Archives: Poems about Toys

2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 29

Dear friends, thank you for taking the leap and writing with me every day (or most days, or some days) during the month of February. I’m astounded by the number of people who participated this year. The poems everyone shared were a marvel. I loved seeing resonances and echoes between the poems every day, just as much as I enjoyed the outliers, the outside-the-box poems.

It is Leap Day, the 29th and last day of our month-long daily writing project.

This year’s theme has been FOUND OBJECTS. For those of you who are finding this project for the first time, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 4 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.

A few notes before we get to today’s poems:

I will continue adding poems to each day through Wednesday, March 2 only. If you’d like to catch up on a few days you missed, now is the time.

I will post a wrap-up of the project on Friday, March 4 for Poetry Friday. That post will include a working list of poets for each day of the project. It’s up to you whether you want to double check or not. Please get corrections to me no later than Monday, March 7.

I will post a list of the prizes this Friday, and winners early next week. I hope that covers everything. On to today…


Thanks to Diane Mayr of the blog Random Noodling for sending in a celebratory object for our last day. Whether you consider this a functional object or a toy (aren’t toys functional objects?), I hope you enjoy writing about it today.

Let’s start with Diane’s poem, since she found our source of inspiration for today.

I have to agree with Diane when she says, “I’m glad the month is over, but I’m also sorry that the challenge has ended.”

In the Kingdom of Strip Mall
By Diane Mayr

Two ponies rest in
a pick-up bed while
the giant, weighed down
by bags of trinkets, trades
out a tarnished royal
carriage for a tethered
helicopter. Not even
a bereft child dares
to question the actions
of this prince of a man.


Mary Lee Hahn left a lovely note for all of us. “It’s been a great month of writing, and for that, I thank you, Laura, for a fabulous challenge. To the other writers, I express my regrets that I didn’t have more time this month to be a better community member. I read all of your poems, but my praises and comments to you stayed inside my head and my heart.”


After a lifetime spent galloping in circles,
I’m finally going to put some actual distance beneath these hooves.

I’ve got this chance to move forward,
and I’ll enjoy the ride before the next place I park.

The blur of landscape as we roar down the road
is an art I admire, but have never been able to achieve.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016


I’m enjoying all of these end of project notes. Here is Linda Baie’s: “I’ve loved reading everyone’s poems, and they have always served as lovely inspiration. Thanks all for a beautiful month, plus a leap day, too!”

The Past We’ve Lost

That fifty cents took a long time saving-
penny by penny plopped in a jar.
Papa said I’d grow up to be a banker.
If I knew about money, I’d go far.

Now all I wanted was to ride the horses,
go round and round, pretend I was tough.
I did chores for Mama to earn the pennies:
swept, washed dishes till I had enough.

They pulled into the park last Saturday.
I had to eat breakfast, was ready to run.
Two shiny quarters appeared from Ma’s pocket.
She sent me with a smile, best wishes for fun.

Yep, those horses galloped like the wind.
Up and down, and round and round I went.
I was a whoopin’, hollerin’ cowboy,
appreciating the value of my fifty cents.

Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved



Drawing by Jessica Bigi

Thanks to Jessica Bigi, not only for this acrostic poem, but for the drawing that goes with it.

By Jessica Bigi

C alligraphy horses marching

A B C –1 2 3

R acing rhymes across paper

O utlines of a story

U sing imagination

S entence horseshoes

E nchanting endings

L etters laughter learning


Charles Waters has a rhyming poem today. The rhymes themselves make me think of carnival music.

By Charles Waters

Candy colored poles,
riding up and down,
horses prancing,
people dancing
above ground …


carol vThe title of Carol Varsalona’s digital creation is perfect for today.


Donna Smith noticed the word “Library” on the building and used that in her poem.


I wanted to go get a book,
So I hopped upon my horse
The horse went round and round
But I got no closer, of course.

