Best Allegorychild Poems
An apple hung in a tree by the road
For everyone’s joy and delight
And all who would pass would look at the fruit
And smile at the beautiful sight
The apple was kissed by the warmth of the sun
It was fed from the strength of the tree
It was bathed every day by the dew or the rain
It was caressed by a warm gentle breeze
People would watch as the apple grew ripe
With eyes full of hunger and greed
And each day they would look to see if the fruit
Was still up in that old apple tree
But their waiting grew long and their patience grew short
And they began to complain
But no matter how much and no matter how loud
Their growls were always in vain
One sour soul stood at the foot of the tree
And looked up at the fruit over head
Then said he with a voice of disgust
“Aren’t apples supposed to be red?”
A second soul stopped and looked in the tree
Then promptly began to expound
“I know that this fruit is tasteless and sour
And I can see that it is not very round”
A third person paused and readily agreed
And thought that the fruit was quite small
Then said he with distaste and disdain
“I’m not sure that is an apple at all!”
Then a gusty breeze blew
And the apple was swayed
And down it came and “kerplopped”
The three souls stood – stunned and amazed
They looked at the fruit that had dropped
Just then, a child skipped up and saw the fresh fruit
He grabbed the apple with glee
He took a big bite and skipped down the road
And left the souls by the tree
Each soul turned and with a shake of their heads
They walked slowly and sadly away
They mumbled their thoughts and were quick to declare
“That child will get sick this very day.”
Listen to the musical, harmonic sound,
Its Dear Beauty coming down.
She is in every detail of my eye.
She brings to life the wonderful sky.
I see her in
the plump girl,
the geek,
the recluse,
And
the neat freak.
She gives me new light and perception.
She shows me that it is not what lies in front of my eye,
but what we do not
see,
hear,
taste,
touch,
or smell.
Its how we feel at the moment its revealed.
Beauty is
a child at play,
a crisp rainy day,
a clear, blue sky,
a stomach cramping laugh,
the sound of a child receiving his/her first toy.
Beauty is the feeling of accomplishment
when you get an “A.”
Beauty is a clever thing,
she makes the most---strange and absurd
become the most, wonderfully captivating.
To me,
beauty is the soul of things springing to life.
And she aborted her first born son
And wrapped him in black plastic,
And placed him into a refuse container;
For there was no room for him in her life.
Three sanitation workers came,
Following one dim light that lit the way,
Then, there came the curious,
Those who plied their trade by night.
A cat and several stray dogs gathered round about.
Then the police came to see the child,
And their report went out to all the city;
That on this night, in your city, a child was aborted.
Had certain one's been present
Their response presumably could have been,
It's better off, no cross in life to life,
And it was not yet a life!
But it was a life,
Perhaps a president, an evangelist,
A great inventor, or a soul winner.
But we will never know save this one thing,
That like another child from humble beginnings,
This life deserved better than it received.
Last telling the tale of the lovely Kate
About to ask for our first formal date
The Gods had decreed her to my collection plate
Quenching the thirst for Satan's mortality rate
I question where to make the first incision
Transverse above the breast my decision
Organs opening as flowers once bloomed
Soon to be desecrated under the soil entombed
The garden's daffodils n' roses of varying hues
Crimson pinks, scarlet shades of violent blues
She is soiled and defiled and bears another's child to the naked eye unforeseen
The shower's steam sparkle n' gleam, as I carve the liver and oh such a tender spleen
The pericardium fluid washes away the liver's bile, an ultimate climactic aquamarine
Fondling the liver I can almost forgive her for she herself a mere child seventeen
Dazzling brilliant ruby red droplets, create pattern from this intimate splatter
I'm calm and composed not like Alice's friend the chaotic brain scattered Mad Hatter.
There between thoughts
sat the child
leaning and moving
to the beat of moving toward the grow up door
Days come
and days go
and this child speaks out
what does it feel like to play with
the adult inside
walking in circles
with worries and reflections
does the child protect the circles,
open the doors of love
to lead a crying spirit~
an adult spirit
along the play ground
fields
to feel the play
O' so long ago
experienced
Does the child sing the song
for the adult
to dance to the tune
to open pleasurable windows
to feel
to experience
from the child
of long ago
the shadow of
adult now standing
to the beat of the
grow up child~
Pattimari Sheets