My eyes are windows to the living,
I am not dead yet,
Beyond the dead , I'm alive,
Alive child,
A wild child.

My brows mean as MuMu says
"Look into my eyes chile!"

My mental state is a dollhouse...
I play out scenes in my mind,
As I'm seeing my way out the windows...
Out of the window and into your worlds,
Different stories,
Your alive just like I...
You know in a way we are alike,
You & Me.
Our souls brings the best of feelings,
Flowers blooming in the spring,
Oh i wish ...
I close my windows,
& my dollies fall back into an abyss,
Chained away in a rusty old treasure chest,

Oh God, Dear God,
How can i make a dollhouse for the dollies to live in,
I'm alive ,
But my dollies are in a chest of sin,
I want to break the ribs and reach in to save my ole' friends,
They are plastic but they are my only kin,
**** they are my best friends,

Lips big as blow up dolls,
Their body weight is 80% of alcohol,
It's how i made them...
Their clothes are made out of
The blood I bathe in,
Latex leggings and waist clinchers,
Pale as the purest sand,
Balloon fake ****,
Contoured cheekbones,
You would think they were Bratz clones...

My dollies need a H.O.M.E

Julie had never been one to partake in

Girly things, dollies and frills

Julie was one of those tomboy like girls

Who looked out for adventurous thrills

She loved riding bikes, down the hill at high speed

Screaming loud with her hands in the air

But Julie could not play in organized sports

Her mum said the cash wasn't there

She sat on the  sidelines and watched all the games

To not play the game was a sin

But Julie Macado would spend her whole life

On the outside of things looking in.

She knew all the players on all of the teams

She wanted so badly to play

But Julie Macado would learn pretty fast

She was one of the have-nots that day

In gym she was better than all of the guys

She sank every shot that she tried

But organized sports was just out of her league

She was still sitting on the outside

Her friends that she played with said

"Go see the coach", maybe he'll let you join up

When she told her poor mother that that's what's she'd do

Her mother told her to shut up

"I've done my best girl, to give you a life"

"And charity...I'll never take"

"If you're gonna play then you'll pay your own way

"For you learn more when somethings at stake"

So Julie went out, hustled, working part time

Doing all that she could to make bucks

But, when she had enough money to finally join in

The season was done...and that *****!

Even though she had shown she could be on the team

She was finished and did not begin

Poor Julie Macodo was still not on the team

She was still outside looking in

She worked all that summer making money galore

She'd be ready to sign up that fall

She had enough money to pay for herself

She was going to play basketball

Her mum lost her job in early July

The plant that she worked at had closed

Now she too was outside looking in at the others

They would move...that was what she supposed

Again Julie Macado would miss out again

All of her money she gave to her mom

She would be an outsider for all of her life

Never playing a game...'cept for fun

Even though she was better than all in her school

She would never be in looking out

Until that one day, when a man from Kentucky

Had come up to Freeling to scout

He'd heard of this girl, who could shoot from the floor

She had skills that he had seldom seen

He signed her on up to a four year free ride

It was all like a really good dream

He told her of how, he had gotten a letter

About a young girl ..that was her

It was written in crayon and a little bid blurry

And it stated out with a Dear Ser,

the spelling was bad, but he read it completely

It told of how Julie could play

But she had not school record, no history so

He set out to see the girl play

He contacted the school and he asked them for game films

They said she played only in gym

So he set out directly to see for himself

The decision would be up to him

Now, Julie Macado has realized her dream

Her life is all set to begin

She did it herself, with a note from her Mother

She was no longer out looking in.

He's singing
Bergdorf Blonde
Conde Nast Traveller
Rude or ****
Explode Bombshells.
He's singing I'm getting
married
Such a Pushover puppet?

Slave over the silken magnet
Oh so swift and swell let
the show begins

Those ritual love sin's
Miss Polly String smile say cheese
He's the Maneater enticing grins
His Trump Tower bell?
Oh! Hello Poetry
People like twin packing
Playgirl smooching
her lips pillow talk

The puppet stalk
their suitcases, but surprisingly
she falls down and trips
Play up your string's
Love act of rings
Her killer lace went into his face.
They all had a puppet inside.

