Poems about Pinocchio

His words were delicately dipped in rationality.
Each lie was well thought out,
Perfectly imitating the definition of truth.
Reassuring promises slipped from his lips,
Like steaming cheese from a slice of pizza.
I was nearly tempted to take a small bite,
Knowing the irresistibly of his delicious concoction
Would lead to my devouring of the rest
And an eternal heartburn.
But logic protected me from his lies
Like a hood shelters a head from shattering raindrops and forceful winds
That can easily cause a mind set in stone to weather and crumble.
His eyes traced the angles of my face,
Searching to see if I had bought his false advertisements.
And what he discovered was that I had not;
I was not too blind to see the Pinocchio in front of me.

Pinnocchio and the Queen!
Puppet image, sorrowful,
Rouge dusted sparkles bless his cheeks,
Such childlike image, as cheery angel,
Gay, misled by teen fantasy,
Hair coiffured not a whisper out of place,
In faded denim hot pants,
Appears out of place,
Parading as a shop mannequin,
Like a tiny harlequin,
Lust for some emotion,
Advertising wares for sale, in aim of a promotion,
A sad commodity,
Full of sexual satisfaction,
Young men, old men, suited men and booted men,
Seeking cutie prey,
Maybe, Streets paved in gold,
Fools gold in the truth was found,
Impure truth was the only thing he ever bought!
Prince Albert, although not his pimp in truth,
Instead pond life scum took on the role, with cruel control,
Lives in land where tragic lies, and sorrow becomes magnified,
The shards of all, is sexual fantasies.
As an immigrant to land of city lights,
I see through windows fogged by city smoke!
Visualising through caring eyes,
What I see appalls me deep within,
Tears my soul to tears!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)

Ah, Pinocchio--povero burattino °--
Always in a scrape; always in a jam.
The irresponsible, wooden-headed numbskull
Couldn't help but fall for every scam.

A walking, talking stringless marionette,
Pinocchio really would have had it made
In a modest home with babbo ° ° Gepetto.
But, instead, the foolish youngster strayed.

Ignoring the advice of the talking cricket,
Pinocchio EVEN smashed it with a hammer.
That right there should have been a reason
To throw the little rascal in the slammer.

The Fox and the Cat had no trouble
Dissuading the puppet from going to school,
Thus involving him in a series of adventures
Which often made him look like a fool.

The Fairy tried to be a good influence,
But Pinocchio's lies caused his nose to grow.
Constantly ignoring responsibilities,
The misguided boy, suffered constant woe.

(Swindled of his money, hanged on a tree,
And saved just in the nick of time
From being eaten, Pinocchio had
Too many adventures to fit into this rhyme. )

Fleeing with his lazy school chum Lucignolo
To the Paese dei balocchi, ° ° ° there Pinocc
Turned into a donkey. Of all his follies,
This one had to be a masterstroke.

Once again a puppet, Pinocchio was swallowed
By a giant Pesce-cane, ° ° ° ° and then guess what!
The foolish boy was finally reunited
With babbo Gepetto in the fish's huge gut.

NOT until Pinocchio thought about others
And proved he was an honest and caring boy
Did his fortune start to change for the better,
And the stringless puppet became the real McCoy.

Does Pinocchio by any chance remind you
Of any politicians out there at all
Who fail to listen to expert advice
And thumb their noses at common protocol?

And speaking of noses, we can also see
Politicians' noses grow as they tell lies.
Lying to themselves and to others as well
And ignoring our best interests and flouting compromise.

Such politicians--unlike Pinocchio--
Have strings to pull when performing for the masses.
The more they avoid solving REAL issues,
The more they end up looking like asses.

They also love--these clever burattini--
To sell a bill of goods and promise many things.
But someone out there--or some corporation--
Is slyly and cleverly pulling their strings.

Do you ever wonder if these same politicians
Ever think about or care how you feel?
Will they eventually--as did Pinocchio--
Prove they have what it takes to be real?


