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The Navel Gazer

How did I
get to be
blown away
by the vagaries
of the wind
every which way
I turned
I was a rag
doll
flaying.

poem by Vince Gullaci
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You Look Good In Rags

Yeah yeah
Yeah
I've seen cool, I've seen cold
I've seen the women up front, way down below
Ladies of the evening screaming, some were like vipers
I've seen 'em dressed real tight, act real loose
I've seen 'em strutting good stuff, I've seen 'em all used
With thousand dollar faces and worth every penny they spend there
But you look good in rags
With dirt in your hair
Yeah you look good in rags babe
Oh, I don't care
(Ah, you look good)
Yes you look good in rags
With bones in your hair
Ah, you look good in anything
Ooh, I don't care
Now I've seen class, I've seen tack
I've seen 'em walking down the street with smoke in their stacks
And pouring into limos, they wake up in millionaires' bedrooms
I've seen their hair cut short, black and sleek
Tied in 20 thousand knots so ultra neat
Swearing by the Harper's Bazaar, like it equalled the Bible
But you look good in rags
With dirt in your hair
Yeah you look good in rags babe
Aw, I don't care
Yeah Yeah, you look good
Oh you look good in rags
With dirt in your hair
Ah yeah, you look good in anything
Forget about Vogue or them hundred dollar jeans,
You make a 2 dollar T-shirt obscene.
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag
Rag

[...] Read more

song performed by Alice Cooper
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Harry Rag

Ah, tom is young and tom is bold
Tom is as bold as the knights of old
But whenever he gets in a bit of a jam
Theres nothing he wont do to get a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And he curses himself for the life hes led
And rolls himself a harry rag and puts himself to bed
Ah, toms old ma is a dying lass
Soon they all reckon shell be pushing up the grass
And her bones might ache and her skin might sag
But still shes got the strength to have a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And she curses herself for the life shes led
And rolls herself a harry rag and puts herself to bed
Ah, bless you tax man, bless you all
You may take some but you never take it all
But if I give it all, I wont feel sad
As long as I got enough to buy a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed
Ah, the smart young ladies of the land
Cant relax without a harry in their hand
And they light one and they boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And theyll light one and theyll boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Ill do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Harry Rag

Ah, tom is young and tom is bold
Tom is as bold as the knights of old
But whenever he gets in a bit of a jam
Theres nothing he wont do to get a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And he curses himself for the life hes led
And rolls himself a harry rag and puts himself to bed
Ah, toms old ma is a dying lass
Soon they all reckon shell be pushing up the grass
And her bones might ache and her skin might sag
But still shes got the strength to have a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And she curses herself for the life shes led
And rolls herself a harry rag and puts herself to bed
Ah, bless you tax man, bless you all
You may take some but you never take it all
But if I give it all, I wont feel sad
As long as I got enough to buy a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed
Ah, the smart young ladies of the land
Cant relax without a harry in their hand
And they light one and they boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Do anything just to get a harry rag
And theyll light one and theyll boast and brag
So content because they got a harry rag
Harry rag, harry rag
Ill do anything just to get a harry rag
And I curse myself for the life Ive led
And roll myself a harry rag and put myself to bed

song performed by Morrissey
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lover Doll

(words & music by wayne - silver)
Lover doll, oh lover doll
Lover doll, lover doll
Youre the cutest lover doll
That I ever did ever see
Let me tell you lover doll
You were meant, just meant for me
On the first time that I saw you
How I fell for your cuddly charms
Lover doll Im crazy for you
Let me rock you in my arms
Im so glad I found you
Never thought dollies came full grown
Im gonna tie a ribbon around you
Wrap you up and take you home
I would never treat you badly
Like a cast away broken toy
Lover doll I love you madly
Let me be your lover boy
Im so glad I found you
Never thought dollies came full grown
Im gonna tie a ribbon around you
Wrap you up and take you home
I would never treat you badly
Like a cast away broken toy
Lover doll I love you madly
Let me be your lover boy
Lover doll, lover doll
Lover doll, lover doll
Lover doll, lover doll
Let me be your lover boy
Lover doll, lover doll
Lover doll, lover doll
Lover doll, lover doll
Let me be your lover boy
Let me be your lover boy
Let me be your lover boy

song performed by Elvis Presley
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The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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Shabby Doll

