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Posts Tagged ‘dolls’

MY BUTTERFLY

I walked into her bedroom
Just the other day
And saw the stages of her life
In careless disarray

I stood there in the doorway
And with nostalgic sighs
I viewed the contradictions
Spread before my eyes

Around the room where Nursery Rhymes
Once hung upon the wall
Are posters of recording stars
I cannot list them all

But still in place of honor
In a small golden frame
Are Cinderella and her Prince
Of Fairy Tale fame

And over in the corner
Her dolls lie in a pile
She has not yet forsaken them
But will, in just a while

Lying adjacent to the dolls
And scattered on the floor
Are several current 45’s
And several things more

There are stacks of old comic books
And romance novels, too
Some bubble-gum wrappers
And a valentine or two

A sad bedraggled Teddy Bear
Now wears upon his pate
A dried and faded corsage
From a chaperoned date

Hanging on her bulletin board
Is a treasured little toy
And tacked right next to it
Is a note from some young boy

On a messy closet shelf
This is what I see
Skates, a game, an old jump-rope
Her diary, with its key

And tangled in among them
Is a blanket (pink and gray)
It once meant security
So she can’t throw it away

A lipstick lies upon her desk
And nail polish, too
There’s clasps to hold her hair in place
In shades of pink and blue

Her clothing is a mixture
Of pre and early teen
Her moods, in fact, dictating
In which she will be seen

She likes her pretty dresses
But loves the latest fad
So more and more, she leans that way
And it’s jeans in which she’s clad

Her room is a chrysalis
Where tot transforms to teen
And yet, there’s changes still to come
More transition to be seen

When comes the time that she matures
And my butterfly flies away
I’ll treasure memories of each stage
That saw her on her way

2/12/61 Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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WHERE’D YOU GO, LITTLE GIRL

          (For Sheryl)

 

Where did you go, Little Girl,

Weren’t you just here?

It seems we just played dolls and house

Or was that yesteryear?

Didn’t we tea party yesterday

(It seems so to me)

As we dressed your lovely little dolls

In all their finery

 

My recollections are vivid

Of blond be-ribboned curls

And dresses full of ruffles and lace

Like most little girls.

Too quick you leave behind you

That sweet adorable age

But I will treasure always

Memories of that stage

 

Like the many clever comments

And cute antics seen

And stories galore about pretend friends

Mr. Ralph and sweet Charlene

Mr. Ralph (your remarkable Teacher)

Blew smoke rings out his ears

Sweet Charlene (your unseen friend)

Shared secrets, hopes, and fears

 

Of course, there were endless questions

Like, “How does it make it dark?”

“Does dandruff have legs, Mom?”

And “How come cats don’t bark?”

When others kept annoying you

You’d say, as you frowned

“Will you guys leave me alone?”

And quit foodle-doodelin’ around

 

You even had a cuss word

(At least in your view)

When angry at Dave, you’d say

“Oh you, you, you Harriet, you.”

Whenever you were naughty

Or erred in some way

You tried to blame our little dog

To lead my thoughts astray.

 

 With a question in your voice

(So it wouldn’t be a lie)

You hoped to escape punishment

By giving this reply

“Maybe Lucky did it, Mama?”

Then, trying to be coy

You’d turn to the dog, scolding –

“Lucky, you’re a bad bad boy!”

 

I’ll never forget your helpfulness

Concerning the cat, one day

When you helped her with her grooming

(Much to my dismay)

When Calico came to the kitchen

Looking scruffy and somewhat wet

I asked you what had happened

To your furry little pet

 

Then looking very wise, you said,

“I just happened to think

That since her hands are very small

And she can’t reach the sink

It’s hard for her to wash herself

She needs someone to help her

So I kept licking MY hand, too

And I’d rub it on her fur.”

 

The things that I’ve related here

Are treasures in my mind

Recalling feelings from the past

Of the sweetest kind

Told here with warm nostalgia

Each incident the truth

Meant only to recall for us

A picture of your youth

And though they’re only samples

From time, as you grew

They’ll always be remembered

As little bits of you.

 

 8/10/58    Phyllis DeWitt-VanVleck

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     HER PARENTHESES

 

The weeping willow is her world

Where boughs form a room.

The golden coins scattered about

Are dandelions in bloom.

As I peer through curtained window

She’s lost in make-believe,

And I watch in fascination,

The stories she can weave.

With dolls and toys as audience,

She acts upon a stage,

Fulfilling all the sweet dreams

Expected of her age.

Just now, she’s Cinderella

Dancing at the ball,

As she wears my old satin gown,

And heels to make her tall.

But soon she is a Fairy Queen

With sequined wings of blue.

As she waves a small magic wand

Her wishes all come true.

And next she transforms to a Bride,

Who’s dressed with greatest care,

With curtain as a bridal veil,

And flowers in her hair.

Once again she changes modes

And breaks into sweet song,

Pretending she’s a great chanteus,                       

But it doesn’t last too long,

For now she is a perfect Mom.

With motherly concern,

She feeds her dolls and beds them down,

With a kiss for each in turn.

I’m quite engrossed in her pretense                     

As I watch her fantasize,

But scenes are quick to fade from sight,

When tears caress my eyes.

I wipe my eyes for better view

Of her parentheses,

And I am saddened then to find,

It’s all just memories. 

 

2/22/96        Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

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THE OLD PORCH SWING

       

Just old boards and rusted chains

The old swing hanging there

It’s hardly ever used now

But saw its time of wear

 

‘Twas there Dad held hands with Mom

As groom and lovely bride

And through the years it also held

Six children at their side

 

There I rocked my dolls to sleep

Or so I would pretend

And there I giggled endlessly

With Crystal, my best friend

 

Whenever I was punished

And thinking life unfair

I’d swing awhile in its arms

While seeking solace there

 

On moonlit summer evenings

My Mom sat in the swing

And as it moved back and forth

I’d hear her hum and sing

 

Then I would sit beside her

Being quiet as could be

And listen to her sweet soft voice

Singing old-time songs for me

 

My Grandpa often sat there

As he sprinkled the grass

Chewing wads of Granger Twist

And spitting with rural class

 

The swing was witness to my muse

Yes, almost every time

It was the perfect place for me

And my attempts at rhyme

 

So fertile seeds of poetry

Were sown in that old swing

As sitting there, deep in thought

I rhymed most everything.

                  

Initials are carved on its arms

In hearts that entwine

Symbols of my first romance

(A hand grooved valentine)

 

And as I entered dating years

I’d sit with current beau

Saying things that sweethearts say

While swinging to and fro

 

There I received a diamond

On a warm starlit night

For such a romantic evening

The old swing seemed just right 

 

Three generations of infants

Were cuddled on the swing

Memories recall for each of us

The lullabies we’d sing

 

It often held our neighbors

Who came to chat a spell

If the swing had a memory

What stories it could tell

 

The old boards and rusted chains

Will soon be tossed away

But I’ll remember throughout life

That swing of yesterday

 

 

6/18/88        Phyllis DeWitt VanVleck

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