I stuck out my thumb for a bit
And hitched a ride on a truck
And then, my horse and I
Had much better book hunting luck

We made it to the library
Where I found something to read
Then jumped back on the truck
In the saddle of my white steed

We still went round and round
As the trucker took us back;
It’s hard to ride too far away
If the horse won’t leave its track.

©2016, Donna JT Smith, all rights reserved

And Molly Hogan left us a note and a poem today. Thanks for this gift of a poem, Molly!

“Today’s picture was perfect. The carnival may be packed away, but rich memories linger and we’re all winners for having come along on the ride. Thank you!”

Laura’s Carnival
By Molly Hogan

The carnival arrives
on a wintery breeze
A sensory extravaganza
with an open invitation,
“You can’t win
if you don’t play!”
So, dive on in
Ride on waves of words,
rhythm and rhyme,
alliteration and syncopation.
Visit the funhouse
where words twist and twine
into intriguing shapes
and mirrors reflect new images
into eternity.
Try your skill on the games.
Select words like a sharpshooter
Picking off targets.
With all your strength and wit,
set your pen onto paper
with a resounding crash.
“Ring the bell!
Ring the bell!”
Overindulge on tasty terms
and luscious prose.
Wipe the grease from your chin.
Take a spin on the carousel,
up and down,
hang on and enjoy the ride.

But all good things
must come to an end.
It’s time
to pack up the party
shut down the fun
No days left
in this carnival’s run.
Phrases litter the ground
and crumpled papers
rustle in the wind
“Step right up!
Everyone’s a winner!”


2011 Summer A 225Just for fun: Here’s a bonus found object to enjoy on your own. I won’t be sharing poems in a post, but feel free to leave them in the comments. I hope you will post them on your own blogs and websites. I’ll give you a little history on this object during the wrap-up.

Interested in what we’ve written so far? Here are links to our recent poems (I will update this list soon — apologies to those I missed):

Sunday, February 21
FOUND OBJECT: Antique Sewing Machine
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Linda Baie, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Jessica Bigi, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Donna Smith, Carol Varsalona, Charles Waters.

Note: You will find links to all of  the Week 1, 2, and 3 poems at this post.

Monday, February 22
FOUND OBJECT: Stick Insect
Poems by: Mary Lee Hahn, Donna Smith, Carol Varsalona, Jessica Bigi, Charles Watesr, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Linda Baie, Diane Mayr.

Tuesday, February 23 at BOOKSEED STUDIO
FOUND OBJECT: Library of Congress Cart
Poems by: Jan Godown Annino, Jessica Bigi, Donna Smith, Linda Baie, Laura Shovan, Carol Varsalona, Diane Mayr, Mary Lee Hahn, Charles Waters, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Heidi Mordhorst.

Wednesday, February 24
Poems by: Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Heidi Mordhorst, Mary Lee Hahn, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Linda Baie, Laura Shovan, Charles Waters, Donna Smith, Carol Varsalona.

Thursday, February 25
FOUND OBJECT: Pearl Harbor Keys

Friday, February 26 at Michael Ratcliffe’s Poetry

Saturday, February 27
FOUND OBJECT: Architectural Ruins

Sunday, February 28 at Bookseed Studio

2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 20

Hello, Found Object Poets. I am prancing around in New Jersey today while another blogger takes over today’s hosting duties.

20150403_172032-3FOUND: Horse Figurine

You will find the Day 20Found Object Poem Project post at Jone Rush MacCulloch’s blog, Deowriter. Thank you for hosting while I’m visiting with family, Jone!







I’ll see you back here (late!) tomorrow for Day 21 and the last set of writing prompts. You can leave your Day 20 responses at this post or in the comments at Jone’s blog.


2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 11 – Poetry Friday

PF tagIt’s Day 11 of our month-long daily writing project.

This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 2 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.


We’re also celebrating Poetry Friday. This week’s host is Kimberly Moran at Written Reflections. If you’re enjoying the poetry community we’re creating with this project, I know you’ll have fun getting to know the Poetry Friday blogging community as well.

baie dollFOUND: Walnut Doll

This week, we’ve been talking about some of the categories our FOUND OBJECT prompts fall into. There were many contributions (a few of them my own) of toys. These weren’t ordinary playthings, though. The found objects were toys in odd settings, like the window full of antique dolls we wrote about on Day 6.