Giving you more of what for
Always worked for me before
Now Im a shabby doll
Whats going on behind the green elevator door
With just a shabby doll
Theres a hit man facing
A compromising situation
With just a shabby doll
And a very neat line in character assassination
Shes just a shabby doll
Shes just a shabby doll
Shes putting him off and putting you on
Shes just the shabby doll
Youre swearing upon you know in your heart
Shes gone you know in your heart
Shes just a shabby doll
Theres a girl in this dress
Theres always a girl in distress
Shes just a shabby doll
Shes so sure shes self-possessed
Then again shes half undressed
Shes just a shabby doll
The boy that I used to be
Showed no sign of sympathy
For just a shabby doll
I have betrayed you and me
And paid for my own bribery
With just a shabby doll
(chorus)
Hes the tired toy that everyone enjoyed
He wants to be a fancy man but hes nothing but a nancy boy
Hes all pride and no joy
And being what you might call a whore
Always worked for me before
Now Im a shabby doll
Untie the gag the cats out of the bag
But wont show his claws
Hes just a shabby doll
She said you must be joking
Some things are left unspoken
Youre just a shabby doll
Hes lying limp and soaking
He was openly broken
By just a shabby doll
(chorus)

song performed by Elvis Costello
Added by Lucian Velea
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Talking China Doll Dreams of Merry Go Round, Playground & Fairy Stage

Fair fairy tales would be perfect for putting child to bed,
inciting images of speedy spinner merry-go-round or swings instesad,
for once ignoring the bare wood or carpet
which level inner sides of the house to let.

Listen to talking over obscure passage abiss
that drops as the gentle rain from heaven's bliss
of the midwinter's nightmarish dream,
that most fairies piece together in writing a reem.

Legendary voices appear as light, flexible and round ales
who are drunk upon observing intoxicating illustrations to fairy tales.
For the poet, without talking about it.
is being there were gone except for royal wit.

However under fairy tales of old bloat
the wizard encounters the talking scape goat.
Metamorphosis of stork to love is unlike modern fairy tale
of wolves abd talking animals where imginative realms fail.

With merry nonchalance man and beast encounter each other
in obnoxious gossiping all over this book in smother.
On the stage will be seen the actual play operated
just as it is operational all seem to have done liberated.

On her frock the doll wore a yellow ribbon and made dismayed more.
Dolls face reality in this versional reversion score.
Glittering fountains in forgotten fairy tale draw what you
regards as gentlemen, friends and brought back talk out of the blue.

Dreams appeal naturally of course, to you
that without looking round wants to compare old with new,
Or not yet created, in talking to himself or with audience,
asking what was the man other than personified benevolence.

Protagonist in play gets a porcelain doll
which the protagonist covets less than a troll;
having always a merry day, when asunder in party,
parting in fine clothes and gay laughter hearty.

When up in the morning, recalled his dream and before
in prefernce of dreams of future wind and more,
yet not indicating despair to merry friend
talking about later reading tale to end.

Unveiled doll gazes at crescent moon, sun and star
past the merry-go-round, carousel and picturesque postcards from afar.
The of and to is to with of that what is to he
for merciful merriment's enjoy and benefit for all to see.

[...] Read more

poem by Hercolena Oliver
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Dressing the Doll

THIS is the way we dress the Doll:—
You may make her a shepherdess, the Doll,
If you give her a crook with a pastoral hook,
But this is the way we dress the Doll.

Chorus

Bless the Doll, you may press the Doll,
But do not crumple and mess the Doll!
This is the way we dress the Doll.

First, you observe, her little chemise,
As white as milk, with ruches of silk;
And the little drawers that cover her knees,
As she sits or stands, with golden bands,
And lace in beautiful filagrees.

Chorus

Now these are the bodies: she has two,
One of pink, with rouches of blue,
And sweet white lace; be careful, do!
And one of green, with buttons of sheen,
Buttons and bands of gold, I mean,
With lace on the border in lovely order,
The most expensive we can afford her!

Chorus

Then, with black at the border, jacket
And this—and this—she will not lack it;
Skirts? Why, there are skirts, of course,
And shoes and stockings we shall enforce,
With a proper bodice, in the proper place,
(Stays that lace have had their days
And made their martyrs); likewise garters,
All entire. But our desire
Is to show you her night attire,
At least a part of it. Pray admire
This sweet white thing that she goes to bed in!
It ’s not the one that ’s made for her wedding:
That is special, a new design,
Made with a charm and a countersign,
Three times three and nine times nine:
These are only her usual clothes.
Look, there ’s a wardrobe! gracious knows
It ’s pretty enough, as far as it goes!

