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Little girls love dolls. They just don't love doll clothes. We've got four thousand dolls and ain't one of them got a stitch of clothes on.
quote by Jeff Foxworthy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Valley Of The Dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Went the gang of four
Song number one and the rhythm up amping
Drummer beats down 4/4 rock ranking
A bass so deep thud thud spines shaking
And all around mad eyes are rolling
Made up and stunning
As the feet get moving
As the pressure rising
White faces staring
As into the valley of the dolls
- go the gang of four
Song after song rockettes up rocking
One hundred watts scream man
My ears are bleedin
Hot bodies charged blonde locks a givin
And all around - young girls are fainting
Their hearts a pumpin
As the spikes are dancing
Shank girl shanking
I saw love vibrating
As into the valley of the dolls
- go the gallant four
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
As into the valley of the dolls
4 skulls are splitting
5 fingers are clicking
6 strings are burning
7th hour approaching
8 legs are stomping
9 lives are groovin
10 thousand coasting
X generating
As into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley of the dolls
Into the valley
Into the valley of the dolls
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My first modeling job was Gap, and my first time in front of the camera was for a Soda Pop Girls commercial - it's one of those Bratz dolls, Barbie dolls...one of those.
quote by Hailee Steinfeld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I played with dolls until I was 15. My mother encouraged it because my older sister got married when she was 15, so Mom thought that the longer I stayed with dolls, the better.
quote by Linda Evans
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Clothes
That party requires me to wear this and that
The dress code rules, the most annoying;
And if I have to deliver this news
Such as delivering newspapers
to be wearing a raincoat
How idiot-definitely-in times of rain and
the news was soaking
'How are you so? '
Weather folded pocket behind
The voice laughed, embarrassed the rigid rules..
What clothes should be removed
even though it
Giggles fly over the heads of
And golden perch in the cage
The owners of the kingdom of words;
Husband joked with another man's wife
In the pockets of his clothes there
1 box of cards,
mobile-phone numbers and streets with no name
'Excellent news today'
All nodding like dolls;
Made of tulips...
I say birds fly free
Dancing in my awkward silence
So what does it mean, all these dishes;
Presented after further ado completed
Or enjoy the embrace of the word..
After this we said go!
After this we remove the clothes;
And the buttons were scattered in the air
Became the new news about the clothes;
We laugh together..
(2009)
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Through their play Barbara imagined their lives as adults. They used the dolls to reflect the adult world around them. They would sit and carry on conversations, making the dolls real people.
quote by Ruth Handler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Christmas Day
A young gentleman came riding past,
On a snow blue winters day,
He asked to drink by our fire
And I was pleased to let him stay,
He drank there quietly for a while,
And then he turned and said to me,
Your eyes are green,
Like summer grass,
Your lips are red,
Like a fresh cut rose,
Your hair is soft,
Like an Irish stream,
And your voice,
Is filled with sweet beauty
And the last words I heard him say
Were I shall return,
For you,
My love,
On Christmas Day
And the night will come,
But I won't sleep,
As I watch the stars that lead him,
I cannot place where he is,
But still my heart goes with him,
I'm saving all my Sunday clothes
For the day that I'll be leaving,
Father knows,
My sister knows,
And my friends,
They're happy for me,
And the priest he says,
You should thank God,
For the blessing,
Of such beauty
And the last words
I heard him say,
Were I shall return,
For you,
My love,
On Christmas Day
I shall return,
For you,
My love,
On Christmas Day
(On Christmas Day)
(I shall return for you my love)
And the last words
I heard him say
Were the last words
I ever
Heard him say
I shall return,
For you,
My love
On Christmas Day
I swear,
I will return,
On Christmas Day,
And yes,
I shall return,
On Christmas Day,
I shall return,
For you,
On Christmas Day
My love,
I will return,
On Christmas Day
I shall return,
My love
On Christmas Day
On Christmas Day
song performed by by Dido
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Christmas Day
A young gentleman came riding past
On a snow blue winters day
He asked to drink, by our fire,
And I was pleased to let him stay
He drank there quietly for a while,
Then he turned and said to me
Your eyes are green, like summer grass,
Your lips are red like a fresh cut rose,
Your hair is soft like an irish stream
And your voice is filled with sweet beauty
And the last words I heard him say
Were I shall return, for you, my love, on christmas day
The night will come but I wont sleep,
As I watch the stars that lead him,
I cannot place where his is,
But still my heart goes with him,
Im savin all my sunday clothes
For the day the day that Ill be leavin
Father knows, my sister knows,
And my friends, theyre happy for me
And the priest he says, you should thank god,
For the blessing of such beauty,
And the last words I heard him say
Were I shall return for you, my love, on christmas day
I shall return for you, my love, on christmas day.
