Poetry competition CLOSED 30th November 2011 3:07am
siphondarkness (Levi)
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RUNNERS-UP: TheAngelWhoFell and Chandler

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The Doll House

Miss Indie
Tyrant of Words
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Poetry Contest

Doll houses can be either benign or creepy. Write a poem around a dolls house in any way you like, whether it is the feature or just a part of the background. I'll select a winner at the end of November.
Thanks to everyone for participating. =)

Thought Provoker
United States
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As I look,
it stares at me.
Glass pain windows,
where the eyes should be.
Its gaping mouth,
a open door.
Beconing me to explore.
I crawl in,
to see.
The secrets behind,
this thing that stares at me.
she greets me.
Black buttons,
pain and sadism fills her eyes.
Her limp from saways,
as if taunting me,
with her mental ways.
The first room is grand,
perfect arangement,
contorts the land.
Simple white chairs.
Simple flawless forms.
This perfection is what Im straped to,
I cant do.
I cant move.
Im like her I relise.
and and flawed with perfection
ever out of reach.
but in this form
a toy,
a rag,
something thrown aside
only pain is in my eyes.
And this house is where I lie.

poet Anonymous

nice poem kind of scared me i liked this line..as i look, it stares at me, glass paine windows, where the eyes should be,its gaping mouth an open door

Thought Provoker
United States
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thank you starstruck13

Miss Indie
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Great job so far x)

poet Anonymous

The Doll House
One night I heard a scream
it came from the doll house so it seemed.
I looked in the glass stained window
a sob arose in my throat
as to what I have seen.
The mother standing over the babys' crib
with a red handle axe choped the babys' head off.
Then she went to her husbands' side of the bed
with a sharp knife she found in the kitchen
uses this knife to cut her husbands' insides out.
Next the boy about age four she drowned him in the bath tub.

Then she sat down in her rocking chair.
As I  looked I saw blood on the curtains
the blooded axe she used still had flesh
and the knife was well hidden.

Then she got up from her rocking chair
and wrote on the dinning room wall

Miss Indie
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wow, creepy. Nice!

Death Plane for Teddy
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[font=Courier New][size=2]   < in the doll house  >

    at night
    in the doll house
    it's scary
    but in the day
    it's empty
    just the silence
    when the dogs bark
    their barking
    barking that we hear in movies
    barking that assures it's real
    though even we know
    we know it's just a movie
    even though we're really here
    we're really in the doll house
    why do they try?
    whoever is
    whoever is outside
    while we
    we only want to be
    to feel somewhere
    to get
    outside the day
    to leave
    the night
    to go away
    but closed
    inside this house
    that doesn't have a dog outside
    so we forget about the dog
    and all the silence
    there's the sun
    that's streaming through our windows
    lighting up these motes of dust
    these windows
    bragging what the sun can do
    the sun in afternoon
    when everyone's away
    our house
    our house in silence
    us inside
    through all these years
    of seeing sun
    of feeling all this silence
    silence like a river
    like a river we can never join
    the silence is this house
    the sound of this old house
    the sound that this old house it makes
    the empty sound that this old house it makes
    on days
    when there's nobody here
    nobody here but us
    this house
    this house of dolls
    is where we live
    is where we live and never leave
    we never leave this silence
    silence that
    that really isn't here
    this house
    discarded years ago
    there isn't anyone
    not even me
    to leave
    to go away
    all this
    all long since pulled apart
    though still
    in this old house
    inside the middle of a day
    when everyone's away
    this silence
    must make way
    to dogs
    to their faint barks
    the barks that crawl inside
    the dream as it reveals
    the movie of this house of dolls
    the we
    the movie we
    the us
    the well-dressed dolls of us
    the well-dressed dolls
    the us
    the us that we must be

           - - -

The Gardener
Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom
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I've lived in the doll's house all my life,
children come in, children go out,
no one touches my door.
My Mother forbids it even though
she sits in a rocking chair now,
awaiting her own funeral
and staring at my humble abode
as if it holds her lost youth.
I couldn't grant her eternal life
even if I wanted to.

