Who cleans up
the confetti
of your moment dream?
Not I, the waking
walking talking
china doll
mantelpiece illusionist
collecting dust
of all sorts. Everybody
loves all sorts,
every child's lustful gaze
falls on the untouched toy
the out-of-reach
'oh please just once!'
and just once smashes her face.
Who dares rock the rocking horse
dappled chipped paint
and bleary dry eyes.
Who dares walk the corridors
of an antique dolls' house
with china roast dinner
which only mice may enjoy
in midnight meanderings
when they sleep.
Not I the china doll
with green glass eyes
blue velvet coat
white fur lining
and smileless lips in pêche-pink,
not I who collects dust
in the afternoon light,
not I the watcher, teaser
from mantelpiece throne
scattering largess to an empty crowd,
oh my
not I the shadow in the mirror,
the dust collector
the sad eye glazer in
birthday party confetti twirls,
high up on the throne upon the mantel
confetti carpet below my feet.
(16th May 2014)
As a child I always wanted to have old fashioned toys: rocking horses, dolls' houses, etc. but never had them, sometimes in other people's houses at birthday parties and such, I would see them but generally you weren't allowed to go near them. I always saw them as very precious things. I had one china doll, but I broke her and then buried her in the garden. She was as described in the poem.
YOU ARE READING
Blue Moon
Poetry"Still she haunts me, phantomwise, Alice moving under skies Never seen by waking eyes." - Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There (2012 - 2014)
