"poppet" poems
"I'm trying to be as helpful as I can."
You're not helping.
Your words?
They hurt,
piercing my skin like needles
On a poppet.
I don't want to deal with you anymore.
May 16, 2015
May 16, 2015 at 6:57 PM UTC
In all the silence a piano shall be heard from the upstairs room,
A beautiful girl that came out one day of her mums womb,
Growing up was hard,
Being away so long,
No more father no more brother,
Just a mum and a couple dogs,
First she lived out of state,
Never did she hesitate,
Now with the fear of living here,
She made a lot of wrong doings and mistakes,
Learning from the past,
As she sat and watched the hour glass,
Learning everyday how the states can be so bad,
Different people, different places, different ways of doing things,
In every single place was the same familiar face,
T'was a face in the reflections,
Of buildings big and tall,
By the rivers edge, deep or shallow,
Wide or narrow,
This reflection helped her to stand tall,
But the one thing this reflection did was help her to never fall,
Everytime in the reflection,
She saw her mums face,
It told her to be proud, and stand her ground, and to never let things get her down, even if she felt out of place,
Even when the rivers were dry and the buildings collapsed,
She remembers that day from her past,
The one song that she played for her poppet; yes it was her only friend, a doll, back as a child before she grew up tall,
She played her piano so beautifully, Then one day she stopped...
The pain and sorrow from the fear caused her to lose all at all costs,
Friends were there to show they cared, but she grew stubborn and couldn't see,
Past all the hurt and all the pain,
Past all the anguished misery,
Locked in a room behind a door,
Soft tears had wet the bed,
Days went on and weeks went by,
With the same thoughts stuck in her head,
"I have no friends, and nobody cares, why am I living in this stupid place, my mum only nags that I do so wrong, that I need to grow up and get my own place, for what cause i'm losing a race?"
As those tears hit the bed,
With the thoughts stuck in her head,
Her phone was ringing off the hook,
But she never even glanced,
Didn't even give one look,
It was all the people calling her, for all the days in a week,
She kept on sobbing and her heart was throbbing as she was in so much hurt and pain,
But all the friends calling her saying
"Don't give up just yet, for you have so much more to gain, keep your head held high and stand your ground, do not lose this race, show the others that you can win even in this evil place, stay positive and keep your smile, for it will be all you are worth, do everything you can for us to never leave this earth!"
She walked to her piano,
Took a seat and played her mums favorite song,
It brought back all the memories of how she was to grow tall and strong!
Jun 26, 2013
Jun 26, 2013 at 1:33 AM UTC
Little girl
Chocolate brown
Living in a
***** town
Mama’s weak
So she lies down
And men come by
And lift her gown.
Tin roof clatter
Rain above
Drowning out
The sounds of love
And when the sounds
Die away
Her mamas doctors
Dress and pay.
Little girl
Spanish town
Turistas always
On the prowl
Her playground is
This neighborhood
Of peeling stucco
Splashed with mud
Mama hides her
In the closet
This is no place
For her small poppet
But times are hard
Closed legs don’t earn
And she must feed
Her little girl.
Little girl
Has an Abuela
She does not live
In this bordello
A sibyl -
She has mantic powers
She reads the future
In her cards.
Bee stings in her throat
At night
She prays to god
With all her might
- Ayudar a este niño
And help her mother
Si usted oye me dios
Don’t let them suffer.
