A Bearded Fella – A Poem by Me


Disclaimer: This is by far the oddest, weirdest and most bizarre short story I have written… I apologise.

A Bearded Fella

Having a sit on the sofa of blue,
Sinking back and then I was through.
Engulfed by leather, I opened my eyes,
I noticed a world that was in disguise.

Wonderland, matrix, heaven or earth?
This is a place of unknown worth.
It was quite dark but I could see,
My 20/20 vision benefits me.

I could see ink pens moving across some parchment,
All by themselves – some kind of enchantment.
Fine desks made of oak,
And smelly books that almost spoke.

In an office, I looked outside,
Through the broken window, I stared and pried.
I saw a bearded fellow out there,
I think I had fallen into his lair.

It looked cold outside, but he wouldn’t know,
His black beard wrapped him from head to toe.
Though this was weird, I wanted to touch,
And stroke and fondle and twirl and such.

I noticed a door that led down stairs,
I opened the main door and that is where,
I found the man with the beard for clothes,
The wind was blowing, on the ground was snow.

I stared at him, not saying a word,
He stood still when suddenly a bird
That was pushed by the wind, nestled on his head,
There the bird sat as though in a bed.

The bearded man turned to look at me,
The bird still sat in the beard with glee.
I waved, and he smiled, he beckoned me near.
I trudged through the snow with a bit of fear.

The wind blowing hard, I waded to his side,
He smiled and nodded, he seemed quite kind.
He didn’t talk much, so I filled the quiet,
I talked and babbled, there was no silence.

So caught up in my jabber I didn’t realise,
My hands were no longer at my sides.
Caressing his beard that cocooned his body,
It felt fizzy and scratchy – I wasn’t even sorry.

His eyes disapproved, but I kept talking,
And stroking and fluffing and weaving and poking.
How odd it was that his hair kept growing,
Accommodating birds who needed warming.

Enticed by his woven and plaited mane,
I felt a shock and recoiled in pain.
I thought it was just static, so my hand returned,
I barely noticed his look of concern.

He slapped my hand in a feminine way,
And told me to go back from whence I came.
His furrowed brow could barely be seen,
Under hedges of hair where his forehead would be.

‘What an odd place’ I thought, as I flashed a mad grin,
I nodded and thanked him as I turned my chin.
Before I left I did something bad,
I plucked a hair from his cheek, this made him quite mad.

He raged as I ran and the bird got startled,
I clung to the hair that made him unravel.
I ran through the door and up the stairs,
His beard twisted him ’round – a spinning top of hair.

Back through the study I jumped through the couch,
I struggled back through until back in my house.
Still in my hand was the black strand of hair,
I pulled and pulled, but I did so with care.

I expected his face to emerge quite soon,
Somewhere from the deep leather of blue.
Now holding a tangled hairball of beard,
It became taut and that’s when I started to fear.

Suddenly the sofa fell to bits,
It seemed the hair was the stitching of it.
Mildly upset that the world was gone,
I was still amazed his hair was so long.

So, not about a secret world of wonder,
But more of a man who made a blunder.
Don’t let randoms touch your face,
Things will go wrong, especially in this case.

Sofas fall apart, nesting birds get upset,
When people treat beards as though they are pets.
The creepy house in the couch, I guess was the sign,
But then again, damn that beard was fine…

That is the moral of the tale, or whatever,
Don’t have a long beard – it won’t make you clever.
It attracts peculiar species, easily hypnotised,
The kind who sink into seats and should be fully supervised.



About Jodie (NZ Film Freak)

I am a journalism graduate (2014) from New Zealand. I enjoy writing on my blog about films and songs, plus the odd random thought. Currently working as a writer in UK. Follow me on Twitter @NZFilmFreak and like my Facebook page NZ Film Freak. Follow my travels around the world www.jodiehart.co.nz
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