Your dressing table in the hall
In the house in fifth avenue
I put a small pink white marble table
below a mirror in the corridor
with a bowl with flowers standing on it
that acted as your dressing table
and as a place of display
where I saw your face smiling back at me
while you were doing your hair
teasing with curling tongs
or reflections of the rows of paintings
with the wood floor fading into the distance
and now that mirror and table
is probably still there,
but you are living alone
in that big house
and will never again
smile back into my face.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
An Invitation.
She invited Joey
to her apartment
on the second floor
and as she opened the door
her dog came
barking along the hall
Shut up Bonaparte
she said
Go away
and the mutt walked back
with its tail
between its legs
to its basket
under the table
and she ushered Joey in
and closed the door behind her
and said
What would you like to drink?
tea coffee coke beer?
Coke will be fine
he said
and she told him
to go sit in the lounge
and once he sat down
he looked around the room
and on the small table
by the sofa where he sat
was a photograph of her
and her husband
taken on their wedding day
she dressed in white
and smiling
and he in a black suit
like a hit man
in a mobster movie
and she came in
with his coke
and set it on the table
by the sofa
and then went out again
swaying her behind
which made him smile
then she was back
with a tall glass
of white wine
and she set it down
on the table beside him
and sat down
and began talking
about the night
he had met her
and her husband
in the bar in town
and how she had invited
him over to meet her husband
and he had bought them
both a drink
and while her husband
talked to his friend
she had flirted with him
and made him laugh
and how after that
they'd all meet
on Friday evenings
in the same bar
and her husband
had invited him
to their place
to play chess
and he remembered
how he used to play chess
holding off letting
her husband win
so he could stay longer
and see her more often
and then she leaned over
to get her drink
and she put one hand
on his thigh
and reached over
for her wine
and he smelt her scent
and the brush of her hair
as she leaned over him
and having her glass
she leaned back
her hand still resting
on his thigh
and that look of mischief
burning in her eye.
poem by Terry Collett
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Sunday 4: 44 A.m.
the church bell sounds.
you wake up.
you wash your face.
comb your hair and
wear the best dress
on sunday.
you look again
in the mirror to check
if all about you is well
and presentable.
you take the rosary
and the prayer book.
you read the gospel.
you mumble your prayers,
you thank your husband.
you take the puppy.
you smile again in the
mirror. you thank God.
now you open the gate
and head for the nearby
church and hear mass
and the usual sermon
of the parish priest.
90% of your life
is devoted to religion.
10% is devoted
to anything else.
you have aged.
you still mumble.
i still wonder whether
it is you who misunderstands me
or i misunderstanding you.
everything seems to be
mangled and mingled.
when you come back
breakfast is ready and
everyone in the house
pretends that there is nothing
wrong with the table, or the
cover, or the broken pieces
of the glass.The maid is
quick in sweeping them
away from the door into
that thick grass beside
the window of this house.
sunday morning is still
our morning. A nice one.
the sun has come and
we are planning for another
picnic in the nearby beach.
there will be no questions.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Do Not Look At The Mirror
Do not look at the mirror;
there is nothing
but a beauty;
the flowers are important than the vase.
Do look at the mirror
if you are not aiming to
to check on your smile
and to kiss your inner and outer face.
Do look at the mirror
but ask me
I will tell you
what I am seeing and
what I am hearing;
My clairvoyance shows only but your grace.
Do look at the mirror
one smile is enough;
it is your mirror and your face.
poem by Atef Ayadi
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Inside the House of Bread
Everyone has a table inside the house of bread
Pouring in into the chairs the fish have come to roost
Its already started to happen inside the house of bread
Feasting and Forever enough to go around the table.
And I keep to myself in the age of all this water
We can share an ocean but don’t drink from my open well
I wont mind sharing in the house of bread
Everyone at the table deserves to be fed
poem by James Daniel Gabriel
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Mirror Mirror
Mirror mirror
You tell lies
Who put crows feet
Round my eyes?
Mirror mirror
Hanging there
Who put that grey
In my hair?
Mirror mirror
Is that me
Is that really
Me I see?
Mirror Mirror
Stop your fun
That's not me
That is my mum
Mirror mirror
Don't stare back
For it's bad luck
If you should crack
Mirror mirror
On days like these
When what I see
Doesn't please
Mirror mirror
My mood this day
Will ask you turn
The other way!
poem by Stevie Taite
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The Mirror...