Linda Baie of the blog Teacher Dance contributed this interesting little plaything. There will be a few more toys to come in the weeks ahead, but this is the last doll we’ll see. She’s an unusual object — I’m glad to be able to write without any information about her. She’s going to raise quite a few questions in today’s poems.

Linda Baie is first up today with an acrostic poem about our little lady.

What I Had

F ound– faded flowerdy cloth from Mama’s scraps,
O verlays a piney piece of wood in Papa’s workshop.
U nder the backyard shade tree, the walnut–
N ear perfect color of my face.
D oll delight, looks like me.

Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved


Carol Varsalona, who is blogging alongside our project at Beyond LiteracyLink, wrote: “As a lover of antiques and history, I was drawn to this prairie doll that brought back memories of Little House on the Prairie books and the television show.” I hope you’ll stop by  Carol’s blog today. Her post includes a wonderful list for the classroom entitled, “Broadening Elementary Students’ Awareness of Prairie Life.”

I was born,
just an ordinary doll
of plain homespun fabric
stitched by Ma’s loving hands.
As odd as this seems,
I was given a walnut
for my head.
Just an ordinary doll,
I am.

They tell me that my family
weathered many a storm
as their wagon wheels
slowly moved west
to Walnut Grove.
Here on the prairie,
I was loved
as the ordinary doll
that I am.

Living in a soddie
under a sun that
beat and blistered
was a way of life
in summer,
while winter snow
drove us indoors
to wait out the
blizzards and
cold winds.

My days with
my little owner
were full of
simple prairie life
and prickled by
inconstant weather.
The ordinariness
of pioneer days
were filled with
special moments,
family ties,
and homespun charm.

Time has turned over.
Centuries have passed on.
My descendants
grace museums and
I sit on a shelf
reminding all of
ordinary times
and ordinary dolls
loved by ordinary families.

©CVarsalona, 2016


Jessica Bigi wrote in to say, “This doll made me think of a craft you would find at a county fair.” This should be a concrete poem, everyone, but I’m having trouble capturing its shape with WordPress. Please excuse the technical difficulties!

Summers Fair
by Jessica Bigi

I imagine                walnut dolls
Lemon tarts           Pecan pies
Red ribbon             Ferris wheels
County Fairs
Lemonade skies


I had a difficult time finding an “in” with the object — the thread that would lead me to a poem. So I tried one of the exercises I use with students when we are working with an image. First, we list all of the “facts” of the picture, the things we can see with our eyes. Then, we make a second list. This time, we write down all of things we imagine about the image. What’s the story? What is the person or people in the picture doing and thinking?

Churning Song
By Laura Shovan

A bonnet covers her white cotton hair.
Her face is wrinkled and round as a nut.
I call my scrap doll Grandmother Daisy
for the meadow flowers dotting her dress.
She wears a white apron with squares of blue
same as the apron I wear to do chores.
Grandmother Daisy’s bag is filled with songs.
She sits with me as I churn the butter.
Together, we sing her songs, pass the time.


“I let my kid-self out today,” says Violet Nesdoly. I think we have to make space for play during a project like this, to keep the daily writing from feeling like a chore.

On a Visit to Red Riding Hood

This is a memory
of Grandmother dear,
who outsmarted the wolf
when he came by here

with the gunny and muslin
she stuffed in her bed
and the pumpkin she used
to mimic her head.

It’s here on the shelf
and reminds me each day
better activate wits
than be someone’s buffet.

– Violet Nesdoly


Le Secret

Diane Mayr has a talent for combining images and poems. With another birthday coming up next week, this contribution spoke to me.

Le Secret d’un Visage Naturel
By Diane Mayr

Walk out
the back door,
scan the ground,
find a whole new
face to put on for
the day. Tomorrow
you can switch
it out again.
Who need be
the wiser?