A daredevil ride
Nowhere to hide
Las Vegas Nevada,
Like no other place.
She was in her prime
Diva,
Donna so Dollie, he had
a craving bank her they all
had to thank him
The foursome the Follie's
Do him
Torn to be so trendy
Such a spendy

Walmart of walnuts
Two amazing dollies
She's the magazine of
Italian Fendi.
Pulling her hair more flair
The whole shebang cashew's
Pushed by his split so
picky pecans.
How it went to her
Big little liar nephew's.
Like puppet curfews
  Hello, Poetry New.
The white wedding blue's
Magnifying big lip's.
He needed a Holly-doll
The next clue?
Silk strings taped up
That puppet took a mighty
long trip...

Did I say plastic puppet is real porcelain skin faces?

Playgirl's cries needed
a dominating diet
Hefner smoking jacket suit

What a demonstration,
pulling on hemming mini
skirt trims chances
dangerously slim
So condemning
caused a riot.
The other crowd what
Oscar Meyer Wiener.
Going to the Vet doggie collar he
was tied to be fit silk suit
Las Vegas show trainers.
Who got caught with the puppet
Honey tricked peanut butter playgirl
Puppet show went all hobbit
over "Twitter" mixed whirl
        
What a nut sometimes you feel
like a nut
sometimes you won't and she
knows you don't

The rest going to H---.
Must I B dreaming?

He's singing I'm your puppet man,
Elephant nose cleaned out the planter's
Such a big spender and tipper.
Brooklyn his name Lucas @ the circus!

Like a physic knows your inner thoughts,
hanging on a string.
Everything that comes out of his mouth is two!

I have a puppet surfing the internet
wrapped her around
Felt an undercurrent_ it was
like pieces of glass
soundproof,
his crafty fingers.

Is he doing the best he can?

He's pulling her madly
Puppet computer search
Penny the dreadful
He expects us to jump when
he's oversexed active
looking for his puppet chair,
in the back.
A ****-day puppet!
He's the pig face twilight zone
muppet's
Well doing the can-can two
Playgirl's
hit the fan
The puppets became
the Gentleman

  Playgirl's shuffling "Rose" deck
   Hollywood screen bedding
    Puppets skillful  making

        The Poem Day.
         Puppets pray
         String cheese display

Obsessed stories Puppets.

Playgirl's color gypsy Rose Leah  
Miss Natalie from the woods preach
Silken Marionette.  
So wrapped like someone's gift
But used thrifty bed
He's in his red-hot Corvette.
Instead of roses, his thing french brie
Stock market up and away tie
I rather have my pasta bow-ties
Swiss, the air she's the playgirl
  Swiss Alp's skiing
he ripped his pant's Swiss Alps hole.
Marilyn Monroe playgirl presidential
dancing on the Christmas pole
Love tropic Pineapple dole
  The bed red hot Corvette. console

Instead of roses, his thing was cheese.
"So Swiss" with holes of lace my face
I hate to burst your cheese,
He dragged his shirt open

Twice the fun playgirl she eloped
I became his string cheese pet!!
I'm not your string cheese.
Hello Godzilla, puppet collection
Bella bella Genie mozzarella

"Puppet overpriced sales
All your friends are a puppet male.
Make a wish blowfish

In all the year how I tracked men's nuts,
she had to string together nut job's,
eat a string cheese.
Polly didn't want animal crackers,
Groucho became like a ******.

The puppet master showing
his game piece
and pull on someone else's

You sit in a dollhouse all day,
Pouring tea out for your dolls and teddies. Mother comes home,
fake smiles on her face,
Father comes home,
reads his newspaper for the day.
"Hello, my love,
wipe your tears.
fix your face.
fix your heart.
put that makeup back on,
wear your lace.
Because Mr. Smith doesn't like when you cry.
He doesn't like when you pout,
he hates when you want to die".
"But mama,
I look so pretty when I cry.
Leave me be.
I want to die.
I want to be free.
I want to fly.
I want a painful goodbye
So I can have all the good
in the other life".

Mother doesn't know.
Father doesn't care.
Sister is far away.
Mr. Smith is an ******* with no hair.
LoVe iS iN tHe AiR.
LoVe iS iN tHe AiR.
"Go back to bed, honey.
You need your pretty sleep.
Dry your face,
paint your nails,
Fix your hair.
The world doesn't like your sad,
ugly face".
The walls are the best psychiatrists ever. They listen, they listen,
oh how they whisper.
You can stare at them and they'll never run away.
They'll never give you pills.
They never tell you to fix your face.
Your teddies are your friends.
Your dolls are your puppets.
"Gimme a canvas,
let me paint my worries!"
You take a knife,
you put it to your skin.
Out pops all the fuzz and stuffing.
No one cares. No one cares. No one cares
about anything but your face and hair.
You stare at yourself for what seemed like 1,000,093 minutes of dread.
"Oh, Mr. Smith, do you know about the demons inside my head?
You don't?
You don't?
Aww, how sad!
Then you must not know
about all the blood that I shed"
All they say is pain is beauty.
You cry out to your pillow,
"Help me! Someone just help me!"
But the truth is, babygirl,
the wrong people in this world only care
about their own teddies
And their own dollies
And their own rainbows
And their own swirlies.