Feb 2, 2012
Feb 2, 2012 at 2:03 PM UTC
(Read in your best British accent)
Well what can’t I say
Of the so called Baylo Brits
Their weird, crazy, and wild
Smoking herb, and jiggling ****
They giggle and laugh
Acting all so very pip
They’re ****** wankas they are
Especially Fritz and Kip
Not from England
Though they do have a friend named Jack
Witty as hell the blokes really be
Its just sanity they seem to lack
First Hannah said **** off
She’s a lovely poppet of a girl
And all this first came about
As they passed around, a pearl
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 5:05 PM UTC
there is a door
obscura
in my mind
a black ocean
that smears alizarin mist
between love
and the dissolute
i hear
a storm of thick whispers
a breath calling
in free fall
my malleable lover
plays voodoo poppet
carousel of lady buddhas
diagramed unholy ***** *****
with scumbag eyeballs
contort for eager ruin
an ornamental cadaver
bejeweled
in a lake of tears
give me flesh
smell my rich ****
bouquet of **** the *****
transfixed eyes of flames
spread legs wide
thigh spillway buttered
loving the snag
and strangle
of a silk tourniquet
watch me shunt
and glassy stare
a glittering doll shimmies
blood bauble
and flapping tongue
torrent of curving jaws
clever teeth
to tear
and lips to be torn
a cockeyed brain
drowning in
illegible consciousness
for foot slaves
in a sweat and ****
magick show
body of irresistible horror
in descending spirals
to love
in the grotto
of furies
imbued with prayers
that fill the spaces
in her throat
martyr of transfiguration
she falls as
dust falls
i depend on her
tapestry of shuddering lust
in moist air
locked behind
a blood stained door
marked no exit
this savage pageant
Aug 24, 2020
Aug 24, 2020 at 12:27 PM UTC
Look down.
I'm taking a drink tonight {just like every night}
One sip for me one sip for you
My little one
Do you feel the buzz yet, poppet?
Is your heart beating faster like mine is?
Let's have another glass//shot//bottle,
Maybe that will make things better.
Make things better for you, darling,
That’s all I want
That's why I'm sending you away
Pulling you out of me, where you should be
(Don't worry,
I won't look at you when they put you in the trashcan)
The savior-trashcan rescuing you from
The downs syndrome that might have been
[excuse me while I take a hit]
The retardation that might have been
[excuse me while I do a line]
The angry disposition that might have been
[excuse me while I take him in]
Oh, my little cabbage,
Either thou, or I, or both must go
See, looky there, we have a little
Shakespearean tale of our own
Isn’t that nice?
Either thou, or I, or both must go
And no, I am not ready
As much as I crave the sound of
the flatline,
I have no craving for MINE right now.
So drink, drink up and hold it in, little poppet
Drink from the poison of my blood
Drink up
Enjoy, darling little one.
Look up.
“Forgive her,
She knows not what she does,”
Cries the Martyr in defense of the Being that
Mangled, tortured, ***** her of
Everything.
“She Knows Not what she has done.”
Aug 22, 2010
Aug 22, 2010 at 5:29 PM UTC
Two years old, he totters towards his mutti's skirts
She turns away, for the decanter, and locks him in his room
Oh! He wails, pounding his little fists against the floor,
But she finds him asleep on the rug, clutching an old poppet to his breast
She lifts him to his crib and kisses his sodden cheek, checking her abuse at the door
Her smile is smug, folded away into her adulteration of love.
Five years old and he asks after his sire,
Tracing the beading of her mourning dress, as she kneels with him
As if he were a snake and she was stricken,
she drops him squat on the cold floorboards. Pulls herself within,
Then reaches to him,
Whispering condemnation and condolence
He backs away, burning his hand on the fire grate, the love in his eyes as dim.
When he is seven, the boy takes up a twisted love for architecture, swears he'll become a sailor, far from home
Her eyes are a cooling, somber grey-blue, they alight then smolder with a hiss
The boy's eyes are green, flush with life and innocence
They're his .
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 3:36 AM UTC
I'm all alone
In this bright blue sea
That's turning grey in the dark
But I could cope
I used to
But now I can't
I'm alone on the wooden dock
Where boats lie on the sides
With shells and seaweed
Scattered around them
The sand used to feel so warm
Now it's colder than the ice cream
You'd give me and you'd laugh
Your deep gentle laugh
That I missed so dear
" hello poppet! "
You would say as I would hug him
Kiss his wrinkled and rough cheek
I'd hang upside down on my bed
As I wished him goodnight
You would smile and chuckle
On those lonely nights
You'd fly wooden airplanes
In the green parks
You'd throw them so far away
Now I fly alone
No one to turn to
No one to love
Your hair was silver as ice
Your smile wider
Than a child at play
You were a giant
You were so tall and strong
Yet you were so gentle
So kind and loving
You stuck a plaster and kiss
Upon my bleeding knee
And wiped my tears away
And gave me another cornetto
But now I'm still bleeding
And I have tears streaming down
My broken and crumpled face
How could you leave?