The doll brought up an old memory for Donna Smith. “This struck me as such a stark contrast to a pink, delicate ballerina doll I once had… that my brother broke… not that I’d remember that after over 50 years…”

The Dolls

Prima Donna ballerina
Could bend and point her toes;
Her arms were curved so gracefully –
No walnut tip for nose;
She wore a satin tutu
And on her feet toe shoes;
She smelled of sweet vanilla –
Not of smoke and bread and stews.
I loved my doll until it broke
And then threw it away.
What good is a dancing doll
If it can’t tour jeté?
My grandma’s doll, so precious,
Has stood the test of time;
She never went to dances
But with Grandma she would climb
The big old tree beside the house
To make up wondrous tales,
And then go wading in the stream
To look for baby whales.
My grandma’s doll upon my shelf
Still dresses in humble style;
And looking down at me from there
I think she’s cracked a smile.

©2016, Donna JT Smith, all rights reserved

Remember when we wrote about the antique shop dolls on Day 6? Writers were split between those who found the playthings dark and creepy, and those who felt nostalgic about dolls from their past. I see a similar pattern happening with today’s found object.

Mary Lee Hahn says she not sure where this poem came from. I see a definite ripple between this poem and Diane Mayr’s contribution. Mary Lee is blogging alongside us here.

She struggled
to keep her face blank,

The news
made her shoulders tense,
took her breath,

blinded her.
An unimaginable future
stretched ahead.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2015


Matt Forrest Esenwine is back with us today!

The Old Woman in the Yard

We’d walked this way for years.
Each time, we’d see her there
in burlap dress and bonnet,
hands clenched, as if in prayer.
Her back was always turned,
head bowed in silent thought;
we wondered (rather, worried)
should we bother her, or not?
So every time we passed,
we never said a word,
we never slowed our pace;
the woman never stirred.
And then one day we came upon
an empty, hollow space…
we never knew her name.
We never saw her face.

© 2016, Matt Forrest Esenwine, all rights reserved


Margaret Simon’s poem reminds me of Raggedy Ann, with the heart sewn inside her body.

How to be a Walnut Doll
By Margaret Simon

Wear your walnut with pride
Flaunt feathery fabric
Be flexible
Make time stand still
Love is your sacrifice
Feel the beat of a young heart.


Catherine Flynn is blogging alongside us today. Like many of us, today’s object evoked a place and time for Catherine. You can find her full post here:

Bouncing along this rutted trail
toward a great unknown,
I clutch my dolly, Susan,
keeping her corncob body close.
Ma saved one cob
from last summer’s harvest
to make this dolly, just for me
after I helped her husk
the bushels of corn
Pa hauled from the field.
Corn for us to eat,
corn to grind into meal,
corn to feed our brown swiss, Bess,
so she’d share her sweet, creamy milk.

Ma sewed a little dress from scraps of calico
soft as a cloud,
blue as the summer sky,
sprigged with pink and white daisies
like those in our yard.
Fashioned a tiny muslin bonnet,
just like mine,
it’s wide pleated brim shielding our faces
from the blazing sun
as it leads us westward,
toward our new home.

© Catherine Flynn, 2016


Isn’t it lovely that Jone MacCulloch gave our doll a name in her poem?

grandmother’s doll
hidden in the attic
her name

her clothing
grandmother’s worn out
scraps recycled

her head
a walnut
from the backyard

always headed
to the market
with an empty

grandmother’s doll
hidden in the attic
her name

© 2016 Jone Rush MacCulloch all rights reserved


There’s wonderful sensory imagery in Charles Water’s offering today.

By Charles Waters

This walnut body of mine
gets hugged every night by Laura,
my heart beating, apple cheeked
forever friend.  She fiddles with my
flowered dress, stitched up tan apron,
tattered handbag, homemade bonnet.
“I love you Dolly,” she says every nigh
before bed as shades of moon slice
through her alabaster curtains.
If only I had the heart to tell her,
“The feeling is mutual.”