-k.ira

The first pair of shoes you wore were black,
velcro straps sat atop your pair of dollies
to make it easier to put them on for the park.
They were meant to be smart, but you laughed
as you wore them against the ground so free
as dad slung the swings, smiling at his child.

Our mum told me I was a creative child:
I didn't like to wear anything black. Red
suited me in how I stood in puddles, free
in indifference to how brown my wellies
became. If I was asked why, I'd shout,
“I'm pretending we're all at the seaside.”

From there we made our way to beaches,
where the wind was crisp and the children
we could see around us acclaimed screams
of emphatic joy at how the sea was so blue
and big. We had to wear pairs of sandals
when we went, but being barefoot felt free.

All that time we had at being young and free
soon went with the summer ending in school,
the arrival of my freshly polished black boots
was identical to almost every other child's-
a lather of paint dripping over in mud yellows
proved who I was with a mother's groan,

and this wasn't the only time she wailed.
As we grew older and wanted to be free,
my sister started to experiment with pink
highlights in her hair as I visited clubs
with fake ID. We were adults with childish
personalities in how I wore my Docs

like a religion for feet, my sibling in high heels
that you could hear in Sunday morning claps.
The arguments broke out: she wanted a child,
mother saying was too young, needed to free
herself from lazy culture and find a workplace.
I'd never seen both their faces so gushed red,

just like the red richness of those wellies
I had worn in the park. I pipe up and say,
“The best freedom is our time as children.”

Mr Finn
was talking
history

Saxon stuff
battlements
and castles

listening
I recalled
the toy fort

that I got
for my 6th
birthday gift

with coloured
lead soldiers
some with swords

some with bows
and arrows
and after

the school day
on the way
home I asked

Janice if
she'd like to
see my fort

you've a fort?
a real fort?
she asked me

as we walked
together
along St

George's Road
it's a toy
fort I got

for my 6th
birthday gift
has it got

a drawbridge?
sure it has
and towers?

5 if you
count the one
over the

drawbridge I
informed her
I'd love to

see your fort
she said so
I took her

to the flat
where I lived
and showed her

the toy fort
and soldiers
and we sat

on the floor
and my mum
brought us drinks

of Tizer
and biscuits
and Janice

said to me
maybe you'd
like to see

my dollies
at my place
Gran likes you

then we can
have a tea
party with

my dollies
I liked her
but going

to a doll's
tea party
how could a

young boy live
that one down
if the boys

on the block
found that out
so I said

maybe one
day I might
when there's not

a moon out
in the night.

The television is getting worse, I have noticed on its viewing
What the **** is going on, what do you think your doing ?
Maybe its ungrateful, but our minds are just left stewing
Why must people endure repeats, through years of program queuing?
An example is the game shows, there on every side just brewing
We're paying for the privilege, its the public that your *******

We don't want Deal Or No Deal, with all those crap crisp boxes
Q.I. is not that interesting, it has too many paradoxes
Who Wants To Be A Millionaire ? is that just a stupid question?
I would love to Strike It Lucky, so what is your suggestion?

Pointless has the correct name, cos that's exactly what it is
Has Jasper Carrot got Golden *****, or is he *******
Why is there ***** Money, did they ran out of toilet tissues
Julian Clary had Sticky Moments, and outrageous camping issues

Whenever Opportunity Knocks, well just open the door
If your going to Take Me Out, then what are you waiting for?
Don't Name That Tune In One, I'd rather hear it all
A Question Of Sport is so boring, its hardly on the ball

Is it the Weakest Link, because the chain is full of rust?
Didn't Blockbusters close down, and the video shop go bust ?
Why Should I Supermarket Sweep, Dale can sweep it himself
The pyramid Game is just, an apex polyhedron triangular shelf

I Don't want to go on Mastermind, and look like a ******* fool
If I went Through The Keyhole, then I must be minuscule
Why Would I Lie To You? wouldn't that be a bit two faced
I'm not sure if Celebrity Squares, are really all straight laced?
Could you please repeat yourself, I did not Catch that Phrase
Just how many crystals where there, in the Crystal Maze?

