents of invisible song.

He could stop but the flowers are so many,
Beckoning with pastel faces of plenty;
At night he dreams of hot-house bouquets,
And dances with them, a fine polonaise....

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Its shape was humanish
sounds and gestures could convince
the similarities could confuse
but echoes travelled through
slight was less than before
could have been so more
but nothing at its core
still it filled the space
the paper Mache puppet
twists and turns
bends and breaks
crackled and crinkled
looking in the dead doll eyes
nothing in here
no surprise...

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Lost in this quicksand of serenity 
caught in a death grip I begin to sink; 
Falling deep inside I can’t find the edge 
trapped within a web of thick emotion; 
Is it me or is it your residue 
staining my face with this outlandish smile?
Peace feels foreign and uncomfortable; 
I kind of like this paper mache mask,,  
each layer hardens applied long enough 
to change my face into a serene state....

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Grandma’s face on a paper mache’ dog
What could be better? Nothing she thought.
Her overfed dog looks a bit like a stuffed hog.
We could not believe what the sculpture brought.

Behind grandma’s back we laughed our petootsies off.
In front of her face tears ran, as we tried not to cough.
It was the craziest thing I had ever seen, no contest.
She left it to me, for I was the one who lied the best....

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She has dandelion hair
and when the wind blows
I already have my wish

All the clouds were crying
as stars fell from her dress
her roots grew bird houses for hollow skeletons,
shells to hold shells to hold promises made.

Her skin was polaroid 
tanned stained sepia toned
broken boned and dancing.

Empty quiver hunting trips
tangled in her own antlers
spider webs connecting dots 
of her scattered constellations....

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LET ‘ER RIP

 
Let'er rip broken salted chips
Drop your hip, rythinmatic dance steps
Crush broken lined-circle blips
Let'er rip parted lips blowing trumpet
Pucker up screams praise in worship
Screeching tires on highway pavement trips
Let'er rip in kitchen mashing raw potatoes being whip
Art classes making paper mache masks
Strips of papers I crafted art fashion "id"
Let'er rip

12/26/18

For LET 'ER RIP #2 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: John lawless...

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We’ve painted your smile disarming
Your glassy marbles alarming
Ignored your feeble warning, your face blue
We made our very own papier-mache Prince Charming

In what false light you’ve been hung
Your dreams must in harmony be sung
No solos for your tenor voice, honey 
We force your hand on the top rung

From wuthering heights we trumpet
On your trust we rudely strumpet
Don’t resist sweet crumpet, we know best for you
Into infamy now you gladly plummet...

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unreasonably thin embryonic brother

 born again in a wash basin on the 
 third floor of a st joseph's hospital.
 
 outside his window pale paper mache 
cranes float by in mudpuddles.  

 he watches them a little, 
 he gathers joy a little, 
 he lifts his head a little.

 little so little brother lesser than
 grows beatifully bright eyed by the 
window.

 distracted momentarily his shadow
  half hanging off of him forgets 
  to adorn its dark attire....

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In a pinch of the slenderest fingers
like tapioca beads to the wind
the mercury fog is popped.
Wild silver happenstance rains down
and settles quiet.  Quiet.
Had my pale head touched the earth
at the moment of it's impact
I would have drowned in the mist.
With slender fingers turned to roots,
hair to moss, blood to sap,
a papier-mache skin to the earth's skeleton
To be popped, by the tenderest finger's of soil embrace
drawn to the sky like tapioca beads to the wind....

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i bite my tongue until i feel
myself running over my teeth
all steel and ice water
unfeeling and calm
where the hell has all the love gone?
where is the warmth i used to cherish?
where is the truth i used to hold?
my god, what have i become?
i wonder if you still recognize me
with this mockery of a mask
tattered paper mache hanging in strips from an invisible face
i am but a shadow of wells' creation
irony, sweet irony
to be nothing more than a shadow
of nonexistence...

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