I Looked At The Mirror
Mirror, Looked Back At Me
I Asked The Mirror
What Do You See?
The Mirror Smiled
“Same As You See”
I Touched The Mirror
The Mirror, Touched Me
Pressing To Break Thru
Glass Vanity
For Tho’ Eye To Eye
Sometimes I See
Mirror’s Right
Is Left To Me
And My Right Side … Made Mirror Left
I Got Perplexed At Imagery
And I Turned Away From Mirror
And Mirror Turned From Me
Our Backs To Each Other
Exposed Rigidly
But, Both Turned Back To Face
And Touch Same Place, And Be
Contained and Content
In Each Other’s Space Respectfully
We Shattered The Barrier
Between Mirror and Me
Back To Reflecting Our World
And The Same Things, We See …
Oh … Mirror, Mirror …
Reflecting You … Seeing Me …
poem by MoonBee Canady
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The old mirror
I look in the mirror tainted and old
What do i see? ?
I see this woman staring back at me
She does'nt speak, she does'nt smile
She looks lost with a frown
I look in the mirror is it something from the 50's?
What do i see? ?
I see this man staring back at me
He does'nt wave he does'nt nod
He stands and stares with a glare
I look in the mirror the frame varnished dark
What do i see? ?
I see this girl staring back at me
She does'nt laugh or d a cheeky face
She turns away and begins to cry
I look in the mirror round and smoke stained
What do i see? ?
I see this boy staring back at me
Glasses and combed over hair
I wonder who they are
the people in the old mirror
~nikki addleton ~
poem by Nikki Addleton
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Mirror Mirror....!
Mirror Mirror on the wall
Why you show me the face of this girl
Mirror Mirror on the wall
Dont you know that she is no more...!
When I shave there she is
Peeking over my shoulder
Starry eyes open wide
Smiling smiling.... that cheeky smile
Washing my face I can see
Glancing through my fingers
There she is mocking at me
Laughing laughing.... her funny laugh
About to leave combing hair
She is there behind me
Little dainty head of hers
Resting resting.... on my shoulder
Teary eyes about to cry
Half closed into a line
Pleading pleading....pleading with me
Please please please do not go....!
Please please please do not go....!
Mirror Mirror on the wall
Why you show me the face of this girl
Mirror Mirror on the wall
Dont you know that she is no more...!
poem by Rowving Smith
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The Mirror Struggled
The mirror struggled; reflecting beauty such as hers
Prescribed a glory in the challenge – a fairytale
Or such as like! To shimmer back hypnotic hues
From auras of her skin – how do mirrors cope?
Hoary tales of pretty adolescent buds
Could never hope to match the tomes of dreamy
Pulchritude apprising us of such a belle as she.
The mirror shone; and as it worked itself, a moment –
Did it overlook the hidden melancholy?
Were melting eyes bedewed–? Florid lips imbued
With mournfulness? The hindrance of the silver glass!
Oh! to seek – to know the meaning of the sorrow!
She (with tearful hair, an image out of heaven)
Never opened up her heart. The mirror struggled.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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mirror mirror mirror - mirror mirror mirror
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Table For Two!
Flash of dream overcome me
as I took slumber one night
I saw a romantic setting
lies a set of table for two
A bouquet of red roses
decorate at the center
where a bottle of red wine
completes the table for two
I saw you entered the haven
dressed in rainbow colored suit
your face so pretty with a smile
as we kissed at the table for two
Mesmerized by your countenance
I was filled with romantic stance
as we danced to the tune of love
such so divine at the table for two
Awaken at height of joy
I am filled with inspiration
as today it becomes a reality
a table for two on Valentines day
poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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House Of Many Rooms
The sound of the clock ticking
How this old house creeps
Another storm tonight approaches
So restless I can't sleep
Dark filled big long rooms
Portrait of a lady in view
Corridor that never seems to end
From a distance I thought I seen you
House Of Many Rooms
The sound of heavy rain falling
Feelings sourround of another place
An oval mirror hangs on the wall
And there I thought I seen your face
The smell of wild flowers
A gentle breeze blows from outside
Heavy laced dark curtains
A vision of you before my eyes
House Of Many Rooms
poem by Suelynn Walters
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Morning in the Burned House
In the burned house I am eating breakfast.
You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast,
yet here I am.
The spoon which was melted scrapes against
the bowl which was melted also.
No one else is around.