Was Spin Star cancelled, because celebrities where break dancing
Or was it Bradley Walsh's giant fruit, that needed some enhancing?
Why is it called The Chase, when there's no chasing involved?
The Chasers are sat on there arses, so The Chase is never solved

I don't think it is the Wheel Of Fortune, even if you do
You don't really get much fortune, till you solve the final clue
Paul Daniels said Every Second Counts, so forget the introductions
Just get on with the game play, don't even bother with instructions

Philip Schofield played with Five Gold Rings, isn't that just wrong
I thought that Five Gold Rings, belonged to a Christmas song
Ted Rogers read such stupid clues, it made it hard to win
No wonder 3.2.1 contestants, usually won poor Dusty Bin

I would really love to drink, some of that Celebrity Juice
But first I'll have to find out, which ones are tight or loose
I'm not lucky enough to have 300 Blanks, with a lovely lady in a bed
I'll have to hand it to myself, and have a Blankety Blank instead

Mr & Mrs is outdated, most Marriages are not enforced
Those couples who where happy once, are probably divorced
Treasure Hunt used a Helicopter, clues found by Anneka Rice
She ran around quite frantically, but her **** was rather nice

Isn't Ann Widdecombe a dark horse, she liked a Cleverdick
I Suspect if she had the chance, she'd like a **** that's thick
There used to be Telly Addicts, but now they are history
We no longer want Noel Edmunds, or crap games on our TV

Poor Bully tried to play Darts, but his aim was far to high
It isn't all that great or Super, missing the Bullseye
Come on now Jim its not fare, making the contestants cry
To look at what you could have won, and kiss the prize goodbye

Naked Jungle was a one off, Keith Chegwin in the buff
I'm glad it did not continue, so please don't Call My Bluff
Countdown has been on for years, we've had a ****** enough
Only Connect and 15 to 1, are hard and far too tough

Family fortunes and Eggheads, we don't want all this stuff
Fort Boyard and Mock The Week, stick them up you chuff
Going For Gold and Gladiators, too old and looking rough
University Challenge and Impossible, there really dull and duff

Never Mind The Buzzcocks, it's a forgotten piece of Fluff
Crosswits and Chain Letters, should be dragged of by the scuff
Hole in the wall and Alphabetical, are so right of the cuff
The Cube and The Million Pound Drop, I'd walk of in a huff

Many game shows throughout the years, all needed a good host
But there isn't any spontaneity, so none of them can boast
Instead of reading from a script,and acting liked their dosed
Take the plunge make it your own, don't be a mindless ghost
Why don't hosts try to be their best, and try to be their most
Wouldn't it make more sense, to keep your audience engrossed

Ben Shepherd comes to mind, he doesn't seem all there
With his ****** expressions, weird smile and stupid stare
How did he become a host, was it all based on a dare
Why is his act robotic, its more than we can bare

Its like watching a recording, this isn't really fare
If we are subjected to this crap, then we deserve a share
I guess its our misfortune, its enough to make you swear
We're already at our Tipping Point, so we no longer care

Now I'm not saying that every host, is as bad as old Ben Shep
In fact there is at least one guy,who has a better Rep
He may not be a large man, in fact he played a Lep
But at least he isn't wooden, and he's with you every step

Warwick Davis's Act is Tenable, and he has not compromised
With good hosting skills, jokes and quips Warwick has realized
Although I'm not a game show fan, I am pleasantly surprised
He stands tall over the other hosts, even though he is pintsized

Why keep making game shows, was there a voting pole?
I believe there are too many, they are so ******* droll
As bad as all reality, the schedules they both stole
Axe the ******* lot of them, and chuck them down a hole

Just take a look at Brucie, may god rest his soul
He was around for decades, and hosting was role
Taking over all the shows, seemed to be old Brucie's goal
The years weren't kind to old Bruce, they definitely took there toll

There is a Brucie Bonus, available for every Generation
All you really needed, was the right kind of motivation
Nice to see you to see you nice, was Bruce's obligation
Life was the name of the game, in a family situation

A cuddly toy on a conveyer belt, in a prize observation
Didn't he do well all, depends on your own determination
If You Play Your Cards Right, Dollies Dealing a sensation
You don't get anything for a pair, maybe its infatuation

You can freeze but you cant stick, all dealt in isolation
Do you want to bet on it, was a gambling invitation
The price was always right, just use your imagination
Come on down to old Bruce, win a car and a vacation

Maybe he's a legend, with Bruce's game show graduation
A chance to host a new show, a Good Game realization
What's on the board miss ford, moving on to a new creation
It turned camp when they shut that door, and hired Larry Grayson

What was it with Bruce Forsyth, he was far too keen
He monopolised the hosting, on the game show scene
Seizing every opportunity, ever since he was fourteen
Just like Command and Conqueror, on the TV screen
He took on all the game shows, maybe he's just mean
But I cant help but to wander, where else has he been?

