Poetry competition CLOSED 8th April 2016 7:33am
WINNER
russiamagda
russiamagda
RUNNERS-UP:
Pho3nix19xx
and Erotic_Goddess
"Person, Place or Thing"
http://i48.photobucket.com/albums/f248/jadepandora/edie%20sedgewick%201943-1971.png
SILVER
Edie Sedgwick
(1943 - 1971)
Youthquaker. Girl in the Black Tights.
Warhol's underground superstar.
She had left the silver foil walls, and the pull
of Hollywood, and this earthbound plane long
before I knew I loved & wanted to be like her.
Her skin of powdered rice paper, the scent
of rotting orchids, a drug-induced
Noh dancer with slow-writhing limbs akimbo.
Silver-gilded girl of the moment at the
Factory, that turned out Monroe silk screens,
and porn, to the drone of a refrigerator.
From asylum to the Big Apple, the apple of
her father's eye, and of his desires,
she'd sleep among the gay lovers, pretty boys
with erotic names of exotic birds, knowing
she was safe for a while as they quarreled
among themselves: who would bring her
chocolate shakes, and chauffeur their princess
to her doctor's for injections
(she was too much a lady to do it herself).
Until her fingertips became match-heads
setting fire to hotel rooms, flailing from
inside a closet while bellboys stole her furs.
Face of a comatose junkie drawing deep on
filter-less cigarettes (she wasn't afraid), and yet,
what deeds have you, Edith, what deeds?
But wasn't she fabulous! remembering back
when she and Suky spent trips screaming
from an open convertible through the
San Marcos Pass,
their bright scarves like kite tails.
In that same wind she'd ride her roan
along the spine ridge of Rancho Laguna
with no sense of dominion over the land
with its wild fires that went on forever,
where the ashes of her brothers, and their
self-possessed and possessing father of
eight in his brood, had been far-flung
and one day, so too would hers be, alone,
under shade trees in the valley of Santa Inez.
©2016 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved.
Noh - Japanese classic theatre
Suky - the youngest sister
Rancho Laguna - the 6,000 acre family ranch
San Marcos Pass & Santa Inez Valley, near Santa Barbara, CA
Actress Kyra Sedgwick is Edith's niece.
(preview photo from Wikipedia stock)
SILVER
Edie Sedgwick
(1943 - 1971)
Youthquaker. Girl in the Black Tights.
Warhol's underground superstar.
She had left the silver foil walls, and the pull
of Hollywood, and this earthbound plane long
before I knew I loved & wanted to be like her.
Her skin of powdered rice paper, the scent
of rotting orchids, a drug-induced
Noh dancer with slow-writhing limbs akimbo.
Silver-gilded girl of the moment at the
Factory, that turned out Monroe silk screens,
and porn, to the drone of a refrigerator.
From asylum to the Big Apple, the apple of
her father's eye, and of his desires,
she'd sleep among the gay lovers, pretty boys
with erotic names of exotic birds, knowing
she was safe for a while as they quarreled
among themselves: who would bring her
chocolate shakes, and chauffeur their princess
to her doctor's for injections
(she was too much a lady to do it herself).
Until her fingertips became match-heads
setting fire to hotel rooms, flailing from
inside a closet while bellboys stole her furs.
Face of a comatose junkie drawing deep on
filter-less cigarettes (she wasn't afraid), and yet,
what deeds have you, Edith, what deeds?
But wasn't she fabulous! remembering back
when she and Suky spent trips screaming
from an open convertible through the
San Marcos Pass,
their bright scarves like kite tails.
In that same wind she'd ride her roan
along the spine ridge of Rancho Laguna
with no sense of dominion over the land
with its wild fires that went on forever,
where the ashes of her brothers, and their
self-possessed and possessing father of
eight in his brood, had been far-flung
and one day, so too would hers be, alone,
under shade trees in the valley of Santa Inez.
©2016 Jade Pandora. All Rights Reserved.
