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Created on: August 31, 2009
Puppet Master ...
We have a guy inside our room.
He speaks with a loud voice of boom.
We laughingly call him the puppet-master.
But he is more like the master-blaster!
He's always instigating the other guy.
Like he's his voice like some kind of Mr. Sly.
That's why he's the puppeteer and the other guy his dummy.
Because he just sits there like a big ole' mummy.
The puppet-master is constantly speaking loud.
You can always hear him above any crowd.
His mouth is forever going.
Only to further our point and keep us knowing.
His cutting remarks always make us laugh.
Including the rest of our company staff.
When he is absent from our room.
Our room becomes as silent as a tomb.
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Poetry: Puppets
Puppet Master ...
We have a guy inside our room.
He speaks with a loud voice of boom.
We laughingly call him the puppet-master.
THE PUPPET
A marionette on dancing strings,
He'll never speak aloud.
The handler tugs; the puppet sings.
He answers to the crowd.
We're
by Carol Gioia
"I'm the line leader," she declared,
as if she were in school.
All the adults fell in line,
adhering to her rule.
With head
His puppet,
that’s what she was
A good puppet,
that’s what she was.
Easy to manipulate.
Easy to maneuver.
Puppet on a String
Her skin is as pale as black charcoal
Strung upon a silver wire
Soaring on the wings of the wind
Trapped
View All Articles on: Poetry: Puppets
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