And the last words I heard him say
Were the last words I ever heard him say
I shall return for you, my love, on christmas day
I swear, I will return on christmas day,
And yes, I shall return on christmas day
I shall return, for you, on christmas day,
My love I will return on christmas day,
I shall return, my love on christmas day
On christmas day...
song performed by by Dido
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sankraanti
Those three days of
Sankraanti every year
from the times i've known
it was as if the house was
flodded with people from
all walks of life and we were
designers, architects and land-scapers
into the late hours returned dad
from his endless hours of work
and then the night would come alive
trunks of dolls carefully wrapped
in our swaddling clothes were carefully
spread on beds n blanktes-porcelean
english lady that grandma brought from
her maternal home, birth of jesus with
mary and joseph on either side of the baby-bed,
two variants of rama, sita, laxman and hanuman
dasavataaras, brahmins at a meal, toddy tapper,
ravenous crow, kirana merchant n his wfe, bowl of fruits,
birds in delicate transperant glass-you name it, it's there
and down below on either side were landscaped parks, forests,
hospital, dotted with lanes of sprouted methis n mustrad...
somehow dad had fascination only for the white procelean
and none of those earthern gods in synthetic paint
every year would be added a new doll
all dolls collected over thirty years and now
when i count the years, they're by now sixty plus
sadly locked up in trunks and palced on the attic...
the last even i recall was some twnety years ago
when our own children were barely two years...
all innovation and appropriate techology we learnt
observing dad arranging some six to eight rows
with every wooden plank to bricks and stoned from the road-side
to rice tins and travel trunks precariously balancing all the dolls...
people came all the three days
to recieve 'taambulam' and praised
the dolls endlessly and finally declare
'doctor ji has four dolls, why these again! '
and we would laugh shyly and see them off
the fourth day was a sad farewell to the dolls
once again wrapped carefully back into the trunk...
life was simple, fun, and there was so much to look forward to...
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shaking The Doll
Oh I wont be your pretty baby,
I wont eat from your hand again.
And the man in the white says its alright,
He says, come on girl give up the fight.
Youll go to sleep, there will be no pain.
Well I want to live with myself again.
Well, where we lived there was a lighthouse,
Throwing a white beam into our house,
Over my body when I was sleeping,
Over the secrets I was keeping,
I could tell myself there would be no pain,
But I have to live with myself again.
Im digging up, Im digging up,
Im digging up, Im digging up,
Im digging up, Im digging up,
Im digging in the earth.
Im looking for signs
And Im shaking the dolls
And the fairy-tales lied
And somewhere, back there
I didnt understand,
Man and woman and woman and man.
And Im shaking the dolls
Im shaking the dolls.
Oooh, the dream isnt coming through,
I cant feel for you.
Well somewhere, back there
I didnt understand,
Man and woman and woman and man,
And Im shaking the dolls
Im shaking the dolls.
Oooh I have to live with myself again,
Oohh I want to be with my body again,
Ooohyou cant make me hollow again.
Oooh, the dream isnt coming through
I cant feel for you.
Love, shooting up, through my veins,
I gotta get a hit again.
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Evita
The dolls are dancing for you oh my sweet Evita!
But there is polo in your blood;
So come around and let us have fun on this game,
And like the muse of your love in the garden of peace.
Your muse is like the Buckingham Palace,
But diamonds are not everything in this life;
And you can't expose what you are now doing in the public,
Because the dolls are now dancing for you! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bloody Paper Dolls
They bleed an ink of green blood
Cut them out
Faces of drawn misfortune
Bodies of frail dresses
Minds of empty blue lines
Given names of whores from distorted streets
Megan molly Shannon mind so weak
Created world of plagiarized lives
These bloody paper dolls have no eyes
They see not the tears upon her face
They bleed words onto the page
Green ink dripping
Soft words describing a life
Take there heads the lose all purpose
Fixed scissors this time ill make a man
Green ink bleeds from the cut up words
And the body it forms
These dolls aren’t real they are a shaken reality
Let her be she has dreams
And I cut the words from this page
I lost my age
I’m old... and still
I have bloody paper dolls all around
They rule my life
They are my reality
My friends
These words now just letters
Green ink stains my finger tips
My bloody dolls you are it.