Noh - Japanese classic theatre
Suky - the youngest sister
Rancho Laguna - the 6,000 acre family ranch
San Marcos Pass & Santa Inez Valley, near Santa Barbara, CA
Actress Kyra Sedgwick is Edith's niece.
(preview photo from Wikipedia stock)
Melancholy Barbie
A little girls wish....
"I want Barbie to turn real!"
That night Barbie tip toes outta her pink box.
Barbie is saaad
No liquid in her perfect imperfect body.
And no one created tears for those unblinking crayon blue eyes
"I cant fucking breathe!" She wants to scream...
Then she tries...""Auuughh!!! Fuuuck!!!!"
A small voice escapes.
"My stars and garters!" she thinks.
With practice maybe?
Then she recognizes thought.... This causes a chain reaction in the Barbie dolls mind. Now there were thoughts to think and unpresidented emotion.
She laments,
"My waist is made too small to fill my diaphragm with air, suck in and shout out!!"
"Ugghh!!" another good try.
Probobly why my tits stick out so far she thinks to herself...filled with air i cunt release.
Her first untwisted fresh out of the box steps were stumbly.
Like the scarecrow in Oz...
She hummed without moving her red painted lips "If i only had a brain." Music!? Barbie is thrilled.
Slowly she is turning to tissue. Finds a bit of grey matter.
Now recognizing logic..
Shit's becoming clear..Her body makes no sense. And she's finally recieved insight into her mans bad behavior.
Barbie is getting good and pissed!!
"Fuck Ken!" she gives a true shout, a true high, exhilarating feeling. She gives an arched tip toe stomp in exlamation!
Her belly rounds out with the burst of heated air.
"Just know he's fucking Skipper," she grumbles in unchanging coy red smile. "I saw them at the dreamhouse, his arrousal for her nearly caused his arms to bend to pull her in to him."
Still wearing her scarlett plastic grin.
Okay so she is not quite full flesh yet. No true facial expression, and certainly no Babette Babich Barbie. Not yet practiced in the delicate art of thought to be anywhere near a profound philosopher,
"That bitch Skipper isn't even blonde! Ken doesn't know perfection when he sees it." a hard gleam would be coming from her eyes if she could.
"Bargain basement trick! Saw Skipper in white heels and dark stockings after labor day. Passe." she is struck dumb by the use of such a word. "I can use Passe in a sentence?" she says it again just to make sure,
"I can use Passe in a sentence?" yep, she is quite pleased to possess such a vocabulary.
Barbie is elated. She has a brain! She suddenly understands Einstien's theory of relativity,
"E MC2" she repeats knowingly. Humming note for note Beethoven's 5th symphony in her yellow blonde noggin.
But she doesn't fiddle around long with the finer things in her pretty little head.
Once again her one track mind drifts back to Ken, his perfect molded bottom, and simalar yellow wavy never messy hair. His perfect plastic pompadour...mmmm...feels so good rubbing...
Suddenly she gets a deep excruciatingly naughty ache between perfect tropic tan thighs, arms still stiff she tries reaching down to rub it good...
No punani mound!! No slit or slick wet pink clit. Of all things pink created for her, they left out this!?
Just flat plastic nothingness
She wonders if it's the same for her darlin Ken? She knows the answer ...he is doll too. Came from the same Mattel box. She is crushed.
Her Ken, no thick cock?
"Fuck science, logic and music if i cunt get off? Cunt give Ken a good blow job with these cherry red lips that don't part! And no pretty pink Barbie snatch!? I will never truely know Ken." Alas Barbie has no vagina for Ken to fill.
Once again Barbie is very saaad.
No tears in her unblinking blue crayon eyes.
She tip toes back to her pink box.
Who would want to feel anything if you cant enjoy a good fuck anyway" Her last thought.
She quietly goes back to unreal.
(In some Eastern cultures the Scarecrow is a symbol for a being that knows Everything. Imagine..i wear Barbie on my neck. Some feel she is an anti feminist symbol. I think of her as scarecrow.)
A little girls wish....
"I want Barbie to turn real!"
That night Barbie tip toes outta her pink box.
