chien Stonebirdhead

Mirror, mirror on the wall

Mirror, mirror on the wall

why don’t you speak to me at all

about that face on whom my eyes do feast

and tell me I’m a wonderous beast?


That ovoid figurehead, slightly creased

beneath grey hair, slightly greased

looks back at me as if to say

I’m you, or is it the other way?


There are two halves to every brain

which is schizophrenic asymetry again. 

So I’ve a mirror image there

hidden underneath my hair


Oh mirror, mirror, just between us four

Which is me, or are there more?

If I describe what I’ve got

Pehaps I can find me in this lot.


Two eyes to peer through blearily

blink some times and close wearily

Look left and right, and I suppose

to look down haughtily when I blow my nose.


That pyramidal lump, modestly bent

lets in air and heavens scent.

Pointing forward from it’s place

it gives direction to my face


Two lips that open and close

through which hot air blows

around one gastromaniac grin

where all the food goes in


A bearded chin is nature’s way

of making us rub and scrape each day

With me it is merely out of kilter

as it acts as a fast food filter

and If I stick my tongue out with some force

I can relish crumbs and cold meat sauce.

But now I stand in shock and awe

as I can no longer see my jaw


Eyebrows are lifted in surprise

as lids are lashed by hidden eyes.

A pale complexion, gleaming limply

on chubbiless cheeks, no longer dimply 


With tongue in cheek and wrinkled brow

I think that is enough for now.

So mirror, mirror tell me true

I am me, but am I you?