Where have they gone to, brother and sister,
mother and father? Off along the shore,
perhaps. Their clothes are still on the hangers,
their dishes piled beside the sink,
which is beside the woodstove
with its grate and sooty kettle,
every detail clear,
tin cup and rippled mirror.
The day is bright and songless,
the lake is blue, the forest watchful.
In the east a bank of cloud
rises up silently like dark bread.
I can see the swirls in the oilcloth,
I can see the flaws in the glass,
those flares where the sun hits them.
I can't see my own arms and legs
or know if this is a trap or blessing,
finding myself back here, where everything
in this house has long been over,
kettle and mirror, spoon and bowl,
including my own body,
including the body I had then,
including the body I have now
as I sit at this morning table, alone and happy,
bare child's feet on the scorched floorboards
(I can almost see)
in my burning clothes, the thin green shorts
and grubby yellow T-shirt
holding my cindery, non-existent,
radiant flesh. Incandescent.
poem by Margaret Atwood
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Mirror To Mirror
Written by gerry beckley, 1994
Found on hourglass.
I havent seen forever
Dont even know her name
I call on dreams and other schemes
To try and win that game
Now that its over, darling
Look into my eyes
Seein your own reflection
Much to your surprise
Were seein mirror to mirror
Face to face
We look but we cannot see
Mirror to mirror
Seems to trace
What happened to you and me
And though we tried in earnest
The distant silence yells
We call on wings and other things
To try and break that spell
Now that its over, darling
Truth in the common cause
We stare at our own indifference
By seeing the others flaws
Were seein mirror to mirror
Face to face
We look but we cannot see
Mirror to mirror
Seems to trace
What happened to you and me
Oh, mirror to mirror, mirror to mirror
Mirror to mirror, whats come over me
As we look inside, theres nowhere to turn
Theres nowhere to hide
Now that its over, darling
Look into my eyes
Seein your own reflection
Much to your surprise
Were seein mirror to mirror
Face to face
We look but we cannot see
Mirror to mirror
Seems to trace
What happened to you and me
Oh, mirror to mirror, mirror to mirror
Mirror to mirror, whats come over me
Mirror to mirror, mirror to mirror
Mirror to mirror, whats come over me
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reflection
Mirror, mirror on the wall,
Why do I look in you, at all,
For all I see is the same old me,
And not how I so want to be.
Mirror, mirror on the stairs,
Why do you show me many years,
A face with wrinkles everywhere,
Would anybody like my share.
Mirror, mirror near my bed,
In you I look with certain dread,
For creams and potions just don't work,
Behind them still the wrinkles lurk.
Mirror, mirror in the hall,
Seeing you makes me recall,
That I am now of senior age,
Well stuck into the wrinkles stage.
Mirror, mirror by the door,
How I hate you more and more,
I'm having to look the other way,
When my reflection's on display.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Men don't care
Men see…when they look in the mirror
Grey hair, wrinkly face
replete with wisdom
So mature…so sage
Women see…when looking in the mirror
A pretty face
But with an ego that
Slowly diminishes with age
Women see…when they look in the mirror
Rearranging…
looks a-changing
Time wooshing past
Men see…when they look in the mirror
That same goofy face looking back from the glass
Doesn’t land a blow on a cast iron ego, because
Men just don’t give… a rat’s ass
poem by David Whalen
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Odd Hats, Summer Dresses
Old summer hats lie on the floor,
funeral hats, hats in hat boxes,
some still on hat stands
and one left discarded on a chair.
Her summer dresses, still fragrant
from perfumes she wore,
hang limply now, on hangers
as though they are waiting for her.
I view her dressing table, its little pots,
one for her wedding rings,
one for her broaches,
and one for her powder puff.
Her chair's empty but askew
as though she'd just gotten up.
Strange to see it like that
and look into the mirror above.
A mirror that should reflect her,
her, with her lips all pursed
waiting for their lipstick,
red or pink and then a smile.
Here's her broken watch; I hold it,
put it on my wrist
hoping its band is still
warm from her skin but it's not.
Desperate, I try to mend it,
I shake it, fiddle with it.