Barbie is saaad
No liquid in her perfect imperfect body.
And no one created tears for those unblinking crayon blue eyes
"I cant fucking breathe!" She wants to scream...
Then she tries...""Auuughh!!! Fuuuck!!!!"
A small voice escapes.
"My stars and garters!" she thinks.
With practice maybe?
Then she recognizes thought.... This causes a chain reaction in the Barbie dolls mind. Now there were thoughts to think and unpresidented emotion.
She laments,
"My waist is made too small to fill my diaphragm with air, suck in and shout out!!"
"Ugghh!!" another good try.
Probobly why my tits stick out so far she thinks to herself...filled with air i cunt release.
Her first untwisted fresh out of the box steps were stumbly.
Like the scarecrow in Oz...
She hummed without moving her red painted lips "If i only had a brain." Music!? Barbie is thrilled.
Slowly she is turning to tissue. Finds a bit of grey matter.
Now recognizing logic..
Shit's becoming clear..Her body makes no sense. And she's finally recieved insight into her mans bad behavior.
Barbie is getting good and pissed!!
"Fuck Ken!" she gives a true shout, a true high, exhilarating feeling. She gives an arched tip toe stomp in exlamation!
Her belly rounds out with the burst of heated air.
"Just know he's fucking Skipper," she grumbles in unchanging coy red smile. "I saw them at the dreamhouse, his arrousal for her nearly caused his arms to bend to pull her in to him."
Still wearing her scarlett plastic grin.
Okay so she is not quite full flesh yet. No true facial expression, and certainly no Babette Babich Barbie. Not yet practiced in the delicate art of thought to be anywhere near a profound philosopher,
"That bitch Skipper isn't even blonde! Ken doesn't know perfection when he sees it." a hard gleam would be coming from her eyes if she could.
"Bargain basement trick! Saw Skipper in white heels and dark stockings after labor day. Passe." she is struck dumb by the use of such a word. "I can use Passe in a sentence?" she says it again just to make sure,
"I can use Passe in a sentence?" yep, she is quite pleased to possess such a vocabulary.
Barbie is elated. She has a brain! She suddenly understands Einstien's theory of relativity,
"E MC2" she repeats knowingly. Humming note for note Beethoven's 5th symphony in her yellow blonde noggin.
But she doesn't fiddle around long with the finer things in her pretty little head.
Once again her one track mind drifts back to Ken, his perfect molded bottom, and simalar yellow wavy never messy hair. His perfect plastic pompadour...mmmm...feels so good rubbing...
Suddenly she gets a deep excruciatingly naughty ache between perfect tropic tan thighs, arms still stiff she tries reaching down to rub it good...
No punani mound!! No slit or slick wet pink clit. Of all things pink created for her, they left out this!?
Just flat plastic nothingness
She wonders if it's the same for her darlin Ken? She knows the answer ...he is doll too. Came from the same Mattel box. She is crushed.
Her Ken, no thick cock?
"Fuck science, logic and music if i cunt get off? Cunt give Ken a good blow job with these cherry red lips that don't part! And no pretty pink Barbie snatch!? I will never truely know Ken." Alas Barbie has no vagina for Ken to fill.
Once again Barbie is very saaad.
No tears in her unblinking blue crayon eyes.
She tip toes back to her pink box.
Who would want to feel anything if you cant enjoy a good fuck anyway" Her last thought.
She quietly goes back to unreal.
(In some Eastern cultures the Scarecrow is a symbol for a being that knows Everything. Imagine..i wear Barbie on my neck. Some feel she is an anti feminist symbol. I think of her as scarecrow.)
i Doll
I was only fifteen,
and for the first time
I saw that face over the fence
my sister was playing with her and her friends
those dark blue eyes just mesmerised me
I stole the rusty doll
millions of questions,
I doubted myself
what am I?