With all of his catchphrases, and a chin that was obscene
A wig that was like shredded wheat, it never should be seen
I don't know if I'm being harsh, it maybe his routine
And its all in his makeup, and part of Bruce's gene
Perhaps he liked the studio, and had too much caffeine
Along with the all dodgy food, in the BBC canteen

Now Challenge screens the game shows, but there all so ******* old
We've already seen all these games, they've already all been sold
I do not mean to sound too flippant, but why wont you be told
Your sending your viewers up the wall, and your audiences cold
Now let me state what's obvious, I hope I am not too bold
We don't want all these rehashed games, there hardly TV gold

A rocking chair sits
On the porch
Of a house
On the corner of ol’ Honey Lane.
It looks over fields of lavender stems
And rocks with the wind and the rain.
I grew up walking past it,
On ol’ Honey Lane,
And would sometimes drop by for a swing.
I brought books and some snacks,
Played with dollies and jacks,
This poor rocker withstood everything.
I grew a bit older but kept coming back
To my rocker on ol’ Honey Lane.
I’d bring it my sorrows and rock til the morrow,
Forgetting my worries and pain.
The gentle caressing of lavender lullabies
Scattered the clouds of grey.
And whene’er I was lonely, I knew that only
My rocker could brighten my day.
Still older I grew and soon began dreaming
Of cities more couth and refined.
So I hopped on a plane, fled my ol' Honey Lane
And left my poor rocker behind.
I traded my jeans for a dazzling dress,
And dollies for wine and pearls.
But nothing within could dare to trade in

The mem’ry of that young, little girl.
The girl who spent hours watching lavender fields,
On the corner of ol’ Honey Lane.
I knew without haste, there was no time to waste,
I had to go find her again.
So back home I flew, to see family and friends,
To smell lavender waft through the air.
I ran to the porch of the old corner house,
And saw my dear old rocking chair.
I hopped on it’s seat, kicked my feet off the ground,
And remembered the wind and the rain.
As the sun went to sleep in the lavender fields,
So I slept on my rocker
On ol’ Honey Lane.

- p. winter

He hands her bouquets
She swats each away to see
Guns firing petals

She cannot recant
The burn of spells cast daily
Ring ‘round the roses

And we all fall down
Iron-hued blood that stained
Empty bellies rouge

It bled everywhere
Darkened slick of sick roses
She won’t let him cry

Flowers from his eyes
Or hanging paper dollies
Says that it’s okay

Says that it’s okay
She can’t spill bone-dry flowers
To drown in the Nile

She swats each bouquet
Why won’t she just let him care?
He’s swatted away

She was our first grandchild
And naturally
We loved her dearly
And I adored her
As only grand-dads can
And she latched onto me

She used to come to us every Tuesday
At a time when kids are most interesting
She was fully conversational
(Didn't we all know it)
Her personality was emerging
And she was still young enough
To have her originality and imagination
My little gold mine of joy

And this is how it would go

"Grand-dad, you be the shop keeper
And I'll bring my dollies in for clothes."
So she would lay out her doll's outfits
And bring her dolls forward to buy clothes
She would haggle over the price (and win)
And pay me in cardboard coins

"Let's watch a video, Grand-dad!
Let's watch Barny!" (Again)
I hate that ****** purple dinosaur
And Katie thinks he's wonderful
That smarmy voice of his
"I love you and you love me,"
I bleeding don't you know
I wouldn't let him within a hundred miles
Of any kids of mine.

In the course of the day
I would be called upon
To play multiple parts in
Everything from The Three Bears
To Little Red Riding Hood
In which I memorably became
Big Bad Wolf and Grandma
And presumably ate myself

But the highlight of the day
Was the last thing before she went home
The weekly show
"Introduce me, Grand-dad!"
In my best showman's voice
"Ladies and gentlemen...!"
To my wife and dog
"...The moment you've been waiting for.
Fresh from her recent tour
Of our back garden.....
Miss Katie......."
"Katie Spice, Grand-dad."
"Miss Katie SPICE!"

