"manikins" poems
Society sells beautiful lies,
Emphasis on the beautiful,
They sell you the definition of beauty in
small pictures,
small ads,
small sizes.
Spinning the world on a string,
They've got us all fooled.
Telling teens they don't need to eat,
"Skip the food today,
be beautiful tomorrow".
Selling the idea that beauty can replace sorrows.
Society sells the idea that beauty is empowerment.
Society sells the idea that if you are beautiful,
then you could have the world on a string.
These lies lead our leaders of tomorrow into disarray.
Sell us the idea that if we are beautiful
today will be better than yesterday.
But the empty promises lead us all astray,
Abandoned on street corners begging for scraps,
because we didn't think we felt empowerment.
Society sells small,
Society sells beauty,
Society sells small.
Small models,
Small manikins,
Small sizes.
Spinning the world on a string,
Society sells the idea that the size of your waist,
defines how beautiful you are.
Society sells the idea that beauty
is empowerment.
Society sells small.
Society sells the idea that if you are not small,
you are not **empowered,
ugly,
waste of space.**
Society sells small.
Society says beauty is empowerment.
These lies lead our leaders of tomorrow into disarray,
Too many teens today are to prone to facings their problems with razor blades,
Because today was not better than yesterday.
Then tomorrow won't be either.
Society sells small,
small pictures,
small ads,
small manikins.
Society sells protruding plastic ribs,
ribs sharp enough to cut paper.
Society sells the figures of the sick and dying.
Society sells small.
Small enough to be drop dead gorgeous,
Emphasis on the drop dead,
Society sells women who are severely underfed.
Society sells women suffering from malnutrition.
Since when did this become tradition?
Since when was fragile stature empowering?
Society sells skin and bones.
Society sells so small,
women are literally dying to feel beautiful.
Aug 11, 2014
Aug 11, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
* "Our cattle graze, the wind breathes." -Garcilaso *
It was my ancient voice
ignorant of thick bitter juices.
I sense it lapping my feet
beneath the fragile wet ferns.
Ay, ancient voice of my love,
ay, voice of my truth,
ay, voice of my open flank,
when all the roses flowed from my tongue
and grass knew nothing of horses' impassive teeth!
Here are you drinking my blood,
drinking my tedious childhood mood,
while in the wind my eyes are bludgeoned
by aluminum and drunken voices.
Let me pass the gates
where Eve eats ants
and Adam seeds dazzled fish.
Let me return, manikins with horns,
to the grove where I stretch
and leap with joy.
I know a rite so secret
it requires an old rusty pin
and I know the horror of open eyes
on a plate's concrete surface.
But I want neither world nor dream, nor divine voice,
I want my freedom, my human love
in the darkest corner of breeze that no oen wants.
My human love!
Those hounds of the sea chase each other
and the wind spies on careless tree trunks.
Oh ancient voice, burn with your tongue
this voice of tin and talc!
I long to weep because I want to,
as the children cry in the last row,
because I'm not man, nor poet, nor leaf,
but only a wounded pulse circling the things of the other side
I want to cry out speaking my name,
rose, child and fir-tree beside this lake,
to speak my truth as a man of blood
slay in myself teh tricks and turns of the word.
No, no. I'm not asking, I, desire,
voice, my freedom that laps my hands.
In the labyrinth of screens it's my nakedness receives
the moon of punishment and the ash-drowned clock.
Thus I was speaking.
Thus I was speaking with Saturn stopped the trains,
when the fod and Dream and Death were seeking me.
Seeking me
where the cows, with tiny pages' feet, bellow
and where my body floats between opposing fulcrums.
5.7k
With your even fixed waxy smile
I'm beguiled by your looks
as you wear the latest looks
as you read the latest books
as you wear the latest fashion
in vogue
Dressed to ****
you will soon be the center of attraction
Poised ever so
in perfect balance
you stand among the up most glitter
A plaster of Paris soul,
you feel nothing, you see nothing,
hear nothing, know nothing
You will soon be ready for your public
Your show draws nearer
And finally you step onto
a mindless flashing disco floor
with the rest of the "MANIKINS"
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 3:08 AM UTC
I want to runaway,
Far into the oceans.
Into the abyss of waters,
The unexplored depts of
Undiscovered species of fish
And devouring monsters.
I want to runaway,
Maybe to Africa in the forests.
Where wolves, dogs and dragons roam.
Make a tent out of straw and mud,
And all it my home.
Spend the rest of my life alone.
I want to runaway.