I can't tell the boys that I like a doll
but it wasn't sexual at all
It was a depressive call
I never believed in any supernatural acts
but those eyes, throwing hooks to catch
mine, getting my eye gaze with hers
then she pulled my soul and put it inside her
she took my hand and showed me a glimpse
of the world inside, it was something else
I started to draw the things I saw in her mind
but in the real world,
they were disturbing and all sort of evil kind
she taught me how to enjoy pain,
see the sweetness in a grief
In solitude I found salvation
it was our congregation
she took me on a path where
every living thing is a dear
then sooner or later
I didn’t need look in her eyes to disappear
my sudden laughs and gloomy emotions
were noticeable to the real world
how do I explain as a young man
that I live in a fantasy with a doll?
my friends called me a weirdo
my taste of music became hers
my family started to notice
the changes in my behaviours
she showed me how to ink
this gloominess into letters
she whispered names in my ears
she said she want them dead
till I bring those souls to her
the voice echoed in my head
.
..
...
the news said five missing girls found dead
age from sixteen to twenty
my sense knew it
that I had something to do with it
...
..
.
it wasn’t a she,
it was a form of incubus sealed in it
he broke his curse through my soul
I thought I discovered a world
with my rules
just for my self
and clearly he played me
with that seductive voice
from inside,
I am staring at my eyes
starring back at me
with that familiar grin
my sister had found her lost doll.
I can hear her stroking my hair
you filthy bastard….
please…. don't....
please….no..
please.....
no. not
her
.
I was only fifteen,
and for the first time
I saw that face over the fence
my sister was playing with her and her friends
those dark blue eyes just mesmerised me
I stole the rusty doll
millions of questions,
I doubted myself
what am I?
I can't tell the boys that I like a doll
but it wasn't sexual at all
It was a depressive call
I never believed in any supernatural acts
but those eyes, throwing hooks to catch
mine, getting my eye gaze with hers
then she pulled my soul and put it inside her
she took my hand and showed me a glimpse
of the world inside, it was something else
I started to draw the things I saw in her mind
but in the real world,
they were disturbing and all sort of evil kind
she taught me how to enjoy pain,
see the sweetness in a grief
In solitude I found salvation
it was our congregation
she took me on a path where
every living thing is a dear
then sooner or later
I didn’t need look in her eyes to disappear
my sudden laughs and gloomy emotions
were noticeable to the real world
how do I explain as a young man
that I live in a fantasy with a doll?
my friends called me a weirdo
my taste of music became hers
my family started to notice
the changes in my behaviours
she showed me how to ink
this gloominess into letters
she whispered names in my ears
she said she want them dead
till I bring those souls to her
the voice echoed in my head
.
..
...
the news said five missing girls found dead
age from sixteen to twenty
my sense knew it
that I had something to do with it
...
..
.
it wasn’t a she,
it was a form of incubus sealed in it
he broke his curse through my soul
I thought I discovered a world
with my rules
just for my self
and clearly he played me
with that seductive voice
from inside,
I am staring at my eyes
starring back at me
with that familiar grin
my sister had found her lost doll.
I can hear her stroking my hair
you filthy bastard….
please…. don't....
please….no..
please.....
no. not
her
.
dejure said:i Doll
I was only fifteen,
and for the first time
I saw that face over the fence
my sister was playing with her and her friends
those dark blue eyes just mesmerised me
I stole the rusty doll
millions of questions,
I doubted myself
what am I?
I can't tell the boys that I like a doll
but it wasn't sexual at all
It was a depressive call
I never believed in any supernatural acts
but those eyes, throwing hooks to catch
mine, getting my eye gaze with hers
then she pulled my soul and put it inside her
she took my hand and showed me a glimpse
of the world inside, it was something else
I started to draw the things I saw in her mind
but in the real world,
they were disturbing and all sort of evil kind
she taught me how to enjoy pain,
see the sweetness in a grief
In solitude I found salvation
it was our congregation
she took me on a path where
every living thing is a dear
then sooner or later
I didn’t need look in her eyes to disappear
my sudden laughs and gloomy emotions
were noticeable to the real world
how do I explain as a young man
that I live in a fantasy with a doll?
my friends called me a weirdo
my taste of music became hers
my family started to notice
the changes in my behaviours
she showed me how to ink
this gloominess into letters
she whispered names in my ears
she said she want them dead
till I bring those souls to her
the voice echoed in my head
.