Why did you leave?
I love you...
Oct 20, 2017
Oct 20, 2017 at 1:47 PM UTC
Man of secrets has a heart of pure gold,
Incessant waiting in dreams for a great life to unfold,
If origami paper folds into a complex gift,
Could fold a paper aeroplane, to catch upon a breeze,
Let it fly to target to bring you back to me,
Close your eyes and think,
A whisper deep inside your brain,
That as life seems out to get you,
Your constant poppet,
Sweetheart, still I shall remain,
Pick up thy pen and write again!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Aug 19, 2013
Aug 19, 2013 at 3:29 AM UTC
She does not ask for much;
a piece of paper,
a few markers,
time, and a mind at peace.
Her patience is maddening.
Dot by dot,
fantasies form,
sprung from her forehead
fully grown and armed
with the colors she imagines.
Her gray eyes clouded
with concentration,
for every jab of her hand
must strike true,
a felt-tip Seurat.
Her life a study in pointillism, too;
each day filling in
an outline, dark and light
commingled, colored by
those who come and go,
the users and losers,
the bruisers and the healers.
Self-portraits abound;
the smiling face and glowing eyes
she will show the world
painted over the pain
she has known
from loss of blood
and faithless friends.
A word to the wise:
Though her unicorns and pegasi
are strikingly beautiful,
her demons can be quite real.
Sep 22, 2016
Sep 22, 2016 at 5:08 PM UTC
People say to me
"you're always happy you, you always have a smile""
And they're right, right now in this moment I do smile,
because in this time of a little while
all is content,
and Heaven sent:
my Hazel shines wonderfully, with all the bright in her heart,
Amber never stops scampering her dreamself from the morning's start,
my Mum and Dad look healthy, going away seems far from their door,
and angry Poppet wags her tail
but then gives me that cat face i adore.
My many amazing friends are astounding, I love them as much as an eye wants to see,
and I blush with the bloom of joy when they want to hang around with me.
So when people say
"you're always happy you, you always have a smile""
I think,
well course I am,
this beautiful life is running wild.
Aug 12, 2022
Aug 12, 2022 at 12:13 AM UTC
- 3 year old girl attempting peekabo
Me - Ahh, that's good going! What I always do with peekaboo is do it round a door!
*Goes behind door & does peekaboo
3 Year Old Girl - laughs
Me - Ha ha! I always do peekaboo like this with My Cat, she loves it, she always says "meow" when I do it!
My Cat.
I love how our proprietorial just rolls off my tongue,
it makes me know
that we belong.
Feb 23, 2019
Feb 23, 2019 at 2:54 PM UTC
there is something painfully romantic
about pushing a needle through fabric
for hours, upon hours
sewing a poppet.
i know i will curse it anyways-
but the thought is nice.
Dec 6, 2019
Dec 6, 2019 at 10:08 AM UTC
Happy Mother's Day you ace...
It would be amazing if I got three wishes,
firstly I'd give all the hungry lots of food dishes,
then I'd ask for 100 trillion and distribute joy to myself & tons of other folk,
so there was happy in all that they spoke,
and causes of sadness wouldn't be anymore,
that's the first two chosen easy but when it gets to the third I'm not very sure.
I don't need to wish for charisma, I've got plenty of that,
I don't need to ask for head warmth in winter as I've got tons of great hats,
don't need to ask for a feline, I know Poppet the cat,
don't need to ask for higher tolerance to ***** I know my way around a bottle of ***
and certainly wouldn't want to ask for another Mum...
