We’re still rolling with the Barbie poems from the last poetry jam, and there are a few more to come after this. Here are another eight poems from our poetry jam in honor of Barbies at Communion: and other poems by Marcus Goodyear.
The Barbie Poems 5
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
Barbie and Breastfeeding
I watched my best friend nurse her daughter
last week, and she is getting no sleep. She
is a real woman with real breasts that feed.
They seem so perfect; make me seem so small
and flabby but I wonder if they are as empty
as Barbie on the inside. I am afraid of such
words and I a nursing mother – not a Barbie.
Do not be afraid, goddess life-giving mother.
Nipple is a word that feeds your child. Nipple
is a word that God created. Nipple gets all
And we wonder if Adam named the nipple
like he named the other animals. So I wonder
if God knew the word before He formed the
woman or the man or the Barbie? Word
aside, God made the nipple and the breast
and the milk that feeds the child. Where are
these nippled Barbies? Our play with sanitized
nudity was safe enough to let us sleep easy.
Poor Barbie has no nipples, no way to hold her
child to her breast and feel the nourishment
let down into his body.
I am sure Barbies also slept 8 hours at night,
though her breasts were always hard as rocks.
Get your hands away from my body. It is real.
It has curves and nipples and hair and freckles.
It will offend you, brother.
Barbie’s Easy-Bake Oven
Barbie needs an Easy-Bake oven.
We buy easy bake for our kids who apply food
network logic to create Battle Easy-Bake.
Mom would not buy me the Easy-Bake oven.
She bought one for my sister, years later;
I am bitter over such injustice.
No sister, no easy bake, no oven, no lessons in
Plastic; everything real, leaving blisters and scars.
No Easy-Bake oven, no easy way out; exploded
mess on glass frozen in time, failure not forgotten.
I want an Easy-Bake oven,
and a kitten.
I remember making paths from scarves in
the living room; it was as much fun as the
Barbie play and without all the plastic nudity.
We wonder but 99 out of 100 of us are afraid
to delve mysteries, quiet words, nourishment,
and I am 1 in 100 who owns no piece packed
girlhood away in 6th grade, crushing on Ken
who was too old for me anyway. My Barbie
was a slut. I think I learned this watching
soap operas with my mom. We had a
babysitter named Barbie, a friend really,
an adopted aunt much better than a hard
plastic doll. I wanted a New Kids on the Block
“action figure” to date my Barbies.
I had a Wonder Woman Barbie.
I had Parisian Barbie: Catharine Deneuve,
Chanel #5, April Fools, enchantment.
Barbie and the Marketing of Pop Culture
We are lost in the pop gospel,
swimming in the commandments
of marketing. What poet has ever
been made into a Barbie, though?
I think that I am safe. German when
she began, or perhaps just a Viennese
model. Magic lasso, tell it true: was
Barbie a cheap woman or a lost soul
First commandment of marketing:
thou shalt always buy (something).
Second commandment of marketing:
Many a lie is said in truth
Thou shalt covet. Thou shalt worship.
Thou shalt desire the plastic sweat of dolls.
Thou shalt not kill stale marketing campaigns.
Stale turns, stale thoughts, marketing gone
mad in a world already crazy with a donut
hole and a corvette, dangerous Dior.
If They Made Me Into a Barbie
If they made me
into a Barbie
I would laugh
burn the muffins
lose my right to wear
If they made me a Barbie
I would hope to be a
so I could wear blue
since pink would clash with
Barbie has no soul.
Barbie’s Pink Motorcycle
I want a motorcycle
maybe even a pink one
not because of Barbie.
I just like pink.
Pink girls who ride
motorcycles cause accidents.
Mary Kay road hawgs
I would rock a pink
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