Poetry competition CLOSED 30th November 2011 3:07am
WINNER
siphondarkness (Levi)
siphondarkness (Levi)
RUNNERS-UP:
TheAngelWhoFell
and Chandler
The Doll House
TheAngelWhoFell said: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.
Big,
Black,
Unblinking,
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.
helpless,
thrown,
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.
just saying but that gave me chills when I read it, really nice piece!!
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.
Big,
Black,
Unblinking,
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.
helpless,
thrown,
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.
just saying but that gave me chills when I read it, really nice piece!!
Dolls Museum
They dwell in the Middletown east-
Half a dozen elves with a couple of owls
Are but guaranteed spectators deaf and dumb
And they never complained about the gyrating springs.
The mechanics of those springs are defined;
Their spiral spleens inside the china clay crafts
Made the South Indian dancers so much popular
And they share space with Winehouse and MJ.
Yet there are many more breeds that they boast about-
The albatross perched upon pure leather wrinkles
That was shaped like a bull with actual calcium horns;
One French artiste’s last piece and he was killed by voodoo dolls.
They dwell in the Middletown east-
Half a dozen elves with a couple of owls
Are but guaranteed spectators deaf and dumb
And they never complained about the gyrating springs.
The mechanics of those springs are defined;
Their spiral spleens inside the china clay crafts
Made the South Indian dancers so much popular
And they share space with Winehouse and MJ.
Yet there are many more breeds that they boast about-
The albatross perched upon pure leather wrinkles
That was shaped like a bull with actual calcium horns;
One French artiste’s last piece and he was killed by voodoo dolls.
The sunlight reflects
off an old doll house
The windows are cracked
The wood has rotted
The mother is fallen
in the kitchen
The father lying
on the floor
The boy is forgotten,
left under a table
The baby sleeps,
forever in its crib
Their faces are peeling,
the paint rubbed away
Their clothes are missing,
lost in the attic
Every night, I can see it
and I will never forget
As they open their eyes
to live once again
My nightlight gives them
an orange light, a glow
Bathed in fire,
they dance around
Surrounding the baby,
chanting a forgotten song
It echoes about,
invading my mind
I try to hide, but their eyes
have burnt into mine
The chant continues,
becoming increasingly louder
I can hear their stamping feet,
their clapping hands
Psychotic grins flash,
a scream pierces the night
Then all goes silent
I wait until morning
Looking at the doll house,
I see a terrible sight
The mother in the kitchen
The father on a chair
The boy next to a table
The baby left out on a plate
Three forks and knives,
complete the scene
Along with a table,
set for three
off an old doll house
The windows are cracked
The wood has rotted
The mother is fallen
in the kitchen
The father lying
on the floor
The boy is forgotten,
left under a table
The baby sleeps,
forever in its crib
Their faces are peeling,
the paint rubbed away
Their clothes are missing,
lost in the attic
Every night, I can see it
and I will never forget
As they open their eyes
to live once again
My nightlight gives them
an orange light, a glow
Bathed in fire,
they dance around
Surrounding the baby,
chanting a forgotten song
It echoes about,
invading my mind
I try to hide, but their eyes
have burnt into mine
The chant continues,
becoming increasingly louder
I can hear their stamping feet,
their clapping hands
Psychotic grins flash,
a scream pierces the night
Then all goes silent
I wait until morning
Looking at the doll house,
I see a terrible sight
The mother in the kitchen
The father on a chair
The boy next to a table
The baby left out on a plate
Three forks and knives,
complete the scene
Along with a table,
set for three
broken,
memories of playing
with...
plastic flesh,
choking
between his legs
on a broken dolls arm
brutal screams
ripped from a tiny voice
unheard
inside a broken life
full of secrets and pain
sound of a mad-mans heavy footsteps
coming to play
hiding in her house
barbies voice echoes
inside my head
kill him!
my father,
his bloody severed head
stares in at me
with the vacant eyes of a doll.
as i forever hide
in the safety
of a dolls house.
memories of playing
with...
plastic flesh,
choking
between his legs
on a broken dolls arm
brutal screams
ripped from a tiny voice
unheard
inside a broken life
full of secrets and pain
sound of a mad-mans heavy footsteps
coming to play
hiding in her house
barbies voice echoes
inside my head
kill him!
my father,
his bloody severed head
stares in at me
with the vacant eyes of a doll.
as i forever hide
in the safety
of a dolls house.
Anonymous
they knew nothing
of the apocalypse
and nothing
of the drought
and they wore barcode smiles
and sat on molded chairs
with warning labels
against consumption
and there was never a fire
in the fireplace
there was only a drawing
of an orange flame
that wasn't warm
enough to melt
the plastic
She once belonged to a child,
young, pure cherry girl.
She once was everything,
a friendly little toy.
Today she sits,
in an old dark room,
filled of dusty toys.
A little blue bed rests beneath her,
and her head turned to the door.
Forever waiting.
The paint has peeled,
leaving gray face upon cherry cheeks.
The hair has curled,
dry and wrinkled.
A once happy face is solemn and sad.
Twisted in grief.
Sinister aura.
And children come,
now a days,
young and cherry cheeked.
To play bravery,
in this house so bleak.
It's windows dark,
it's colors faded,
and inside is furniture,
old and outdated.
Not knowing this house,
is a dolls last home.
The doll lives,
and turns her head,
toys crackle with new life,
tiny drums hit and bump,
trains whirl,
and dolls smile.
Who wants to play doll house today?
With some cherry cheeked kids?
Who entered the realm,
of forgotten toys.
young, pure cherry girl.
She once was everything,
a friendly little toy.
Today she sits,
in an old dark room,
filled of dusty toys.
