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Best Poems Written by Sonia Allen

Below are the all-time best Sonia Allen poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Sonia Allen Poem

Matter

You won't be remembered as a marvel 
Or a joy or a pleasure or anything 
You won't be loved or hated or thought of 
Your memory will marinade in malaise like nothing

Will your friends think of you when you expire?
Only when they send some flowers with the local bargain boy slave. 
Which don't matter when you're lying dead 
Decaying ten feet under the ground in a maggot-filled grave. 

The moon will die and be reborn,
But you will simply die and lie in the ground. 
Your soul will not climb into your body like a child into bed
Your body will sit there, eyeless, tongueless without a sound

There is no need to break you, 
For you are not worth breaking 
You are not alive, only existing, 
Never sleeping, never waking,

I wouldn't laugh in the face of your pride,
For that would be a cruel joke,
Because what have you to take pride in,
Nothing said, laughed, loved, spoke, 

Words exchanged, souls trembled, 
Where are you going with your life?
Not that it would matter whether you live 
Or die. Shoot, aim, fire, strife. 

I wouldn't shed tears for your years, 
Because that would make your mother cry 
But how I'd love to repeat and repeat 
The same words that will ring in my brain until I die:

In an instant, man will fall and what did it 
Matter?
In an instant, the earth will burn and what did it 
Matter?
In an instant, the sky will tremor and what did it 
Matter? Who will remember the time you hurt your knee, 
But you didn't cry and no one said you were 
brave?
In a moment, the memories will wash into the dunes and what did it 
Matter? 
What did it matter? What did it matter? What did it matter? 
What did it matter? What did it matter?
Matter?
Matter?

Details | Sonia Allen Poem

Lost Things

Curtains flutter over the nursery sill, 
Waiting for their mother to find
The coverlet tossed aside, hanging still, 
Patiently expecting mother to right the spill,
The beds, empty, the windows, the open kind;
 
Stars twinkle, restlessly above, 
for their mother to kiss them goodnight,
As a girl sits alone, tickled by lilac and foxglove,
Without her darling boys like a solitary dove, 
Thinking of a nursery far from the starlight, 

The empty nursery, soon to be found, 
Soon to be an empty treasure chest, 
Without the starlings, lost, dead, drowned, 
Their pied piper a rooster with a crown,
Who flew them away from the nest, 

The darling mother ought not to cry, 
The lost little girl should wipe away her tear, 
And never run. But fly
For life will say with a sigh 
And what is lost is always near.

Details | Sonia Allen Poem

Poetry Is

Poetry is stupid. 
It always has been and it always will be. 
If another stupid poet publishes another stupid work I'll scream and tear my hair out. 
If I have to rip apart another poem and put its pieces back together I'll cry.
And no one can make me care about a single stupid verse 
or a single stupid poem in some single stupid poet's life. 
Poetry is not universal, poetry is isolating, poetry is look at my enormous ego and my so impressive tone.
Poetry is selfish and vain and vapid and look at me because I'm sad
and I deserve to be praised and loved. 
Poetry rewards whining. 
Ridiculous. 
Poetry is a river Narcissus can admire himself in forever without ceasing?
Poetry is stuffing myself in every dress I see even when I rip their silk and velvet because it doesn't fit. 
Do I care that it took hours to make?
That some grandmother or child wove or embroidered their heart into that fabric that I so cleverly forced myself into
like the gluttonous child I am, ripping the seams.
Do I care that they cry, do I care that I ruined it all? 
No because poetry is selfish. 
Because poetry is not the nice next-door-neighbor-who-let-you-use-their-swing-set. 
Poetry is death 
and poetry is cruel. 
Poetry will pet your ego like a puppy. 
Poetry is chained to your fingers like a slave to
its master. 
And you are not a kind enslaver; you have ego, you have pride, you have stupidity. 
Scratch that, poetry is not stupid, you are.

Details | Sonia Allen Poem

Darling

Is there anything left to say at all. 
Windows open shutters drawn I swear I'm not lying to you. 
Breakfast is ready downstairs. 
I sprinkled the slightest bit of sugar onto your oats. 
Does that please you, darling? 
Or shall I run to the store for cereal instead. 
But, laugh please, Mother likes to see you smile.
Darling, I darned the socks for your uniform. 
Are you very satisfied or shall I buy a new pair?
I never got to patching the knees in your nightgown
But I'll leave that for another day. 
And he'll wait until then if he really cares. 
And, he does really care, darling, he does. 
Why I'd never tire of caring for you.
Shall I fetch your favorite toy and swaddle you in love, now don't you move. 
After all, I am your darling mother and you ought to mind me. 
Now really, I am not in a trifling mood. 
It's alright, darling, don't cry. 
We'll buy a pound of cake and liquor and never quarrel. 
I don't believe I closed the garage door, did you, my very own darling?
No, you mustn't test me, not when I'm in this sort of fancy. 
No, darling, I'm not obsessed, simply enamored. 
Yes, dear, give mother a hug. 
No, darling, don't fight me, I know what's best for you. 
I know exactly what I'm doing! 
No, darling, Daddy had to go away, don't ask again, I'd rather not…
Please, darling, don't laugh at me. 
I know exactly what I'm doing, darling, yes exactly what I need to do.

Details | Sonia Allen Poem

Tin Man

A heart for the Tin Man
	A brain for the old 'crow
	
	
				I 
	
Hello there, metal man, 
How do you do today?
Dear tin brain 
Dear tin limbs. Oh dear!
Weren't they always tin? 
Dear, gold and bronze golem, 
You don't mean to say 
You were a man? 
A real one? 
A tin beast, you were born

Aluminum in your heart, aluminum in your soul,
Can't you feel its dust in your lungs?

Silly man, you don't have a heart, 
You don't have a life 
You have limbs rusting with malaise 
And a hollow head 
You metal man. 
Dear tin fellow. 

				II

Have you any eyes? Have you any eyes 
Or simply hollow metal wounds gaping in your forehead with small grins 
But do you grin? 
Or does your metal mouth simply 
Stretch across your face like 
A bloodless axe wound?
Do your limbs run with that crimson stuff?
Or are they hollow, hollow, hollow
Like the hole in your chest?

Swing your axe, dear tin man, 
Chop your trees, metal golem, 
Let me watch you 
With a pathetic smile 
You pathetic man 
Metal cannot feel 
Tin cannot burn 
You cannot die 

Goodbye, dear tin man, 
Rest your tin head and sleep.

Details | Sonia Allen Poem

Grow Up!

She sleeps late. She 
Hates school. She 
Wears nightgowns. She 
Stares at the stars. She 
Laughs like She 
Loves life. She 
Flies home. She'll 
Grow up soon.

Details | Sonia Allen Poem

Did You Forget?

I left my window 
open every 
night but you never came

to the windowsill 
like you always promised 
you would 

and it's not 
that I mind really but did 
you forget?