If I missed your poem today, I apologize for the oversight. Please leave me a note in the comments and I will add your response ASAP.




See you tomorrow for Day 12.

Interested in what we’ve written so far? Here are links to this week’s poems:

Sunday, February 7
FOUND OBJECT: Blood Letting Knife
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Jessica Bigi, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn, Linda Baie, Molly Hogan, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Matt Forrest Esenwine.

Note: You will find links to all of  the Week 1 poems at this post.

Monday, February 8
Poems by: Laura Shovan, Jessica Bigi, Heidi Mordhorst, Carol Varsalona, Linda Baie, Margaret Simon, Donna Smith, Diane Mayr, Joanne R. Polner, Kay McGriff, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Catherine Flynn, Jone Rush MacCulloch.

Tuesday, February 9
Poems by: Molly Hogan, Jessica Bigi, Linda Baie, Violet Nesdoly, Carol Varsalona, Mary Lee Hahn, Donna Smith, Laura Shovan, Diane Mayr, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Catherine Flynn, Kay McGriff, Charles Waters.

Wednesday, February 10 at Reflections on the Teche
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Patricia VanAmburg, Jessica Bigi, Molly Hogan, Laura Shovan, Linda Baie, Carol Varsalona, Violet Nesdoly, Heidi Mordhorst, Donna Smith, Mary Lee Hahn, Margaret Simon, Charles Waters, Buffy Silverman, Catherine Flynn.

2016 Found Object Poem Project: Day 6

It’s Day 6 of our month-long daily writing project.

This year’s theme is FOUND OBJECTS. For those of you who are new to the project, please read my introductory post. You’ll find more information and all of the Week 1 FOUND OBJECTS at this post.

2013-07-16 09.33.36 (1)FOUND: Antique Dolls

I found today’s object in my home town, Ellicott City, Maryland. Just down the road from where I live is the center and oldest part of town. Old Ellicott City was the first terminus of the B&O Railroad, a pre-Revolutionary mill town. Today, it is a quaint stretch of old buildings and townhouses with antique shops, boutiques, and restaurants.

I’ve always loved this photograph. Something about the reflection in the cracked window glass makes these dolls feel like more than old toys for sale. Let’s see what everyone came up with.

I wonder whether Jennifer Lewis, who used to live near me, guessed that I took this picture in Old Ellicott City, where trains still rumble through town today.

They’ve Seen Much

By Jennifer Lewis

They saw the train tip in sky,

Offering one last lullaby,


They saw the child make a face,

Breath’s condensation, fingers trace,


Rock and grass picnic tables,

Twig and stick equine stables,


Tea party attire, sipping air,

Guest list inviting Ted E. Bear,


Crackling glass, cracking skin,

Wondering if the story ends,


Universal melancholy,

When we see, one’s lost dolly,


They’ve seen better days this is true,

But homemade memories imbue,


The storybooks, the belly’s laughter,

A child’s love for ever after.


I wanted to get away from humanizing the dolls and recognize that they are, especially without their usual trappings of clothing and packaging, objects. But one of these ladies had something else in mind. (Heidi — this is a sort of “No” poem.)


Window: Antique Shop

by Laura Shovan


Without their dresses,

rompers, ribbons,

lace, without

their boxes, gift wrap,

tissue, pink bows,

the dolls stand

disjointed, quiet.

They face the street,

hear no birds,

people, rumbling train,

see no cars pass.

They do not

watch the growing crack

in the glass pane,

nor the one

who seems to raise her

plastic fist to

strike again.


In contrast to my poem, Linda Baie added fabrics into her response. Since we are working on sensory details this year, I love this addition to the dolls.


Dolly Cry


I need a friend:
Pick me, pick me

for garden walks,
dressed up for tea.

I’ll need the softest
organza dress
I’d love a hat,
best to impress.

You’ll play with me
be all I want
a loving child,
a confidante.

We’ll stroll and sniff
those blooms en masse
I spy outside
my window glass.