Maybe to the snow clad- region of
The Himalayan mountains,
Or to the frozen poles of the earth.
Stand to the highest peaks,
Without any clothes
So my limbs can freeze ,
Till they look like plastic manikins.
I want to run away,
Take up permanent residence on mars,
Or the moon,
Or maybe on the sun.
Far away from earth as possible,
Because If I stay here,
You'll just be a village away,
A city away...
A country away...
Maybe a continent and it wont be enough,
I'll still spend each night thinking of you.
I want to runaway.
Maybe to another galaxy,
Maybe here exists parallel universe
Where I can escape.
One where there are actually super heros
That wear spandex and capes.
One where happily ever after's are real,
And you know exactly how I feel.
I want to runaway.
Escape this reality to wear stars align.
I would bend and twist,
Or manipulating time.
Abuse any available strength I can find,
Just to get you out of my mind.
Jun 20, 2014
Jun 20, 2014 at 1:04 AM UTC
He was a heavenly hellion
acting the fool again
filled of dreams and adrenaline
hes mumbling with the manikins
and mocking the shenanigans
of morbid ministers dabbling with their daggers again
a hooligan
with a silencer ******** in
the machiavellian
looming beneath the luminescence of the crescent moon again
Jul 5, 2012
Jul 5, 2012 at 10:53 PM UTC
Violet lips touch inside her pale
Slender wrist.
From these puncture holes, draw forth
A blue-black sledge of blood.
So, Spit the poison out
Hissing on white sheets.
And lie back, now
Rest, tucked in the violent, bruised
meditations of these forever fictional
hot, wet, sweating
fevered dreams
that pseudo lovers
lived and ****** in.
cradle hopes and gropings
in the dark, so everyone can see.
Fumbling zippers, fickle-fingers
Trace up and down the one-size-fits all
Manikins of their bodies.
Choking intuition out with
Rouged lips and bruised thighs.
Somewhere, a doll cries.
Cracked ceramics, lap with tongue against
The creased spine and
Thumping mounting moans of the
Sows in the fields
Echo sorrows held in harrowed hearts.
Apr 3, 2013
Apr 3, 2013 at 1:27 AM UTC
oh my gosh oh"is that what ur saying sir? umm excuse me but thats just not me, i always say the lords name in vain. and all the subliminal marketing of your consumer artistry is making meweak an gag, im puking out all over in the bathroom upstairs past the solid maple tables past the circle murals in pairs who is there going to hold onto my hair when ur busy drooling about grandfather clocks high as **** doppelganging 2 levels flourished below me all the tans and the colors of the north arre closing in where everyone and everything are turning into furniture store manikins stubborn geriatric commercials with one foot already on the conveyor belt to heaven and i just stand here and put the chips in, wrist here maam, forehead here sir just lift up your skin, living memory card into your left hand so u cant forgot all the horrible **** that u did, and ur on your way again back from indecision wht the **** else could u invest everything you worked for in, i can tell you
where to place your last faith in, you are going to die, people tell me laughing almost every-time so what the **** is the point of warranting anything, invest in a quality product that completely dissolves your thought process and rockets you into purgatory, where all the other good spirits are prostrating begging to be inventoried all the dead fathers and husbands and all other price tags shes still floating on that ocean signalling ships in with her omens and they are driving into the rocks just to hear a second of her laughing
Oct 1, 2015
Oct 1, 2015 at 2:32 AM UTC
my friends
are manikins,
plastic and
fake with
cold friendship in their eyes..
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 1:52 AM UTC
This body is not mine.
It belongs to another time,
it belongs to the living statues
in the rain-soaked streets,
it belongs to mute manikins
feigning beauty;
it belongs to the old faces
that line my dreams,
that elude my touch,
that fade to elements of shapes
and voices, now but passing seconds
of memories lost.
This aeon is not mine.
I belong to another time,
I belong to the mountain's edge
and paradise beach,
I belong to locked diaries
feigning secrets;
I belong to the strong women
that better my mind,
that elude my touch,
that burn to elements strong
and sentiments echoed eternally
in memories never lost.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 7:37 PM UTC
It's not pretty . . .
the longer we go without speaking the more like a doll you are
to me
a dimming figure in my mind
that I take out of a box
for pain
or entertainment
The truth
I remember only when I feel like being free
And I put my manikins away
Yours still draws or boils blood
when I lift its plastic hands
Your real hands harmlessly work far away
Do you have a manikin of me?
A face you remember to haunt you
plastic hands you lift to scratch or stroke your face?