So you see the way we dress the Doll:
You might make her a shepherdess, the Doll,

[...] Read more

poem by William Brighty Rands
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Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;

Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Doll-Dagga Buzz-Buzz Ziggety-Zag

Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
All the goose step girlies with their cursive faces and
We know it's all braile beneath their skirt
I'm bulletproof biz-op and swing heil and
I don't really care what gentlemen prefer
Say all you pindown girls and bonafied ballers
So manically depressed and manically dressed
We got a venus not in furs but in uniforms
If you're not dancing, then you're dead
Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
All the thug rock kids are playing
All the punk god angels saying
The toys are us and we don't even know
All the thug rock kids are playing
All the punk god angels saying
The toys are us and we don't even know
GO! GO! GO! Doppelgangers!
You're one of us! You're one of us!
GO! GO! GO!
Throw your shapes, doppelgangers
You're one of us!
Trumpet mouth junky saints go silver tongue
Marching down the stairway to substance
Cocaingels and asses give me opiute masses
Fill up your church porn preachers and we'll fill up our glasses
Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
Doll-dagga buzz-buzz ziggety-zag
God mod grotesque burlesque drag
All the thug rock kids are playing
All the punk god angels saying
The toys are us and we don't even know
All the thug rock kids are playing
All the punk god angels saying
The toys are us and we don't even know
GO! GO! GO! Doppelgangers!
You're one of us! You're one of us!
GO! GO! GO!
Throw your shapes, doppelgangers
You're one of us!
You're one of us!
You're one of us!
GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!
And all the thug rock kids GO!

[...] Read more

song performed by Marilyn Manson
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The Small Little Rag Doll

The small little rag doll
Made with love
Each stitch sown
By tender loving hands
Places under the tree
Wrapped in Xmas cheer
The little rag doll
A waits to be held
Small young hands
Rips wrappers apart
And smile with delight
At the little rag doll
The gingham dress
The Goldie lock hair
And sown on smile
Make a small child gasp
At a beautiful sight
Loving she holds
The little rag doll
And makes her a bed
In her make believe world
Her mother look’s on
With pride and Joy
That her little baby girl
Loves her little rag doll.

poem by Kaila George
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River Deep, Mountain High

When I was a little girl
I had a rag doll
The only doll I ever owned
Now I love you just the way
I loved that rag doll
But only now my love has grown
And it gets stronger in every way
And it gets deeper, love it stays
And it gets higher until our day
-chorus:
And, do I love you my oh my
Yeah, river deep, mountain high (ya, ya, ya)
If I lost you would I cry
Oh I love you baby, baby, baby, baby
When you were a young boy
Did you have a puppy
That always followed you around
Well Im gonna be as faithful as that puppy
No Ill never let you down
Cause it goes on and on like a river flows
It gets bigger baby heaven knows
It gets sweeter baby as it grows
Chorus
Chorus
I had a rag doll
The only doll I ever owned
Now I love you just the way
I loved that rag doll
But only now my love has grown
And it gets stronger in every way
And it gets deeper, love it stays
And it gets higher until our day
Chorus
I love you baby like a flower loves the spring
I love you baby like a robin loves to sing
I love you baby like a schoolboy loves his bag
I love you baby river deep, mountain high
Ah river deep
Ah river deep
Ah river deep
Ah river deep
Chorus

song performed by Erasure
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Tear Off Your Own Head (It's A Doll Revolution)

Who dries your eyes when you cry real tears?
Who knows or cares what imitation is?
Only you do
You can paint his nails
Make him wear high heels
Why waste time altering the hemline?
Or do you?
Tear of your own head
Tear of your own head
It's a doll revolution
You can bat your lashes
You can cut your strings
Pull out his hair with your moveable fingers
It looks so real
But one won't do, so collect the set
Dress him in pink ribbons
Put him in a kitchenette
How does this feel?
Tear of your own head
Tear of your own head
It's a doll revolution
What's that sound?
It'll turn you around
It's a doll revolution
They're taking over
And they're tearing it down
It's a doll revolution
You can pull and pinch him
'Til he cries and squeals
You can twist his body
'Til it faces backwards
Plastic features
Could make somebody a pretty little wife
But don't let anybody tell you
How to live your life
Broken pieces
Tear off your own head
Tear off your own head
It's a doll revolution
Tear off your own head
Tear off your own head
It's a doll revolution
What's that sound?
It'll turn you around
It's a doll revolution
They're taking over
And they're tearing it down
It's a doll revolution
It's a doll revolution
Revolution (revolution)

[...] Read more

song performed by Bangles
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Livin' Doll