A little blue bed rests beneath her,
and her head turned to the door.
Forever waiting.
The paint has peeled,
leaving gray face upon cherry cheeks.
The hair has curled,
dry and wrinkled.
A once happy face is solemn and sad.
Twisted in grief.
Sinister aura.
And children come,
now a days,
young and cherry cheeked.
To play bravery,
in this house so bleak.
It's windows dark,
it's colors faded,
and inside is furniture,
old and outdated.
Not knowing this house,
is a dolls last home.
The doll lives,
and turns her head,
toys crackle with new life,
tiny drums hit and bump,
trains whirl,
and dolls smile.
Who wants to play doll house today?
With some cherry cheeked kids?
Who entered the realm,
of forgotten toys.
Lonely Doll and I
Pretty doll house
furnish and fine
a little girl in a pretty dress
Is so demure and refine
She sits on the chair
A book on her hands
She has pretty ribbon on her hair
and black shiny Maryjane
A light flicker on during nightfall
and the doll house is lit so fine
a song is sung so lyrical
the little doll stand up to dance
I sit tied on a chair
looking up at a bunch of yellow hair
her eyes sightless but all aglare
the little doll is as big as I
A nightmare, yes I mentally scream
As she stoops and looks into my eyes
She takes out a shiny needle
and sews my eyes in
The Doll House is pretty and clean
The little doll and I are sitting
at the table having a din-din
and eating nothing but plasticine
I look out of the window, all frilled
with pretty gauzy curtain
and see the blood slowly spill
from a huge monster on the bed
I look and look again
and inside a scream starts
but the doll came up
and I forgot me on the bed
"This is a nice doll house
Look at the dolls,
aren't they cute...
They look almost real."
"Pay attention, officer
Stop ogling that doll house..
look at all the blood
she meticulously pricked
herself to death...
Officer, bag this body."
Pretty doll house
furnish and fine
a little girl in a pretty dress
Is so demure and refine
She sits on the chair
A book on her hands
She has pretty ribbon on her hair
and black shiny Maryjane
A light flicker on during nightfall
and the doll house is lit so fine
a song is sung so lyrical
the little doll stand up to dance
I sit tied on a chair
looking up at a bunch of yellow hair
her eyes sightless but all aglare
the little doll is as big as I
A nightmare, yes I mentally scream
As she stoops and looks into my eyes
She takes out a shiny needle
and sews my eyes in
The Doll House is pretty and clean
The little doll and I are sitting
at the table having a din-din
and eating nothing but plasticine
I look out of the window, all frilled
with pretty gauzy curtain
and see the blood slowly spill
from a huge monster on the bed
I look and look again
and inside a scream starts
but the doll came up
and I forgot me on the bed
"This is a nice doll house
Look at the dolls,
aren't they cute...
They look almost real."
"Pay attention, officer
Stop ogling that doll house..
look at all the blood
she meticulously pricked
herself to death...
Officer, bag this body."
She escapes.
In her house,
Her rules.
No one can tell her what to do.
And when she looks in the mirror.
She see's a perfect girl.
A barbie.
In reality,
She is living her fantasy.
She is living in a doll house,
No one dares to enter.
She says,
Your not invited anyway.
To her,
It's the perfect get-a-way.
To you,
The perfect nightmare.
She doesn't care,
Her house.
Her rules.
In her house,
Her rules.
No one can tell her what to do.
And when she looks in the mirror.
She see's a perfect girl.
A barbie.
In reality,
She is living her fantasy.
She is living in a doll house,
No one dares to enter.
She says,
Your not invited anyway.
To her,
It's the perfect get-a-way.
To you,
The perfect nightmare.
She doesn't care,
Her house.
Her rules.
As I fall asleep I start to dream
I dream every night, but this time it was different
I dreamt of an evil doll house, A doll house with
Windows boarded up, and screams coming from the hall way.
As I run down the halls, all I can see is blood spattered walls
Where is this blood coming from? I ask myself as I quickly turn the corner.
I try to open each door on the way down the hall, only to find out
that the doll house is locked up tight. I continue to run and take a left
Only to find that there's no one in sight. Where is everyone, I quickly say to myself.
Finally I hit the final passage in this evil doll house, I see a mirror.
I quickly look into the mirror only to realize that I am the one holding the knife
I am the doll that possessed this doll house, taking with me everything that the doll house resembles.
It is no longer a child hood toy, but mealy a child hood nightmare.
I dream every night, but this time it was different
I dreamt of an evil doll house, A doll house with
Windows boarded up, and screams coming from the hall way.
As I run down the halls, all I can see is blood spattered walls
Where is this blood coming from? I ask myself as I quickly turn the corner.
I try to open each door on the way down the hall, only to find out
that the doll house is locked up tight. I continue to run and take a left
Only to find that there's no one in sight. Where is everyone, I quickly say to myself.
Finally I hit the final passage in this evil doll house, I see a mirror.
I quickly look into the mirror only to realize that I am the one holding the knife
I am the doll that possessed this doll house, taking with me everything that the doll house resembles.
It is no longer a child hood toy, but mealy a child hood nightmare.
Broken and riddled with holes and tar
Repairs are not made to this home of a doll
She sits in the chair swaying to and fro
cracked face echoing the manic woe
The fingers that are left
Only eight remain
The other two broke within the pain
Sunken eye so deep inside
Let her sing you a lullaby
Her voice so soft and tune so weak
I prithee you close the house and sleep
Inside the house of burnt remains
She lie there waiting for the rain
Her hair so curled in disarray
Satin dress of incarnadine
Be sure to lock the marred front door
Else she rise to settle the score.
