Skip to main content

Allen and the Mirror | Martins Deep


Allen And The Mirror
"You're cute" the mirror softly spoke
"But more than a feeble cub with a beard you know"

He cried, "Why can't I be forever this little folk?"
"Never you once say you love the looks of a wise owl?"
And Nature rode by the night he clocked sixteen
To sow the crops forbidden
He woke up to feel the prickles
Wondering how one night had brought so many troubles.

"Who planted on my face these fiendish briers?"He asked the mirror on the nightstand
"So bad how a cherub yesterday looks a chimp today with hairs -
Or am I just blind?"


"I can feel your pain little one"The mirror replied calmly
"Tis how watched your grandpa grow till he passed on -
Wait a few days to behold the garden that charms every lady"


Unconvinced, the boy Allen broke into solemn tears
On a barter of magic for adult fears
and the sores razors will bring
Aftershave that makes father moan when it stings

"You'll need to check your armpit too
and down below your fleshy pipe"

The looking glass blurted hiding his face from his fiery gripe
While the grandfather clock beside chimed two.

"Promise my poor heart Anabel
and I won't have momma auction you"

While deaf Walter rang the breakfast bell
Running off he cried, "Or I'll make everyone forget you ever stood!"

And so it came to be that Anabel fancied the beards on Allen
Her fingers happily lost in the forest
While she sang sweetly like a wren
and Nature kissed proudly another century upon the mirror's glassy breast.

- Martins Deep


Enjoyed reading? Commenting is now easy. I introduced Facebook Comment feature. Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends. Thank you!

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

shy, a poem

bashful, timid, quiet.  shy If anyone you know has used these terms to describe you, you're probably a bit shy. Everyone feels that way once in a while. Shyness and social anxiety are common, no matter how old you are. There is one myth about social anxiety and social anxiety disorder that I would like to dispel. The myth says that social anxiety is just exaggerated shyness. This myth encourages the idea that anxious people are merely weak-willed pushovers. It is partially because of this myth, I think, that well-intentioned people offer the relevant but insensitive and patronizing advice like, “Don’t worry about it!” , “Just do it” and “Face your fears.”  Thinking on all these, I wrote this poem: shy when a shy person speaks, it's like music from guitar strings. when a shy person smiles, it’s like the sun coming out when a shy person steps out it's like the uncommon visit of gods when a shy person reclines it feels like moon eloped from night when a shy person is 'i

Dustbin And Drafts - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 142: DUSTBIN AND DRAFTS He was the night sky, She was a star, Always together, Never one. He wrote what he felt for her of how her twinkles light up his dark. But they never get to her. One more note was added in his drafts. Fragrant pens and beautiful poems Pink papers and artistic handwriting. She wrote about the beauty in his black of how they make her twinkles shine. but they never got to him. Only the dustbin knows how much she loves him - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends.  Thank you!

For Leah Shabiru - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu

POEM 136: FOR LEAH SHABIRU I can't find the words right To describe Leah's plight. I hope this little piece of mine Awakens our voiceless unconcern. Does she feel giddy? Does she still cry? Does she look out the window and heave a sigh? How long shall this gravity Hold her down to these rascals? I know she kicks but in vain I know she whispers prayers to her God Or maybe she now doubts his existence. Does she wish her breathe be gone? But she's just a teenager Who dreamt of leaving her deadbeat town One day she went to chase dreams The next she was never found Sunrise and sunset have come and gone and Leah is still in the devil's lair. You and I, we eat, we sleep She's not our own, we care not a bit Until same fate cross our path Trample our wives And rip our hearts Only then shall we realize in Leah died our very soul. - Stefn Sylvester Anyatonwu #365DaysOfPoetry #Pengician #SSA Enjoyed reading? Please help my blog grow by leaving a comment and sharing with friends