Into some popular ditty of the day
Issuing from her at full volume
Then she would stop mid-line
While she did a little dance step
All greeted by thunderous applause
In her head it was Carnegie Hall
Rather than my wife, my dog and me
So, a happy end to a happy day
Then Katie went home
And I slipped into an exhausted coma

                                           By Phil Roberts

Sleep my child, sleep
No need to count sheep
Just close your eyes
No need to cry
Sleep my child, sleep
Only a room away
Wake to a new day
feel no fear
Im still right here
Sleep my child, sleep
Protected by his blood
Like Noah and the flood
Youll be unharmed
Just like a charm
Sleep my child, sleep
Precious as can be
Eyes not meant to see
Creepy crawlies and voodoo dollies
Sleep my child, sleep

*this is meant to be sang

“Mommy, can I have this dolly please?
I know that I have other ones at home.
Can I?
Please?
Yes I know there’s kids in Africa that don’t have any dollies,
That’s not what I was getting at.
Mommy, I want it.
I want it.
Mommy!”
Remember that mom? How silly was I?
Greedy for all the wrong things...
I feel your hand now- soft, fragile, wrinkled- in mine.
The doctors tell me that you haven’t got a lot of time…
“She’s hanging on by the tips of her fingers.”
One of them told me.
Always a fighter. Even when you’re pale and frail.
How long will you be here, to hold my hand while the hospital machines tick like sadistic time machines?
Like a clock without conscience.
I want more ticks on the machine.
I want more heartbeats.
“Mommy I want it.”
No.
I want you.
You should see the snow outside, Mom.
Typical Nebraskan winter, I tell ya.
Remember when I was eight, and there was that huge blizzard?
The snow piled up, but it was a gentle snow. Fluffy. Light.
The snow will keep falling. Keep fighting, the way the flakes fight the wind.
(Sigh)
Your hair is so grey now. I remember when you used to dye it
To spite dad and his ever greying, salt-and-pepper style.
You’re so thin...
Ugh! Come back to me, let’s rewind
To the years when I could be greedy for dollies, and not for days.

come all you story readers
be you young or be you old
to the land of sir dolly dimple
were fairytales unfold
not so far away
and not so long ago
lived a boy named dolly dimple
and a horse named dynamo
they lived in a land of tyrants
were fear and greed was bred
yet this boy called dolly dimple
had a halo on his head
he grew to be a decent man
big and brave and strong
he rode the land on dynamo
to put right all that's wrong
he rescued damsels in distress
he put dragons fires out
he made the land a safer place
he was loved beyond all doubt
yet as he grew so famous
so did the boy next door
the wicked tyrant gordon
did evil deeds galore
now gordon was a wicked boy
who grew to be an evil man
to undo the good deeds dolly did
was gordons master plan
now gordon hated good sir dolly
ever since they both were boys
cos sir dolly quite by accident
broke one of gordons toys
so gordon kidnapped all the princesses
and locked them in his tower
to grind down all the corn he grew
and turn it into flour
he crept into peoples houses
to steal kids from there bed
to work in his bakeries
to turn his flour into bread
then he sent out all the orphans
to work on the street
seling his bread
to the people they,d meet
then he bought up all the houses
with the money he made
and doubled the rent
that the poor people paid
now everybody panicked
shouted screamed and bawled
till someone suggested
the mayor should be called
now the mayor listened carefully
and when he heard it all
he picked up his phone
and gave sir dolly a call
he quickly told sir dolly
what was going on
on dolly said dont worry mayor
i,ll be right along
so he dressed in his armour
loaded his pop gun
climbed up on dynamo
and his good deed had begun
he rode up to the tower
scaled the walls of stone
peeped into the window
to see the princesses were alone
when he saw it was all clear
he climbed into the tower
and made a big rope ladder
from the bags that held the flour
so sir dolly and the princesses
climbed down to the ground
and he took them all home safely
except 4 one he found
she was princess of the orphans
princess clare was her name
sir dolly fell in love with her
princess clare felt the same
now sir dolly had a mission
he knew he must go alone
so he dropped off princess Clare
at the mayors home
princess Clare  told sir dolly to take care
he said dont worry i,ll be back
with the wicked tyrant gordon
******* in a sack
so he rode off on dynamo
to the bakery door
so he could free all the children
so they could sleep once more
he kicked down the door
took off every chain
rode them all home
and tucked them back in bed again
then he rode to the orphanage
and hid in bushes by the gate
he knew gordon would come back 4 the kids
all he had to do was wait
first thing in the morning
just as it got light
he saw gordon coming
so he jumped out of sight
sir dolly shouted gordon
we meet again at last
i,ve come to punish you 4 all ur crimes
ur evil days are past
yet gordon was so quick
he turned and as he fled
sir dolly pulled his pop gun out
and shot him in the head
all gordon cud do
was fall with a shout
as the cork from dollies pop gun
quickly knocked him out
so dolly tied gordons hands up
tight behind his back
then picked up evil gordon
and dropped him in a sack
he put gordon on dynamos back
tied him on with his tail
rode him back to town
and threw him into jail
now the whole town cheered
and shouted dolly,s name
and gave him a medal
for stopping gordons evil game
now princess Clare
gave dolly a big kiss
and everybody cheered again
and not long after this
sir dolly and princess Clare
became husband and wife
and lived happily ever after
for the rest of there life