°(burattino/i) - poor little puppet
° °(babbo) - dad(dy)
° ° °(Paese dei balocchi) - Playland
° ° ° °(Pesce-cane) - shark

- by Bob B

Erase anything that has to do with me. if you wore it when we were together, throw it away. if you wrote it when you wanted something to do with me, burn it. kick out every thought or idea you had when I was the name you'd draw in hearts in your notebook. rip those pages out. you might as well rip your heart out too because it no longer beats for me. my heart beats and your hearts beats but they're no longer in sync.
I don't mean to be so dramatic. I don't miss you. but it's the strangest thing that two people that were once so entertwined are now seperated. it's weird knowing you move and breathe and think and feel and exist and I'm no longer apart of it. i would say it's weird that I'm not in your life anymore as well but I don't think you ever really wanted me there in the first place.
I want you to lie to me some more. I want you to make something up about why you had to run away last week, something elaborate and insane and believable. I want you to include me in whatever it is that's growing inside of your head. but I want you to disappear. I want to forget we ever had anything to do with each other and continue on as if I've never written a love poem in my entire life. I hate that I'm proud of what I've written about you because I want to throw them
Away. I want to burn us down.
I told you once that it was okay that you were struggling, that I could handle it. but I don't want to be your punching bag. the idea that i would ever subject myself to being continually punched and beaten until the cotton inside of me pokes through is absolutely insane and shows how little respect I had for myself. at the end of the day, you did teach me how to respect myself by treating me horribly.
I'm moving backwards by writing this to you. I'm walking through the streets backwards and I'm bumping into every reminder I never asked for and tripping over memories I swear I threw into a fire. I've always compared us to a fire but I guess that's the difference between us and flames; a fire stops burning in a few seconds, but I'm sitting here waiting for our hue to fall flat. it's on it's way, but it's not there yet. but none of this is a metaphor anymore. it's not a metaphor that I'm alone again and it's not a metaphor that you left because I failed to be what you wanted. it's not a metaphor that I'm weary to put any blame on myself because I know how screwed up of a person you are. and it's not going to be a metaphor when she breaks you again. last time when she cut your strings off and left you a puppet with no master, I was there to make it pretty again. you were the love story version of Pinocchio and you realized you didn't need to be a puppet. it would have been nice if your nose grew when you lied so I didn't waste so much time making sure you never got wooden again.
I am not going to be there again. I hope those strings burn a hole inside of your shoulders. or maybe I hope you continue doing whatever you're going to do and leave me out of it. I hope for the day I don't wish bad things on you and instead am content that you're gone. it'll be here soon.
I'm moving backwards by writing this for you. if you play our story backwards, it's not tragic. if you turn my body inside out and flip me backwards I will have bigger problems than you moving on at 75 miles per hour. maybe if you saw my throbbing, swollen heart on the outside of my body you'd realize why Pinocchio didn't get away with it. I'd like to think something could make you realize but if I ever walked by you with my body flipped inside out you probably wouldn't even notice anything was out of the ordinary because you see you. you only see you.
I'm so glad I got away.

Pinocchio
That's me
Held together by wooden joints and strings
A real boy, a real boy
I repeat to myself
That's what i am
And it's true, it is
I just don't look the part
I'm trying, i swear
It's just so hard
I used to accept that i would always be a puppet
But i can't anymore, you have to understand
I'm trapped in myself and i have to escape
But goddamnit, i am going to fix myself
Even if it means giving up a few things
Because what's the point in being happy when you're not yourself?

I spoke unfairly,.
As I slipped into insanity,.

My emotions are not capable of truth,.
I am but a pathetic youth,.

A naive young mind,.
That cries at the worst of times,.

I see you crying,.
Because I am the one lying. ,

After all you have done,.
I destroyed the beauty of a gracious sun,. ,. ,. ,

I am forever grateful,...

Half man, half tree:
Describe limbs with leaves
And when the reader reads, looks only at
One part: wood
But not sees

(Paolo Jerome D. Cristobal / 2010 - Paranaque)

How many pills does it take
To trick a mannequin into
Believing she's real?

How long was the child
Hungry before he
Started to steal?

How much sun
Can you take before
Your skin peels?

How many promises
Will I break
Before I seal the deal?