As I love the way that at a 100 miles an hour you often speak,
and when you go out a Weatherspoon's burger is high on you list of what to eat,
I love the way that if someone was thirsty you'd always offer a cup,
and if another was hurting you'd give a hand to help them up,
I love how your empathy is abundant and everywhere,
I love how with your kindness you always show care,
I love how you surprised me with a Super Nes on Christmas 92,
I love how you'd try to raise a smile in those that have few,
I love how you accept people just the way they are,
I love how in an ocean of light they still could find your star.
So I still need to work on the third wish, that is true
but always always always Mum, I love you!
Mar 14, 2021
Mar 14, 2021 at 7:20 PM UTC
You've got softer these days.
When we met you were fiercer,
propensity to vicious in all your paws
and claws,
but,
now,
you relax in moments
and stretch out full, unafraid and happy in the sun;
love makes me feel secure too,
strong and lit,
ahh my less ferocious domesticated Poppet.
May 29, 2017
May 29, 2017 at 4:06 PM UTC
OLMEDO
Cortés, I have a new, but nagging, fear.
I sense the premonition of a time
When you might be corrupted by the taint
Of evils lying latent in our task,
That vice, which our assignment permeates,
Will tempt resolve to heinous compromise.
CORTÉS
Our mission is implicit in its vice,
In evils ineradicably steeped,
And our grand charge requires that we submit
To its contamination and decay.
A man who would embrace the human lot,
To do so, must consent to be a sinner.
OLMEDO
Blood has been shed- For what? Lives squandered- Why?
You, having tripped in sin’s attractive trap,
To thus, in fragrant snares so feebly flail,
Through frail and flagrant failings such a way,
How can you say to me you are contrite?
CORTÉS
But father, mercy with my malice mingles.
These dicey circumstances find me now
In both a ruthless and reluctant role.
What seems intolerable of this plight
Is that it simply will not be reduced
To trite antitheses of right and wrong.
My conscience both opposes and demands
A rouse to action.
Enter AGUILAR, ALVARADO, MALINALLI, and a Mayan Girl.
AGUILAR Captain, by your will,
These endless battles have despoiled your foe,
Who offer you these slave girls as a bribe.
The terrorized Chontal surrender now.
They will be baptized, and befriend our king,
Provided that we leave their country soon.
CORTÉS
Easy to break that promise once we’re gone.
Tell them we shall release all Mayan soil,
And nomadize into the unknown North. Exit Aguilar.
Here, Alvarado, [indicates girl] guide her to your tent.
We’ll see what use for this one we can find.
Exit all but Malinalli.
MALINALLI
Now, silly Malinalli, drop your sights,
You pretty poppet for these bearded frights.
Jan 17, 2017
Jan 17, 2017 at 7:23 PM UTC
SEPARATE ROOMS
Feeling miserable.
A defrosting snowflake.
Tear stained wedding dress.
A bedroom at mums.
Mum's hat for bridal events.
Left in the closet.
Can't say goodbye.
Hangs out in fairyland.
In all the best stories.
She loved holding you close.
Poppet.
Can't stop it growing.
He knows it's coming.
Can't stop it.
He won't let her.
She won't let him.
Their feelings bit both of them on their behinds.
Books on bookcases.
Inventive suggestions.
Not up for progression.
Full of bright ideas.
These lovers are head cases.
Looking in her places.
In ways speaking sense.
Intense.
Hiding their faces.
At the end of the day.
No more to lay together again.
(c) Livvi
Apr 14, 2015
Apr 14, 2015 at 11:59 AM UTC
Stab me with a thousand needles,
Get your revenge and use me.
God knows that's all I'm good for.
I was worthless before,
I'll be worthless in the end.
To you I am a poppet.
As your rough voices chants,
Come here, poppet,
I know I'll only be worth a moment.
A moment of pleasure,
Before being tossed away,
Like the rag I am.
Nov 30, 2014
Nov 30, 2014 at 10:36 PM UTC
Changing Colours!
Blazing red is flaming dead.
Pale blue, insipid cold.