..
...
the news said five missing girls found dead
age from sixteen to twenty
my sense knew it
that I had something to do with it
...
..
.
it wasn’t a she,
it was a form of incubus sealed in it
he broke his curse through my soul
I thought I discovered a world
with my rules
just for my self
and clearly he played me
with that seductive voice
from inside,
I am staring at my eyes
starring back at me
with that familiar grin
my sister had found her lost doll.
I can hear her stroking my hair
you filthy bastard….
please…. don't....
please….no..
please.....
no. not
her
.\
Thanks For Your Entries
I was only fifteen,
and for the first time
I saw that face over the fence
my sister was playing with her and her friends
those dark blue eyes just mesmerised me
I stole the rusty doll
millions of questions,
I doubted myself
what am I?
I can't tell the boys that I like a doll
but it wasn't sexual at all
It was a depressive call
I never believed in any supernatural acts
but those eyes, throwing hooks to catch
mine, getting my eye gaze with hers
then she pulled my soul and put it inside her
she took my hand and showed me a glimpse
of the world inside, it was something else
I started to draw the things I saw in her mind
but in the real world,
they were disturbing and all sort of evil kind
she taught me how to enjoy pain,
see the sweetness in a grief
In solitude I found salvation
it was our congregation
she took me on a path where
every living thing is a dear
then sooner or later
I didn’t need look in her eyes to disappear
my sudden laughs and gloomy emotions
were noticeable to the real world
how do I explain as a young man
that I live in a fantasy with a doll?
my friends called me a weirdo
my taste of music became hers
my family started to notice
the changes in my behaviours
she showed me how to ink
this gloominess into letters
she whispered names in my ears
she said she want them dead
till I bring those souls to her
the voice echoed in my head
.
..
...
the news said five missing girls found dead
age from sixteen to twenty
my sense knew it
that I had something to do with it
...
..
.
it wasn’t a she,
it was a form of incubus sealed in it
he broke his curse through my soul
I thought I discovered a world
with my rules
just for my self
and clearly he played me
with that seductive voice
from inside,
I am staring at my eyes
starring back at me
with that familiar grin
my sister had found her lost doll.
I can hear her stroking my hair
you filthy bastard….
please…. don't....
please….no..
please.....
no. not
her
.\
Thanks For Your Entries
the silver balloons
i leap from the bus like an angel
jumping from a cloud in the heavens
falling back to earth, to renew itself
after my feet reach the pavement
it appears, as it does every day
highlights surfacing itself
even visible from here
the possibilities of it's origins-
to be in memory of someone,
from an old birthday party...
i see it every day
a constant reminder of what it could've been
i fear what i don't know, yet i obsess over what could be
the thought keeping me awake at night-
what if someone died on their birthday?
how ironic to die on the day where you celebrate the day you began to live
then i remember,
my birthday is next month.
i pray that an angel reaches
from the golden clouds of the sky
and stretches a barrier from me
and an inevitable death taking place on that day.
yet sometimes i pray that i am not saved from that.
all of this comes to mind,
just because of a few balloons on a tree.
i leap from the bus like an angel
jumping from a cloud in the heavens
falling back to earth, to renew itself
after my feet reach the pavement
it appears, as it does every day
highlights surfacing itself
even visible from here
the possibilities of it's origins-
to be in memory of someone,
from an old birthday party...
i see it every day
a constant reminder of what it could've been
i fear what i don't know, yet i obsess over what could be
the thought keeping me awake at night-
what if someone died on their birthday?
how ironic to die on the day where you celebrate the day you began to live
then i remember,
my birthday is next month.
i pray that an angel reaches
from the golden clouds of the sky
and stretches a barrier from me
and an inevitable death taking place on that day.
yet sometimes i pray that i am not saved from that.
all of this comes to mind,
just because of a few balloons on a tree.