Somehow, if I could just make it tick,
but she's gone and the watch is broken
poem by Ruth Walters
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That Face
I see a face that face is mine
The mirror marks the changing time
Her face Ill never see again
And mine will never be the same
That face was fine only yesterday
My problems seemed so far away
Reflections I see of myself
As in sickness as in health
As she left as for worse
No chance to re-rehearse
Try to forget try not to see
Who is that face looking at me
Reflections of yesterday
If only I could make you stay
One day past is like a year
She wouldnt say what made her leave
I didnt think shed ever go
And why she did Ill never know
I wish I could return and see
But now its just a memory
Reflections of yesterday
Reflections of yesterday
I see a face that face is mine
The mirror marks the changing time
Her face Ill never see again
And mine will never be the same
Reflections of yesterday
Reflections of yesterday
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Art Will Show To Eternity Your Soul
I am a woman, using a mirror everyday,
Like all of you, i'm seeing my reflection into it,
Even i am sad, happy, tired or bored,
What i'm seeing in my mirror it's my physical reality, my own truth.
I combed my hair and looked into my mirror,
I felt so delicate, unique and simple,
Having a smile on my face today,
My mirror will smile me back as feedback in same way.
I am a painter, i adore art,
In everything i'm painting it's life,
In each painting and spot of paint my brush does,
It's a history of great ideas my minds holds.
A painting is a gate to our inner side,
Through it vibrates the universe to our hearts,
A mirror will always show your face reflection to the world,
But art will show to eternity your soul.
poem by Cristina Teodor
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The Magic Mirror
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Who’s the fairest fair of all?
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Who’s the smartest head of all?
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Who’s that girl standing tall?
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Who's to hold me when I fall?
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Why are you not answering my call?
Oh mirror...
The lines and the scars you do not hide;
My scattered thoughts you would not guide.
Me myself and I; the gap so wide.
Oh mirror; you make me look inside!
You show me a girl against the tide,
By the rules she would not abide.
Within your frame, a caged spirit am I?
By your name, what voice have I?
Oh mirror … can you hear me?
My mirror is deceiving me!
I will show you my smile... will you let me?
A star in my eyes... will you get me?
I will show you a happy face... please let me!
A shelter from myself... please get me!
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Do not show me her face;
I have killed her and left no trace.
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
She shall never stutter;
With a new voice, words she will utter.
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Her fear you shall never show;
Fearless she is to know.
Mirror... mirror on the wall,
Do not point at her scars;
It hurts... not her scars.
Oh mirror...
There is no Santa but tell her not;
Dreams are dreams but wake her not.
She will give in... tell her not to.
She will give up... tell her not to.
Cruel mirror...
Why show me a figure so broken?
Why tell me words unspoken?
My mirror...
Every time I look at you
I miss a line in her face.
Every time I come to you
A part of her I erase.
Every time I need you
I abandon her grace.
So my mirror..
Where is the little fat girl that you used to show me?
Where are the frightened eyes that used to look at me?
Is she still hiding her smile with her hand?
Is she still looking for a magic wand?
You loved her not;
You loved me a lot!
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
What have I done?
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Where has she gone?
Mirror … mirror on the wall,
Which way do I run?
Yes mirror...
How I wish I could give you my back
and never look at you again.
How I wish I could leave you on a rack
and never fall for your tricks again.
Oh mirror... Why can’t you lie?
Why don’t you tell me that I am the fairest fair of all?
Why don’t you tell me that I am the smartest head of all?
Why don’t you let me stand proud and tall?
Will you at least be there when I fall?
Oh … Mirror … mirror on the wall …
Why are you not answering my call?
poem by Marwa Rakha
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For John, Who Begs Me Not To Enquire Further
Not that it was beautiful,
but that, in the end, there was
a certain sense of order there;
something worth learning
in that narrow diary of my mind,
in the commonplaces of the asylum
where the cracked mirror
or my own selfish death
outstared me.
And if I tried
to give you something else,
something outside of myself,
you would not know
that the worst of anyone
can be, finally,
an accident of hope.
I tapped my own head;
it was a glass, an inverted bowl.
It is a small thing
to rage in your own bowl.
At first it was private.
Then it was more than myself;
it was you, or your house
or your kitchen.
And if you turn away
because there is no lesson here
I will hold my awkward bowl,
with all its cracked stars shining
like a complicated lie,
and fasten a new skin around it
as if I were dressing an orange
or a strange sun.
Not that it was beautiful,
but that I found some order there.
There ought to be something special
for someone
in this kind of hope.
This is something I would never find
in a lovelier place, my dear,
although your fear is anyone's fear,
like an invisible veil between us all…
and sometimes in private,
my kitchen, your kitchen,
my face, your face.
poem by Anne Sexton
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