Tuesday’s poetry jam on Twitter was designed to be a celebration of the launch of Marcus Goodyear’s new book of poems, Barbies at Communion: and other poems. A celebration it certainly was. We had a record number of participants – 21 in all at various points in the hour-long jam. Even Papa Goodyear, Marcus’ dad, paid a visit.
Like all celebrations, it was noisy, happy and wild.
And we learned some things from Marcus the poet, like Barbie the Episcopal priest has a Facebook page (@mmerubies found the news story about the ordination); there is a Barbie foosball game; there’s a Barbie rat race car artwork, and it’s for sale; and you can even put Barbie on the menu.
The first group of poems are below.
The Barbie Poems 1
By @mdgoodyear, @papagoodyear, @llbarkat, @memoriaarts, @arestlessheart, @lauraboggess, @cascheller, @mattpriour, @PoemsPrayers, @KathleenOverby, @togetherforgood, @gyoung9751, @mmerubies, @jamesrls, @doallas, @Dancinbutterfly, @moondustwriter, @mxings, @Jezamama, @MarisaLopezzz, and @TchrEric; cameo appearances by @hiscrivener and @duane_scott; edited by @gyoung9751.
Barbies Excitement Builds: Prelude
Is it Tuesday yet?
Is tonight the night?
Tonight’s the night: poetry jam.
Ready for some #tsptry.
Okay, where’s the barbie-q?
Barbie’s Ken better be wearing
hockey goalie gear tonight.
Barbie a priest? Episcopal priest?
Does Priest Barbie A) empower
women in ministry B) glorify
God as a work of liturgical art or
C) highlight God’s sense of humor?
I dunno what Priest Barbie does,
but can I have her?
i brought my poet Barbie.
They’re smart enough for poetry?
Barbies is an interesting topic.
I want to stay but I need to go.
But If you leave, who’ll represent
Ken? I’ve never been compared
to Ken before.
Barbie, Barbie, Barbie. That’s all
I ever hear! Why does Barbie get
all the new clothes? Why does
Barbie have great curves? Because
the little girls can’t be princesses
themselves, they dress their girls
in their dreams.
She always had the best hair, too,
till my friend Krissy ratted it all up.
Doesn’t she know that’s impossible
to attain? Not that you should be
bitter about Barbies you had twenty
years ago but it’s possible
I still am.
Shocking Pink Barbie
What kind of distinctive art
the artists make of me?
Drinking green tea,
writing shocking pink poetry?
Mom would not buy
me a Ken doll, to offset the
shocking pink, so I chopped
off a blonde doll’s hair and
shocked that way.
I am green with envy, or
is it pink with shock?
Shocking pink, lime green,
dutifully shocking, whatever
you want — leaves no room
for tea. Green tea can sometimes
be bitter without a touch of clover
honey. I wonder if Barbie had a jar
beneath the Dior beyond the heels.
I cut her hair off; fit of anger:
she perfect pink,
me black and blue.
Barbie wore Dior?
Shock is never bitter, honey.
At the time, it did not mean
anything to me, to have my dolls,
dating. I imagined short-hair-girl
had become a man. We never
bothered to date, just hopped
naked around the room singing
I closed my eyes and pretended
she came alive, at night, while I
was dreaming in my bed.
My sister’s life-sized Barbie wrestled
us to the ground, pinched our waists
until we cried uncle, dreamed of
ladders with angels.
Even as a small child, my Barbies
were already having sex. I hope my
children are more innocent than that.
She smelled distinctly of pink jello and ink.
What would it be like to eat pink
jello vicariously, poised on heels
that never flatten into real life,
toned muscled arms
torn from sockets?
Resilient, they snapped back.
My husband dissected his sister’s Barbies
and pushed Barbie and Ken down the stairs
in the dream car. I lost my head; Ken had
such beautiful eyes but his voice squeaked.
Anatomically incorrect, as the world knows.
Is she ever clothed? Pass the scalpel, it’s time
to slice the plastic, pop off heads, there’s got to
be some life in her torso.
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