Pick me, pick me.
Let us conspire.
I’m lonely here,
you’re my desire.

Linda Baie ©All Rights Reserved

Do you find Linda’s final line creepy or inviting?

The last line of Jessica Bigi’s doll poem feels very wistful to  me. I love the wordplay here.

Store Window Dolls
By Jessica Bigi

Umbrella bonnets
Locks looping curlers
Blinking eyelash eyes
Walking talking crying
Umbrella dresses
Store Window Dolls
Hoping for hugs

Diane Mayr uses the last few lines of her poem to reveal the setting.

Parking Lot in New Hampshire on a Sunny February Day
By Diane Mayr

Unbuckle your seatbelt
incline your seat backwards
close your eyes, relax.

Feel the deeply penetrating
radiant heat of the sun.

Relish the seclusion. No
sand in your underwear when
your beach is glass and steel.

From the first lines of Molly Hogan’s poem, you’ll know whether she’s in the “creepy” or “nostalgic” camp when it comes to these dolls.

Breaking News
By Molly Hogan

Mass Escape from
St. Claud’s Center
for Delinquent Dolls
Just this morning
a passing photographer
captured this pivotal scene
of the notorious Brown-Haired Doll
with her famous fringed blue eyes,
gang leader, miscreant,
dimpled arm raised,
baby-blue-shoed foot
kicking out,
targeting the glass barrier,
already fractured,
and demure-looking accomplices
lurking in assumed postures
with their flat and soulless
marble gazes intent.
All poised on the verge of escape.

I’m impressed with how each poet today uses language to set the tone of his or her poem, communicating different ways of feeling about our found object. This one is from Catherine Flynn at Reading to the Core.

Haunted by ghosts
of little girls
who loved them once,
dolls, long forgotten
stare, eyes blank,
through cracked
plate glass.

“Have you seen Emma or Ida or Grace?”
their soulless eyes plead
with people rushing by.

They long for the warmth
of tender hugs
that would break this spell
and mend their broken hearts.

By Catherine Flynn

I’m so pleased to see my friend (and fellow Pisces) Heidi Mordhorst joining us today! You’ll see the image at the left that shows Heidi’s playfulness with form. It’s amazing what spacing can do in a poem. When you compare the two version of “A Doll Trap” side by side, the one on the left is full of movement.


heidiA Doll Trap


secured behind glass


or less

doubly exposed


they gaze out

lean reaching toward


one does more than yearn

raises her

chubby arm

to crack that glass again


dolly hai-ya

she will be


will walk among

walls and rock

follow plastic paths

to new clothes

new scenes


Heidi Mordhorst 2016, all rights reserved


Speaking of form, I’m glad to see I’m not the only person trying out prose poetry this month. Margaret Simon sent in this response.


The Doll Collection

by Margaret Simon


A collection of dolls makes me nostalgic for those days when my girls were young, each one with a favorite baby doll with a name like Danielle or Harriet, carried everywhere, to the grocery store, pushed around in the rolling cart shopping like Mommy, or to the church nursery equipped with a bulging diaper bag, and I cry at the thought that today these well-loved, adorned dolls are alone in a plastic bin inside the upstairs closet waiting for a new child to love her, hug her until the stuffing breaks.  Maybe I hear them crying, too.


Another new face — though she has been a regular in past years — is poet Patricia VanAmburg. Great use of a title working against the poem here, which creates so much tension.



By Patricia VanAmburg


Dolly told Baby she wanted to scream
Baby said, Dolly, don ’t taunt—
You know that we are held in a dream—
and all we can do is haunt.


Dolly said, Baby, you’re kind of creepy
Sometimes you make my skin crawl—
I hope that you will soon feel sleepy—
But Baby started to bawl.


Last in today is Mary Lee Hahn.


As a child,
my dolls were my closest friends.

When I left for college,
I tried to pack them in a trunk,
but had to release them before they suffocated.

They’ve lived my entire adult life
(up until now)
on the closet shelf
in my childhood bedroom.

they will be auctioned away
to strangers.
I will hear them calling to me
for the rest of my life.

