"dollies" poems
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.
May 5, 2012
May 5, 2012 at 6:20 PM UTC
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.”
Apr 18, 2014
Apr 18, 2014 at 3:09 PM UTC
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
Feb 26, 2015
Feb 26, 2015 at 2:31 PM UTC
This is Anna
Anna has a dolly
A raggedy little thing
Her name is Miss Molly
Anna loves Miss Molly
She had her since she was three
Miss Molly loves Anna
They are as close as can be
Sometimes Anna is happy
Which makes Miss Molly happy
Sometimes Anna is sad
Which makes Miss Molly sad
Sometimes Anna had to leave
Which makes Miss Molly angry
And when Miss Molly is angry
Anna is scared
But that's okay
Because Miss Molly always says she's sorry
And Anna forgives her
Because friends accept apology
One day, Anna had to go on a 'trip'
Miss Molly wanted to come
“No, sweetie, Miss Molly can't go
This is your first day of school,” said her mum
So Anna left
And Miss Molly grew angry
She grew so mad
Her smiley face turned ugly
When Anna came back home
And went to her dolly in her room
Miss Molly started shouting at her
Her face full of anger and gloom
“Why did you leave me?” she yelled,
“I thought we were best friends!”
“We are,” Anna cried back,
“But you have to wait until school ends.”
Miss Molly grew quiet
Her face blank on her raggedy head
A few minutes passed
And she finally said
“Stay with me, Anna,
Forever and ever.
We will never be apart
Whenever and wherever.”
Anna looked at Miss Molly
Into her dolly's button eyes
And finally said, “Okay.
No more saying goodbyes.”
In the closet on a little girl's room
In a box full of forgotten toys
Lay two little dollies
Smiling in the silent noise.
The End
Feb 12, 2013
Feb 12, 2013 at 9:21 PM UTC
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
Jun 10, 2016
Jun 10, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
I want,
to,
draw a,
picture.
With stick,
figures,
and a dog,
on a hill,
with a ball,
and I promise,
I won’t,
eat the,
crayons.
I just,
wish,
I could be,
a toddler.
I want,
to throw,
a tantrum.
Pull my,
hair,
throw,
the paint,
scream,
until I’m,
shaking,
and you’re,
pacing.
I want,
to be,
a toddler.
Play with,
blocks,
and dollies,
be your little,
princess.
I,
Want,
To,
Be,
A,
Toddler.
Pout,
Stomp my feet,
Until I get,
My way.
Pretty please?
I want to be,
a,
Toddler.
Let me,
Scream,
I want,
Crying.
Let,
Me,
NO!
This isn’t,
me.
I’m not,
a,
toddler.
I want,
to paint,
a picture,
with stick figures,
and a dog,
on a hill.
I promise,
I won’t,
make it,
into soup.
Aug 3, 2023
Aug 3, 2023 at 11:09 AM UTC
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
Dec 18, 2012
Dec 18, 2012 at 6:16 PM UTC
A 15 year old girl with 3 ****** partners almost up to 4
Living without essentials because her family lives poor
Feeding in addiction while her body craves more
She's growing up too fast and she's doing it alone
She says she needs the drugs because she won't make it on her own
So she lights up that blunt and snorts some of that coke
As her body sub-misses to the drug she says softly "don't tell my folks"
Deeper and deeper she sinks into her own hellish abyss
As a child she never thought life could be like this
But she also thought daddies weren't supposed to hit mommies
And little girls were supposed to just play with their dollies
Instead of hiding from step-brothers with lust in their eyes
Just to be found in her room at night, awaiting a not so pleasant surprise
Her life has been nothing but bad days with dark skies
A 15 year old girl with 4 ****** partners almost up to 5
Married to *** pain and drugs
She makes a beautiful wife
Married to the death of love
She makes a beautiful wife
Jul 16, 2013
Jul 16, 2013 at 4:09 PM UTC
you treat me so sweetly, your favorite doll
you always play so carefully
you put me away in the closet when you're done with me
and when i rip, you gently sew me back
you always forget that dolls have feelings, too, though
and you just get mad so easily
you always are physically ever so soft, but verbally you just destroy me
you always just put me back in my box
but can't you see i'm hurting?
you only see the outside
never the tears
i'm just a doll
good dollies don't cry, good dollies can't cry
i'm just a doll
so you leave without a second thought
i've been in your closet for so long
i'm all but a forgotten toy now
it's so cold in here
why have you left me to rot?
i cannot move, you must know this
i can only sit and stare
i'm just a doll, can't you remember?
i'm just a doll
i'm just a doll
Dec 31, 2017
Dec 31, 2017 at 2:06 AM UTC
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.
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 7:28 AM UTC
Baby watered her bears
And fell asleep in a sodden heap
Dreaming, no doubt,
Of a world where watered teddies grow
Like flowers, throw
Their paws to the sky,
Fur unfolding like petals,
Chummy grins becoming monstrous,
Button eyes like black holes,
Threatening to gobble her up.
She woke screaming at 3am
I replaced the wet with dry,
Soothed with cuddles,
Changed the scary dripping bears
For dry dollies.
Now she's sleeping soundly,
Hairy scary bears, downstairs
Waiting to be be tumbled,
Wanting to be dry.
Dec 6, 2013
Dec 6, 2013 at 3:27 PM UTC
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
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 7:53 PM UTC
Woooo Woooo
We screamed as kids
Cowboys and Indians
Cops and robbers
We progressed to war
Endemic it seems from tv
One of us German one English
Innocence in play yet failed
We always portray one good one bad
No word to what made that happen
North and south went to war
North won but what if they hadn't??
Or what if the **** army had conquered
Well all considered and bewildered
I'm playing dollies and house with my little girl
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 7:38 AM UTC
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.
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:00 AM UTC
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.
Apr 6, 2024
Apr 6, 2024 at 4:26 PM UTC
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.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 11:48 PM UTC
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
Sep 30, 2016
Sep 30, 2016 at 1:36 AM UTC
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.
Jan 10, 2015
Jan 10, 2015 at 11:03 AM UTC
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.
Jun 1, 2016
Jun 1, 2016 at 4:12 AM UTC
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.
Aug 21, 2011
Aug 21, 2011 at 2:40 AM UTC
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
Feb 8, 2017
Feb 8, 2017 at 5:45 AM UTC
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.
Aug 20, 2014
Aug 20, 2014 at 12:10 PM UTC
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.
Jan 5, 2022
Jan 5, 2022 at 10:37 PM UTC