Got myself a crying, talking, sleeping, walking, living doll
Got to do my best to please her, just 'cause she's a living doll
Got a roving eye and that is why she satisfies my soul
Got the one and only walking talking, living doll
Take a look at her hair, it's real
And if you don't believe what I say, just feel
I'm gonna lock her up in a trunk
So no big hunk can steal her away from me
Got myself a crying, talking, sleeping, walking, living doll
Got to do my best to please her, just 'cause she's a living doll
Got a roving eye and that is why she satisfies my soul
Got the one and only walking talking, living doll
Well, take a look at her hair, it's real
And if you don't believe what I say, just feel
Gonna lock her up in a trunk
So no big hunk can steal her away from me
Got myself a crying, talking, sleeping, walking, living doll
Got to do my best to please her, just 'cause she's a living doll
Got a roving eye and that is why she satisfies my soul
Got the one and only walking talking, living doll

song performed by Cliff Richard
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Rag Doll

Rag doll.
What tales you could tell.
A child's embrace
By a wishing well.
A painted face
And a Wizard's spell.
Ay birthdays
Young.
She always clung
To you.
Rag doll.
Of red and blue.

Rag doll.
You lay abandoned
On the floor.
Now lonely
Behind a cupboard door.
You weep.
Where is that spark
She used to keep
In her heart.
That you could feel.

Now she is grown.
You play no part.
You are not real.
From pigtails.
To E- mails.
Smiles,
For him now.
Not you.
Old rag doll.
Of red and blue.

poem by Kevin East
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Spots On A Paint Rag

Spots on a paint rag trying to figure out
if they're part of a larger picture.
Daubs and smudges and smears of black and red.
Topographies of dry thick ridges of blue acrylic,
peach-coloured mesas bruised
by the encroaching violets of dusk in a painted desert.
Are these the wanna-be windows of life
who failed to achieve a whole and harmonious view
of what they're doing here swiping off knives
thick with the gore of cadmium red,
cleaning off brushes that get to go out
on the field to caress and poke
stars and trees into being? Waterboys, not players.

I say the word, life, and I feel tonight like
the heaviness of a bell that's supplanted my heart.
The right root, but the wrong blossom.
Even though I'd melt that bell
back down into raucous cannon
to defend the concept to my very last breath.
But tonight I'm tunnelling under the foundations
of the cornerstones of life to bring
the walls down on top of my head,
like an avalanche of prophetic skulls
to just get a peek inside the grand paradigm,
the white light of the gessoed underpainting.
The secret garden with low-hanging fruit
on easy street with the sacred whores of Babylon.

An existential sadness, deep as a death-wound,
as if I'd just been stabbed in the heart
by the hands of a clock that mistook me for an intruder,
undermines me from below, a pyramid built on quicksand.
As if all those who had drowned in life
like fish up over their gills in water
were swimming in the watershed of every tear
that almost makes it up over the top of the dam
I try to throw up like a manly front to what
I know I won't be able to hold back for long.

And there go the villages in the flooded valley
I tried to live among like a neighbourly mountain
come to Muhammad on the way up and down.
It's cold and lonely and the air is thin
at the peaks of experience, with only
a star and a cloud for company.
The hard diamond in the rough I used to be
has grown mushy over the years. Tears.
Imagine that. Warm, salt seas with undulant tides
of emotion coursing in and out,

[...] Read more

poem by Patrick White
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Sun-Up

(Shadows over a cradle…
fire-light craning….
A hand
throws something in the fire
and a smaller hand
runs into the flame and out again,
singed and empty….
Shadows
settling over a cradle…
two hands
and a fire.)

I

CELIA

Cherry, cherry, glowing on the hearth, bright red cherry…. When you try to pick up cherry Celia's shriek sticks in you like a pin.

When God throws hailstones you cuddle in Celia's shawl and press your feet on her belly high up like a stool. When Celia makes umbrella of her hand. Rain falls through big pink spokes of her fingers. When wind blows Celia's gown up off her legs she runs under pillars of the bank— great round pillars of the bank have on white stockings too.

Celia says my father
will bring me a golden bowl.
When I think of my father
I cannot see him
for the big yellow bowl
like the moon with two handles
he carries in front of him.

Grandpa, grandpa…
(Light all about you…
ginger… pouring out of green jars…)
You don't believe he has gone away and left his great coat…
so you pretend… you see his face up in the ceiling.
When you clap your hands and cry, grandpa, grandpa, grandpa,
Celia crosses herself.

It isn't a dream…. It comes again and again…. You hear ivy crying on steeples the flames haven't caught yet and images screaming when they see red light on the lilies on the stained glass window of St. Joseph. The girl with the black eyes holds you tight, and you run… and run past the wild, wild towers… and trees in the gardens tugging at their feet and little frightened dolls shut up in the shops crying… and crying… because no one stops… you spin like a penny thrown out in the street. Then the man clutches her by the hair…. He always clutches her by the hair…. His eyes stick out like spears. You see her pulled-back face and her black, black eyes lit up by the glare…. Then everything goes out. Please God, don't let me dream any more of the girl with the black, black eyes.