Jun 15, 2017
Jun 15, 2017 at 10:22 PM UTC
Waking from a dream,
Lingering for a few moments
Then slipping quietly into space.
Blood red mountain,
Pearly grass.
Greenish dawn
And scarlet sea.
Temptation poised elegantly,
Voluptuous and venomous.
Transparent, encased in a buoyant bubble.
Pinched skin, red from the sting.
Whether or not this is real, I know not.
I follow the stars,
Into inky oblivion.
Voices, patterns,
People like manikins.
Movie figures,
Chasing another desperately.
Without passion, drive, or desire,
They are going through the motions.
There is nothing in their way,
No obstacle to overcome.
May 10, 2014
May 10, 2014 at 6:44 PM UTC
ALVARADO
Yes, raise the curtain of this maiden world!
Now, shall we find the halls of El Dorado,
Where princes make an almshouse of their mines,
And paupers plate their lumber-shacks with gold.
SANDOVAL
See where the jungle frowns against the shore:
A burial-ground of bright, backwater wealth.
Might there the Seven Enchanted Cities lie,
Where opals roll like pebbles in a brook?
Enter ESCUDERO.
ESCUDERO
My failing eyes still seek the Fount of Youth.
What waste is it to search for sixty years
When one charmed beverage shall reset my clock?
If I should find this spring, then- like Apollo-
I’d shrug at heaven’s everlasting souls,
And strut till doomsday on a deathless earth.
Enter MARÍA DE ESTRADA and GARRIDO.
MARÍA DE ESTRADA
A premiere world!
GARRIDO The theme of long-lost songs.
MARÍA DE ESTRADA
Are there tall tribes of savage Amazons,
Who bend their husky bows with coppery arms,
And lop their milkless ******* to aid their aim?
GARRIDO
Are there foul-featured men- if men they be-
Whose ox-like trunk supports two partnered heads?
Or, floppy-eared and dog-faced manikins,
Who live (they say) on but the scent of blooms?
And yet, if in this thicket dwell such men
As dark as they who cheered me at my birth,
We’ll call you Spanish but a schoolboy’s tale.
And what a pretty picture that will make!
ALVARADO
Cortés alights!
SANDOVAL All silent for Cortés!
Oct 8, 2016
Oct 8, 2016 at 12:08 PM UTC
In a momentary haze your mind spins
It droops and falls helpless into a vortex of
Smallness insignificant cold uncaring lonely
Smallness of the day when everything big
Either hurt, or used or didn't bother
It knocks the air out of your lungs that suddenly
Have no cause for breathing for why waste the
Precious oxygen? Yet you inhale in quick desperate gulps
And the ground slips from under your feet
It's all pointless - to save yourself, to seek help, to go on
Too small too emptied and filthy with their intentions
In tension with the needs needs needs...
The hopes that you found suitable for fire setting
Pointless naive stupid hopes
So hatable you demolish them at once
Into waste under worthless sign
Forget the pain whatever it takes
It left you with blisters and hanging shoulders
With your chin tucked underneath your
Self-worth and you are not walking you are
Dragging yourself along the path
In the direction of pointless consumerism
And fame fame fame is all you wish, its all you hear
It's all you know of care because it's all that keeps them around
Them the faceless the soulless manikins that
Seem to have something you don't
Those hatable bodies that fill up the space
Around your black hole
And you fall and you fall and you fall
And all the things you have don't make you happy
And praise or kindness makes you paranoid
And you take all these little tablets of oblivion
Together in one gulp to forget
Just how far you still are from where you
Wish... if only you could wish to be
Aug 14, 2017
Aug 14, 2017 at 9:10 PM UTC
the manikins have walked out of the shop display
striding across the road not waiting for the traffic to stop
their eyes are unseeing and their legs are long
while their stomachs are ravenous they break into the burger shop
and then puke it all up on the pavements outside.
Oct 24, 2014
Oct 24, 2014 at 2:48 PM UTC
I ask questions
I can mind my business
My nose has strong sent
That doesn't mean I have to hunt for realist
...
Some people make the realist prohibit
So models are manikins now
The category of the fakest description
...
Checking phones
To see who's on
Hiding things from people who try to stay for very long
Never spoke words of it
Until they dead and gone
Hearing heart beat going slow
Like its a controlled metronome
...
I mean
Getting stab by a friend
Now a days seems cool
Even getting shot
And to live you had to hide
So i hid in water
And start drowning in a pool
Not knowing what to do
....
Every step I take makes wonder if I can trust you too
Apr 26, 2017
Apr 26, 2017 at 1:48 PM UTC