"plushy" poems
Consider Icarus, pasting those sticky wings on,
testing that strange little tug at his shoulder blade,
and think of that first flawless moment over the lawn
of the labyrinth. Think of the difference it made!
There below are the trees, as awkward as camels;
and here are the shocked starlings pumping past
and think of innocent Icarus who is doing quite well.
Larger than a sail, over the fog and the blast
of the plushy ocean, he goes. Admire his wings!
Feel the fire at his neck and see how casually
he glances up and is caught, wondrously tunneling
into that hot eye. Who cares that he fell back to the sea?
See him acclaiming the sun and come plunging down
while his sensible daddy goes straight into town.
13.3k
People take turns inserting coins
attempting to grab plushy hearts and plastic capsules
the claws never were good at holding on for long
always went limp, dropping the trinkets, just before the finish line
only time it grabbed hold of something long enough
to flash all the lights and sing
was for children
who pointed a tiny hand
at something shiny they saw inside
parents step up to fail again and again
at winning it for them.
when the kids have a turn.
on the first try, they lasso this heart
resting firmly on the bottom
hidden beneath all the old ipods and heavy rubber toys.
would glow in the lights
when they lit all up and sang for them.
revered for their expertise and skill,
they reach in to claim their reward.
not even knowing what it really was.
but for some reason
grabbing it.
bringing it everywhere.
when the kids get older.
it was kept on their bed.
when they had their own children
handed down to toy chests
when they grew old, their children left the hearts
in hospital rooms...
they didn't think of it much.
seemed natural to lug it around.
everyone was so proud, that the machine chose them.
the prize was so soft, and familiar.
the machine, though.
could tell every day that it was missing.
held tightly onto the coins they left.
kept filling itself with junk and giving it to strangers
hoping one day they'd come back to play again.
a man comes by once in awhile to relieve him of his coin
then fills him full of new prizes to divvy out.
but the claw machine lodges some coins
far in the back, where his short arms can't reach
so he can remember
Nov 29, 2016
Nov 29, 2016 at 3:31 PM UTC
Whines and groans of melancholy
Knock on my door
Upon opening the blockade
The guest looked very eager
A small, furry stuffed animal sits
Eyes fixed on my complexion
When I smile, the doll imitates
When I brush my hand on the doll's fur
A tongue reveals and kisses my cheek
As I walk down the corridor
The fluffy rascal tails right behind
My eyes dart towards a toy
And the puppy snags it thereafter
With its brown precious eyes gleaming
It's impossible to resist the innocent tug
I take the plushy victim
And fling it across the room
The puppy witnesses the ~Plop~
And immediately dashes
Sprinting in the ten second race
Like a boomerang
The furry speed demon returns
With the plush trapped between its dull jaws
All I can remark is...
"Good Boy!"
May 9, 2013
May 9, 2013 at 7:59 PM UTC
in my dreams i blend the two of you together.
you share the same skin tone already,
almost the same hair colour.
but one pair of eyes
gives way to the colour of the other.
i look into them and think warmth, safety, kindness.
but they still hold the other's alertness, the same beam.
one's body falls into the other's gait.
strong, broad, muscled with soft force
now carried with confidence and ego
that melts my knees.
laughs come together as something
like a grab at my chest, or waist,
or a hand behind my ear, or at the back of my neck.
the thought of it forces me to lick my lips.
hands remain in their already similar manner.
voices boil down to love potion.
lips to plushy incantation.
stretch marks, scars,
and treasure trails begin
to double up.
chest hair sprouts where
it once wasn't.
part of me is disgusted by my dreaming
of a crock *** boy that once was two.
but another part knows
neither of them wants me wholly
either.
friday/january 17/2014/12:16 A.M.
Jan 17, 2014
Jan 17, 2014 at 3:22 AM UTC
A single memory
Sitting on the shelf behind my head
Collecting dust in the soft plush
Lying on its back as its dormancy grows
The little lion
Hamlet, named so for the insanity we shared
Sat on my shelf like a paperweight made of cotton
Until tonight
He’s all I have left of you now
As
You
Slowly
Drift
Away.
My little lion
I did not recognize how small he was
Curled against my chest like an infant
But I remembered the nights we shared
Keeping the nightmares away so I could sleep
I missed him
I missed feeling the delicate fur against my arm
His velvety bow against my wrist
The curve of his plushy paw between my fingers
And now I miss you
Sep 14, 2012
Sep 14, 2012 at 8:48 AM UTC
i am a human being and although i may look as solid as a rock on the outside, doesn't mean i am not as soft and plushy as a cotton ball on the inside.
what is a heart?
it is a hollow, pumplike ***** of blood circulation, composed mainly of rhythmically contractile smooth muscle, located in the chest between the lungs.
i do not understand how a heart can make you feel emotion for that is not how i thought that worked. to my knowledge, it is just the way us humans are.
so what happens when someone says they have had their heart broken? well one can only assume that they are going to die or they are, already dying.
if you complain about your appearance, yes at first you will get drowned in compliments by people you love, but as time goes on, everybody will see that there is no way to help you.
if you are searching for a love that is so far fetched, you need to learn to love yourself first, before you can love anybody else.
and if you think that you are broken or hurt and in pain, then only you are the one who has broken yourself. only you can fix the way you are, so tell yourself you are a whole person, and that these bad things will not affect who you are.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 3:15 PM UTC
The stars hold in their place
written March 27th, 2020
Now I lay me down to sleep
in this safe warm soft bed.