wheeled tools to move things
a girl's toys that have bodies  
useful gifts, dollies

Sneakers left in blue shoe boxes
Milk is spilt on ruined floors
Sewing chair just ricks and rockes.
Paint is chipped off old, white doors.

Mice and murmuring reconcile
Sheets left huddled in room
Books and briefcase in a pile
Hatbox smells of old perfume.

A child's dollies left, and loveless
Glasses cracked and on the chair
Courtyard empty, dead and dove less
Frames are empty, cracked and bare.

Stairs are winding up, unending
Cotton seeps from cushion wounds
Old oak branches broke and bending
Cluttered forks and silver spoons.

Empty always, still and lonely
People come but never stay
Stay one night but one night only
Then they up and go away.

Under a blanket of 
blackest wool
tiny darting stab wounds bleed 
yellow splinters through a night sky that borrowed it's blue from the bottom of the sea.
-In the up there.
       -In the out there.
And on our wooden chairs painted crisp bay white
chipped over the years,
so the layers of paint becomes a calendar -
we sit to watch
63 moons glide gracefully,
circle daintily-
We strain our necks and whisper tightly
say the things
that move from tongues to fingertips.
Wild gestures meant to
land sooner than the bitter words.
Under the nebulae where you once
gave me a ring
which you slung round a planet
with a ladder and rope.
And you gave me a promise that's still hung round the sun
so I jump up ride it when it orbits me close.
and I'll hide in its caves when the fear-dollies chase me-
and I'll dip in the tides of bubbling foam.
In a moment of tiny,
                              of small
                                            and of sooner....
                             in a moment that's billions of miles away
so before we've been born
and before we've been lovers-
a star somewhere tucked our whole story away.
I'll find us a night cloud
thick with our longings
I'll puff up it's feathers and send it to sea.
I'll send out a hope seed
to sell to the watchmen,
only to free it when they've gone to sleep.
Yes, I'll pack it up safely and keep it's core glowing
(for hope is a thing that you never keep kept.  )
As we sit in our garden,
and we touch close our fingers
As our babies are children and those children now men.
The night scented orchid blooms urgent around us,
like small fragrant fairies that scattered below.
The 64th moon has given you passage,
she's waiting impatient, I fear you must go.
Don't look for me, darling, for I will be waiting
on the bench in the garden
where the night flowers bloom.



Sahn 5/2/15  
Thanks as always.

Air left to
rust when we speak

it now is the time
to postpone

gladly over a shining,
retaliatory absence

in search of a space
to shape a volatile figure

that was
a bridge

how, humming our steps
a valedictory

making staccato.
hurry before it catches

us mid-flow, profuse
with sustained harbors

but they cannot
see us here when they slit

us from our canvas, how?
all that radiates

expels us out of this
when no more; absorbed their

breaths boldly stuck inside
a body: a cage: a meeting: an encounter

a path dollies in perfect capture
frame by frame almost an ellipsis

the world tonight blackened
a gutter squalled by an unseen figure

darting across,  eviscerating
the bargain: that in-between produced vastness.

I Think Ziggy’s playing guitar again.
And walking on the wild side.

I fancy a walk it’s a fine spring evening.
And I’ve kept my self busy with half arsed house cleaning.

Who knows what’s round the corner?
What tattered hymns are being hummed from the leopard skin trolley dollies?

Their kneeling for distraught drunken jockeys
Discussions which inevitably create fraught tension.
That which must be defused

Catch a break brother you’re casting successive **** storms.
Throw on the parker and thus to the shelter.