poem by Victoria Martinez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Returning to Live in the South (II)
Sow beans south hill below
Grass flourishing beans seedling scarce
Morning rise tidy wasteland ugly
Carry moon carry hoe return
Way narrow grass trees great
Evening dew dampen my clothes
Clothes wet not enough worry
If cause wish not separate
Clothes Of Sand
Who has dressed you in strange clothes of sand
Who has taken you far from my land
Who has said that my sayings were wrong
And who will say that I stayed much too long?
Clothes of sand have covered yor face
Given you meaning but taken my place
So make your way on down to the sea
Something has taken you so far from me.
Does it now seem worth all the colour of skies
To see the earth through painted eyes
To look through panes of shaded glass
See the stains of winters grass.
Can you now return to from where you came
Try to burn your changing name
Or with silver spoons and coloured light
Will you worship moons in winters night.
Clothes of sand have covered your face
Given you meaning but taken my place
So make your way on down to the sea
Something has taken you so far from me.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My American Niece The Talker
She plays with her dolls hours on in
singing them songs that
never end.
Wishing on them when missing
their feet to go to a doctor to
get a sweet treat.
Ever moving she talks walks talks
television on she turns it off
yes she talks
Even after tiredness over takes her
eyes glazed over in rapture
she talks.
Time doesn't matter to the talker of dolls
every one learned to walk and talk.
poem by Is It Poetry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Return Trip
I will return to my place of Birth
To that place before Mother Earth
I will return to that Day of Awakening
To that Day of a New Beginning
I will return to my very first Sun
My very first Moon, my very first Star
I will return to that place that never was far
I will return to the land of the Beautiful,
the Good, the Grateful
Where there is nothing to forgive
For there is no sin
Where there is no regret
Life is what you dream
Where Innocence is never put to test
Where all is Sacred and blessed with Happiness
I will return to my place and time of Birth
I will return
I am not Cursed
poem by Sonya Florentino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The clothes back in those days were made so much better than clothes are today. They actually took time to make clothes to fit a woman's body. Today they make clothes that fit sizes, so it stretches to fit this and that.
quote by Debbie Allen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pink And Blue
The world of pink and blue,
And of the living dolls in the name of models!
But why should they have to expose their nakedness to the world?
Black and white with the game of the clouds,
And white and black like the healing mountain!
But why should the living dolls go through aoo that? ! !
All in the name of fashion which exposes them to the world;
And many are those who do not even eat to make up to the marks.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wishes And Dreams Within
Four dolls in my work station, the
prettiest small amounts of money
could buy - a special doll must be
cheap, otherwise I cannot
play with her at all
The smallest doll represents the
grown-up shell in which the child-
hood version of adults dwell, the
two bigger, younger dolls re-
present the wonderment
Of early youth - the smallest one
reminds of undeveloped potential,
everyone has probable personalities
which had been repressed to allow
one main ego to develop well
A shock might activate other ego-
possibilities - a split into several
identities - I sincerely wish I had
several personalities in me, one
for mathematics, another
For transcribing legalese, one for
cooking, another for social activities
while the real core personality would
be free to write poetry - or swim in the
sea or - dance to the music
My dolls represent my idea of human
personality, a bunch of unrealised
wishes and ideals within…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Showing Dolls
And Mrs Clark said
why doesn’t your son
come to tea
I’m sure Helen
would like that
she can show him
her collection of dolls
and your mother said
yes that would be nice
I’m sure he’d like that
and Helen peered at you
through her spectacles
her pupils like
two brown fish
in a glass bowl
and she smiled
one of those smiles
which frighten small boys
and Mrs Clark said
yes and you can come too
and your mother nodded
and off they went
into one of their
long conversations
and as they talked
Mrs Clark rocked the pram
with her youngest kid
wrapped up inside
and your mother stood
with you by her side
with the creeping dread
riding up in you
of tea looming
and Helen standing there
her plaits on either side
of her head
going back and forth
as she moved her head
and Mrs. Clark laughed
and the pram shook
and the kid cried
and she rocked the pram
backward and forward
and all you
could think about
was the dolls
and the baked beans
on toast
and Helen showing you
her dolls
as she had before
and taking
a secret kiss
behind a closed door.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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