©Mary Lee Hahn, 2016

Mary Lee’s poem reminds me of my mother’s dolls from the 1940s and 50s. Several of them are wrapped up, sitting in the bottom of a bureau, waiting for a trip to the doll hospital for some TLC.

Late arrivals! There are two more poems to share. Clearly, the dolls drew our attention. Matt Forrest Esenwine is playing around with inner and outer spaces in this poem.

“Day of the Dolls”

Soulless eyes
see through your lies;
hollow hearts ne’er beat.
Prison walls
shatter, fall –
they’re loose upon the street!

– © 2016, Matt Forrest Esenwine

I encourage everyone to visit Carol Varsalona’s blog Beyond Literacy Link, where she breaks down her writing process for her Day 6 response poem. Her post has some great insights into how we go from inspiration or prompt, through initial draft, to developing poem.

Remembering When
Sweet friends and confidantes,
your friendly faces
remind me of doll days
when my mother and I
lovingly designed
your tea time clothes.
Now, you sit on dusty shelves
stripped of your dignity,
mere remembrances of
another era, a time gone by
when little girls adored you.
Who will call you their own?
©Carol Varsalona, 2016 


Mashing hands into their faded reflection,
straining to stand before plopping down
on their bottoms, toddlers shriek in sadness
as older kids swing, leap, and spin on jungle
gyms in the school yard.

(c) Charles Waters 2016


I like the way that asking “What if” in a poem can take us in a new direction. Donna Smith does that with her poem today.

Dolls Left Behind

Do you ever wonder
where they went –
those dolls left behind
the day you left childhood?
You closed that door one day
and went on
to Trixie Belden,
to The Spaceship Under the Apple Tree,
to horses,
and boys.
The dolls stayed behind
for a while, waiting –
not reading books,
not riding horses,
not growing up
and one day they disappeared.
Where is
Kathy, the walking doll,
who couldn’t really walk;
Thumbelina, who moved like a real baby –
that is,
if a baby had a big pink knob on its back;
Miss Ballerina, no longer a dancer
due to an ankle injury playing football?
– thank you, dear brother –
Where did they go
when I wasn’t looking
in their direction
any more?
As nomads, did they
move on to other little girls
who would remember
to feed them
and love them
and later
forget them?
Do you ever wonder
where they live now?

©2016, Donna JT Smith, all rights reserved


Jone Rush MacCulloch sent a poem, but be sure to check out the post on her blog as well.


in the window
of the crone’s house
blank eyes
into my soul
silent cries
for help

I photograph
about their stories
who played with them
why abandoned
will they find
new homes.

© 2016 Jone Rush MacCulloch all rights reserved



See you tomorrow for Day 7 and the Week 2 prompts.

Interested in what we’ve written so far? Here are links to this week’s poems:

Monday, February 1
FOUND OBJECT: 100 year-old mailing box
Poems by: Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Linda Baie, Jessica Bigi, Margaret Simon, Laura Shovan, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Catherine Flynn, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Brenda Harsham.

Tuesday, February 2
FOUND OBJECT: Fancy peppers and produce
Poems by: Mary Lee Hahn, Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Laura Shovan, Linda Baie, Matt Forrest Esenwine, Margaret Simon, Jennifer Lewis.

Wednesday, February 3
Poems by: Jessica Bigi, Margaret Simon, Diane Mayr, Mary Lee Hahn, Molly Hogan, Linda Baie, Jone Rush MacCulloch, Laura Shovan, Catherine Flynn.

Thursday, February 4
Poems by: Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Margaret Simon, Laura Shovan, Molly Hogan, Mary Lee Hahn, Linda Baie, Carol Varsalona, Catherine Flynn.

Friday, February 5 at Guest Blog, Radio, Rhythm & Rhyme
Poems by: Matt Forrest Esenwine, Jessica Bigi, Diane Mayr, Molly Hogan, Margaret Simon, Carol Varsalona, Laura Shovan, Mary Lee Hahn.