Thirty six and dour and positively *****,
Few dollars in the bank.

Show patience and may receive what I deserve.
I lean and drool, the swagger of Liam Gallagher and clean my shiny Excalibur.

Indulge the kindness of strangers.
The merging of unstable behaviour.
Shake the snow globe and set tasers to stun

I talk to the luscious Lucia. Tell her to skip the small talk and let’s get to marinating the pork
Another dumb quirk, dumb dirt that comes from my cracked beak.
She considerers me flippant and   freakish.

I am truly scrooge macduffed
She returns to her posh rugby fan with blonde locks and a chin that could hold six pints.

I lay this dog to die and meet some more familiar faces.
All the venues are familiar.
Avast the putrid fog of masculine sweat, the desperate air of ****** puns that drag and caress us in the arm pit of jacks sick giant.

None of our jokes make any sense and were ducking and diving into primitive offence.

The next few hours are unacceptable and the horror must have me in chained.

If I could describe the rest Charlie Bronson would light my ***.
Woke up next day lying on the wing of a Heathrow aeroplane.
Without my trousers.

And several tubes in the near regions.
And now it come to this.
Prison showers and a Glaswegian mans kiss.

From little dollies,
To sitting in trollies.
Sitting beneath trees,
In the summer breeze.
Not a care I felt,
Nor a worry to feel.
Just me and my friends,
Imaginary or real.
The delight of innocence,
In the simpler days,

As I ponder back to the simpler ways.

White wall of flame
Do you see it?
***** fingernails and coal eyes
Do you see it?
Gluttural groans and mouthes fixated in 'Oh'
Skin that lies while butterflies dance on their skin
Do you see it?
Dollies in a line with the red kisses upon their heads
Their wings opening around them and hanging
Displaying the glory
The power
While weak eyes tremble with awe
Do you see it?
While the King and Queen argue
The rook slithers
Taking pawns and two Knights
Scaled to something magnificent
Alluring and burning alive
Do you see it?
The weasel has no Will
The weasel will not be reborn
No
He will be ash under my feet
While I pick my teeth of his flesh
And when you see me disappear
My failed consummation a dying echo
I will come
You will hear me roar
And you will know I breathe again
Do you see
me

I can always feel the impossible expectations
rolling off her skin like a bitter perfume.
She has yet to realize,
I am not the perfect little girl she hoped to raise.
She makes me act as the play dough in her hands,
as she molds the life she yearned for.
A puppet I stand as she pulls the strings
yelling "you have no idea what I've done for you!"
but I do.
She blinded me from reality and took me away
when i was too young to understand.
When Dad was "daddy" and Mom was "mommy"
When everyone was a friend and dollies were pretty.
She stole me away from all of that,
and brought me to a place it's so cold
it burns.
It's a place the sun likes to hide from.
Sometimes I wonder if she would expect so much
if it had all been the same.
If we were a family instead of
tear drops in the ocean.
And sometimes I see the shadow lift off her,
as she realizes I am anything but perfect.
But then she crawls back under that shadow,
my shadow.
For she has put me on a pedestal so high,
I know falling off would **** me.

Pale blue sky
Endlessly tumbling clouds
Sleepy and drowsy sun
Waking young moon
Hush, hush distant frogs’ croaks
Swishy-swoshy, rustle of breeze blowing dry grasses.
Every lives’ moment is a movie.

Plush green fields
Sweet melody of birds chirping
The crunching sound of beach’s white sand underneath our feet
Rush, rush sound of the sea
Whistles of patrolling sea gulls
The ****, **** thumping of a heart.
Every lives’ moment is a beautiful song

Red haired dollies
The backyard trees and swings
The childhood crush
The race to meet a tired returning mother.
The humble lamp-lit dinners
The late night story tales.
Every lives’ memory is a classic painting

As a clock counts lives’ time
She drips memories, pictures and songs
This beauty untold
Infinite melodies unsung
That only a keen and positive heart can hear.

I close my eyes and dream of winters so pretty that even angels sigh at the scene  
cascading snowflakes softly falling, in shapes of doilies and paper ruffle dollies  
Winter hats and muffle mitts of red, snowman whispers as red sled rides go by
carnival rides and children full of chide, what a wonderful world of white...
A winter scent of magic, white deer and shadowed antlers of incandescent wood
log cabins with fireplaces and verandas with copper foot welcome matts, come in
make yourself comfortable while the kettle roars to life, tea toddler or coffee lover?  
Enter into our little jovial cottage story and stay a while.