Dangerous Mind
United States
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I wake up in a dress
surrounded by a table and tea set
I explore to fine the house barren
I call again and again but find no one
The windows are all blacked out
The doors are locked down
The roof opens to reveal
My stalker, this girl
I try to climb out
But you just push me down
You giggle with glee
You undressed me
Then pull me out on to your desk
And tell me I am never getting dressed
I bite and run away
You block every escape
Fuck you I shout
You say you are forever mine now

Miss Indie
Tyrant of Words
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A good collection so far. Great job everyone :)

poet Anonymous

Baby House
standard and affordable
built to scale
I've never seen the sky before

plastic utensils and perpetual smiles
every clock watched and each book read
no leaks in the ceiling
a slow discoloration

the exterior is said to be realistic
but the inside is real

Kara Lucielle Pythiana
Dangerous Mind
United States
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- Crypt of the Child -

Whilst walking through the streets of a small town,
Exploring the places that I once had called home...
I came to a cold, dark avenue with no one around,
And the night wind chilled my flesh unto the bone.
The street on one side ran along the railroad tracks,
On the other it ran past lands of green, wet marsh.
Another road lay before it, old and filled of cracks,
But I shall speak of the corner, a place very harsh.
In darkness wrapped, and old mysteries shrouded,
A house on a hill was built there in days now past.
Far from the city lights and the places oft crowded,
The silence of that place, could even eternally last.

If I could tell of that silence, it would freeze the will,
And cause the mind itself to abandon to such chill!

I passed near the hill and the terrible house above,
Walking along the old foundations, with curiosity...
Though no living spirit now did live, nor know love,
In the halls of that house, there was a quiet dignity.
Outside, where I walked into the yards overgrown,
Past rusted swings where once children did play...
A little girl with jet hair, wearing a frilly white gown,
Regarded me, with eyes that glowed bright as day.
I asked her to tell me her name; but she was silent,
Putting her hands in mine, she led me on lost paths.
Her hands were as ice, and strange was her intent,
Far too somber was she, as one who never laughs!

She should be playing with dolls, and a dollhouse,
One to match the majesty her spirit might espouse.

We passed brambles and willows so old and bent,
That the paths seemed: dark tunnels of dying trees.
Down was our road, and wherein the hillside went,
An opening I noted, haunted by a moaning breeze.
Iron, was the gate that barred the way to darkness,
With a lock rusted closed, for so very many years...
Undone, by the touch of that girl in the white dress,
So that we could enter; and therein she wept tears.
I saw a marble sarcophagus, which bore no names,
Nor dates of mortal birth or final death, thereupon.
The child opened the lid, her eyes but dying flames,
As she lay down there to sleep: her playtime done.

She was like a doll being put into her box wordless.
The house had been a dollhouse, cursed or blest!

I then was standing, right before that metallic gate,
Which was as locked as it had been, since raised...
I looked up at the stars, and saw the hour was late,
As I walked the paths back, feeling oddly amazed.
It was lonely by myself, and I missed the girl ghost,
For dark was the way, and long without company.
Yet, as I neared the house’s front porch, and post,
I saw the little girl playing with a ball, most merrily.
Leaving her to her solitude, I looked up at the sky,
My eyes on the moon: as pale as the ghost’s flesh.
Pondering the tragic brevity of life, I let myself cry,
For a little girl I knew not, when her life was fresh!

Mayhap she haunts her house still, without end…
Coming out to play and also the living to befriend.

poet Anonymous

<< post removed >>
Paulina Dionne
Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
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upon the porcelain moon

Sitting facing a crescent window
the light is shining
gleaming, through and through
In the dark room I bask In
I'm chosen by the moonlight
a sudden stench of rotting wood
I see
I'm the chosen one
let the light shine on me
I gaze upon
the shattered light

Sitting with a white face, torn
eyes of glass
crimson lips touch, light
upon a ghostly face
but still pure
cannibals reach out
and tear the house
I'm the chosen one
those humans have no heart

i'm just a doll
so shy and soft
the gentle light
shatters my porcelain

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