Celia's shadow rocks and rocks… and mama's eyes stare out of the pillow as though she had gone away and the night had come in her place as it comes in empty rooms… you can't bear it— the night threshing about and lashing its tail on its sides as bold as a wolf that isn't afraid— and you scream at her face, that is white as a stone on a grave and pull it around to the light, till the night draws backward… the night that walks alone and goes away without end. Mama says, I am cold, Betty, and shivers. Celia tucks the quilt about her feet, but I run for my little red cloak because red is hot like fire.

I wish Celia
could see the sea climb up on the sky
and slide off again…

[...] Read more

poem by Lola Ridge
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Baby Doll

Girl of my dreams she dont love me
Always the way it seems to be
My baby doll
Light of my life she turns it on
Over my head not close enough
My baby doll
Baby doll
You look so good
Baby doll
You feel so big
Baby doll
You let me have it
Why did you do it baby doll
Quick-tempered queen knows what she wants
And what I got is what its not
My baby doll

song performed by Devo
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Wooden Doll And The Wax Doll

THERE were two friends, a very charming pair,
Brunette the brown, and Blanchidine the fair;
And she to love Brunette did constantly incline,
Nor less did Brunette love sweet Blanchidine.
Brunette in dress was neat, yet always plain;
But Blanchidine of finery was vain.
Now Blanchidine a new acquaintance made–
A little girl most sumptuously array'd,
In plumes and ribbons, gaudy to behold,
And India frock, with spots of shining gold.
Said Blanchidine, 'A girl so richly dress'd,
Should surely be by every one caress'd.
To play with me, if she will condescend,
Henceforth 'tis she alone shall be my friend. '
And so for this new friend in silks adorn'd,
Her poor Brunette was slighted, left, and scorn'd.
Of Blanchidine's vast stock of pretty toys,
A wooden doll her every thought employs,
Its neck so white, so smooth, its cheeks so red–
She kiss'd, she fondled, and she took to bed.
Mamma now brought her home a doll of wax,
Its hair in ringlets white, and soft as flax;
Its eyes could open and its eyes could shut;
And on it, too, with taste its clothes were put.
'My dear wax doll!' sweet Blanchidine would cry–
Her doll of wood was thrown neglected by.
One summer's day, 'twas in the month of June,
The sun blazed out all in the heat of noon:
'My waxen doll,' she cried, 'my dear, my charmer!
What, are you cold? but you shall soon be warmer.'
She laid it in the sun–misfortune dire!
The wax ran down as if before the fire!
Each beauteous feature quickly disappear'd,
And melting, left a blank all soil'd and smear'd.
Her doll disfigured, she beheld amazed,
And thus express'd her sorrow as she gazed:
'Is it for you my heart I have estranged
From that I fondly loved, which has not changed?
Just so may change my new acquaintance fine,
For whom I left Brunette, that friend of mine.
No more by outside show will I be lured;
Of such capricious whims I think I'm cured:
To plain old friends my heart shall still be true,
Nor change for every face because 'tis new. '
Her slighted wooden doll resumed its charms,
And wronged Brunette she clasp'd within her arms.

poem by Ann Taylor
Added by Poetry Lover
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Porcelain Dolls Can't Breathe.

Eye lids slowly rise
Two peaked brows
Signifying an arch of innocense.
Masked in the depths of
Porcelain and perfection
Cool skin desgined with
The finest porcelain selection
She masters a paint-by-numbers kit.

Bits.-
Of her delicate psyche
Strewn along the floor
Placed on a metal shelf
And sold
As if this doll were a whore
With he now the merchant
He drags his purchase through the door
But, this doll she hasn't yet fallen.

Stalling.-
The crash
Right to the ground
But, when she finally does
Will she even make a sound?
She opens her mouth
Just the same; nothing comes out.
Has this doll been forbidden to speak?

Weak.-
Is this lord of hell that she seeks
As he grazes one finger
Along the cheek
Of her porcelain skin.
That he longs to caress

Obsess-
Over.
And, posess.
Self deluded and righteous
Narcissim reeks
He has an undying need
To fix something that is broken.

Choking.-
She sits, impossible!
She cannot even breathe
Nor can she think
Speak, Walk or see
Yet, astonishingly enough
Her value; it only increases.

[...] Read more

poem by Nicole Settimi
Added by Poetry Lover
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