I lay on the bed
and feel the surface gently cradling
the parts of my body
heel calf thigh hips shoulders head.
I pull up the covers
to hold me and wrap around me
keeping me warm and safe
through the night.
I smooth the soft plushy over me
then snuggle it up to my chin.
I glance beside me to see my favorite stuffie
my long-time companion
who always sleeps with me.
"Alexa, play Pandora"
and soft music fills the cool room
this haven of safety and calm.
I sigh and close my eyes in peace.
The stars overhead no longer spin
but hold in their place.
The universe cradles me as I sleep
in depths of peace.
Jul 4, 2021
Jul 4, 2021 at 4:32 PM UTC
I'd like to work up the courage to ask you
if it is a cultural thing
to dress like a plushy carrot
that I'd like to passionately julienne
and sprinkle on my bed sheets.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 8:29 PM UTC
You are more than you see
A child stares at the movie screen
Strutting with the confidence of a cowboy
Imagining the characters that pops off the watercolor pages
As they jump up and down in their onesie
Holding tight to their plushy sidekick
That seems to whisper an end to moon landings
With every inch taller
You gaze at your potential like it sits on Everest's summit
So discouragingly out of reach
Your disappointment juts into your dreams
And makes you feel like the pinnacle of your being
Will only amount to a mound of dirt
But that isn't true
Every time you stand with the legs
That hold a rallying cry in its gait
Of the kind of independence
penned by our founding fathers
as an unalienable right
You gain footing
Up the rock face
That stuck its rocky tongue out at you
From the jester's thrown below
But you are far from a joke
A riddle maybe
The kind that a sphinx would lovingly smirk at
Its tail thumping with an instinctive eye roll
Mixed with the gaze of Eskimo kisses
Your hand holds lie
In the reach
That pulls you closer to the jewels
That dot the edges of your resolves
A bell ringing in the background
You're an angel who deserves their wings
And flying is falling
The first time a bird leaves the nest
May 26, 2017
May 26, 2017 at 12:27 PM UTC
**** that blinking blue like you see when you're about to send a text because I just sat here staring at a conversation I was having with m.g and I couldn't think of anything to say because she hates me and wants nothing more than for me to just cease existing and I want to make her wish come true but I can't and that is a whole other world that I'll probably talk about some other time. But I'm just sitting there staring at the line and it's blinking and blinking and ******* blinking and every time it blinks I hate myself a little bit more and I get more and more frustrated because I can't say anything because I want to just explode and tell her how much I love her and want her and need her but I know that if I do she'll tell me to **** off and I hate myself so much and I want to die but I want to live and I sent her two birthday presents a little plushy and a camera but I'm sure the second she sees it's from me she's going to throw it in the trash. She meant everything to me and I ruined it. I ******* hate that ******* blinking blue line.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 12:49 AM UTC
as i lye on the wrinkled sheets that hug your plushy mattress and your fibrous tissue, i watch as the purple-blue veins vertically lining your forearms branch out, connecting with the arteries in my fingertips, tying in bonded knots and transporting the honey-sweetness of your essence entrancingly with the music in mine
i can feel the soft vibrations from the pulsing of your heart sounding to a beat as delicate as my exhalations that spill out onto your sleeping skin
your lips hold the pitches to my favourite melodies
your eyes have the taste of the most nectarous flower that saturates my stomach with petals and leaves me so full and in my most natural form
i watch as the voice i hear and the skin i touch transforms me into a new being
one unafraid of having a new favourite song
unafraid of the uncertainties of the universe
unafraid of being new
fresh, and new
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 7:49 PM UTC
all love
through
the crisply murdered toto
of uncouth faces
(FALL) i want to sing
inside you once again
each crimson bending
of vein
the accidental flower
of my hips
some death living
more hotly lathered
in young stupid
lovely dumb lips,
(noth shaping)
unelected silence
that sings to me:
i might feel O'
your primrose hands,
whose palate
,in plushy sward,
cannot house
or unhouse
the lord,.
'
,
'
,
'
'
;
.
Oct 3, 2014
Oct 3, 2014 at 3:41 PM UTC
as usually
not much going on at her place
“Why did you
insist
on coming here?” he
whined
And she watched him with
scrutiny. “What? You don’t like
it?”
He looked around. “To be honest,
your hobby scares me. You
design dolls and
plushy toys for a
living. They even watch us
as we **** I can’t
stand this place, and don’t know how can you...”
She stood from
the bed
walked over to a pile of plushy toys
dug in for a brown hippo
and reached up its ***
and her hand
returned with a small bottle
of brandy
**** he said.
She tossed him the bottle.
He caught it.
“Right,” she said. “Now, why
don’t you
enjoy your treat and keep
some company to
Mr. Big Walrus there in the corner
while I get
back to work. I’ve some
commissions to honor.”
He opened the bottle
smelled it
Nodded at her and
went into the corner of the room
where Mr. Big Walrus
awaited
warm and fuzzy
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 9:40 AM UTC