Somewhat out of fashion.
Getting old.
Garish green tales tells.
Of ***** water in wishing wells.
Poppet think of delicate pink.
Think and think again.
You think yellow's mellow.
Maybe it's just a bit bilious.
Just a little sickly.
Instead.
Black is back in fashion!
By ladylivvi1
© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 5:24 PM UTC
Perspective is strange,
it encompasses
many a range,
like when I see Poppet the ****
my joy soars with bliss,
sweet tabby cats don't come much better than this;
I want to hear you purr,
you ace stripy rocket,
I love you lots, Poppet.
But then, to mice it's,
Is that terror getting near
should we plan a run,
torturing us to death
is her idea of fun,
she'll wreak with clawing havoc
& deadly feline mirth,
she'll eat us as she's smiling
& extinguish us from earth;
you're toxic, Poppet.
The juxtapose of difference
stampeding in the air,
to one she rests in bed,
to others coiled in lair.
Aug 20, 2016
Aug 20, 2016 at 9:12 AM UTC
I was looking forward to beginning a book about felines,
the beautiful view of moggies in verse and rhymes,
but after perusing a few there was a nagging sense in my head,
I didn't agree with a lot
that I read:
I saw words like "aloof", "distant", "scorning",
as if these things only
arrive when they deem to
call,
and I thought you really
don't know cats at all...
They'll follow you down the road to see you for a bit more time,
and sit on the knee, purr contented divine:
although still a bit scared on her back will roll and with vulnerability meet,
conjuring up the sweetest of greets.
Someone once sang...
"Don't get excited, cats will never be our sidekick
so I know our love will always be unrequited."
However...
Bouncing down the street to see me when I got home from school,
I forgot in an instant a bully was cruel,
then lost, bereft, day all of the slow,
went and sat on my shoulder to say, "I'm here, you know":
an attempt to lift, a furry kick-start,
if that's unrequited I choose a broken heart.
Okay, maybe a scratch, never say never,
but our love is precious
and always forever.
Write what you see, sing your song,
but please, please,
stop getting cats wrong.
Sep 23, 2023
Sep 23, 2023 at 2:46 PM UTC
Why is it that I have the most wonderful man in the world, but I cannot love him.
He is tender, gentle and kind.
He is like a paper boat.
Waterlogged and sodden.
There is no charge.
No charge for anything at all.
He's a poppet.
A pedantic one
He's set in his ways.
No exhilarating vibrancy.
Like a scratched old record.
Outdated.
Decent.
Loving.
Caring.
Boring as a weevil.
Playing in my brain.
He's hellishly different.
What do I want?
To go to sleep perhaps.
So bored.
(C) LIVVI
Mar 2, 2016
Mar 2, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
Life and where do I start?
Everyone has a different life
that is for sure.
Pleasures and crosses to bear
never believed before.
Some have hope, some not
Some believe they have to
cling with what they've got.
And who am to say which
is right or wrong.
Whether the straw you picked
is the short or the long.
You have to make the most of
what you have.
Smile dont give way to a frown
which is a smile upside down.
Show your teeth poppet
that is what they say.
On a grey day and you ask why.
What is the point?
clinging onto the leg of chicken
that is not proper like the joint.
But it is life; like the rest of us
going about our daily chores
whether or not it just absolutely
is so mundane and bores
the very pants off you
but it is life so you have to just do it.
Reluctantly.
Successfully.
Because that is life.
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 8:59 AM UTC
Not knowing of the rat race
but races to catch rat,
only works when she wants to does
Poppet The Cat.
Content sat on clothes awaiting a iron,
the creased rest
of a little lion.
Scratching the sofa without care
while brilliantly breathing her tabby air;
see I love you,
I love you,
your running whiskers delight;
you're always
always
a beautiful sight.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 5:40 AM UTC
How does Poppet feel in this sun?
Does she know in a few she's one?
Furry insides;
purry kin rides.
Jul 4, 2015
Jul 4, 2015 at 11:11 AM UTC