Best Knacks Poems
It was a lovely little house.
Built of white painted timber,
with a gabled roof clad in green tin,
it had never been a rich person's house.
It was her house.
And driving up to park outside it,
each time I went there,
was like the beginning of a new adventure.
I would always enter by the rickety side gate
and walk through that small garden she tended to on weekends,
in the hope that one day it might become beautiful.
The back door gave entry to her tiny kitchen where,
sometimes she would be,
baking scones or some other treat for her and me
to have later with some coffee or cheap red wine.
It wasn't a well designed house.
The bathroom and lavatory and laundry
weren't where you might expect.
And most rooms were very small.
But for the living cum dining room.
And her bedroom.
I never counted all the rooms in that house.
I'm not certain I even saw all of them.
But all of those I did see
were furnished and decorated with pieces that she
had shopped for at garage sales
and in second hand shops.
Except for those things that she had made herself.
There were pictures she painted,
and other hand crafted knick-knacks.
And some bottles filled
with interesting vegetable matter
embalmed in colourful oils and such.
It was a small house and a little quaint.
But beautiful.
And warm.
Her bedroom was of a good size
and her bed was large and sumptuous,
with a profusion of richly coloured cushions and pillows.
We'd discovered one another in that large bed,
in that good sized bedroom,
in that warm little house,
that still warms me with it's memories.
For there was nothing inside that house
that she had not chosen.
When we are walking…
and we’re stepping on a spiky ground,
Walk lightly without looking down or turning around;
Ahead of us always awaits the finest sand
where we can lay down and laze in the sun.
When we are climbing…
and we’re going to climb a scree,
Dodge those stones that roll down on us freely;
And if we feel disdain and in vain,
remember that we’re unique, with special knacks and strength.
When we’re swimming…
and we’re swimming on distraught of morass counts,
keep dancing the minuet of life in mellow sounds;
When sable clouds and torrents of rain teem down too,
swim at our best stoke, on those clouds we’ll always float and glow.
When we are loving…
and we’re loving too much from the heart,
It hurts, but Cupid also heals wound with his magic dart;
Keep on loving others, never stifle and give up
Love is a berth of comfort, a precious gift, a great reward.
When we are standing…
and we’re lashed by cataclysm that mangled our heart,
Cling to the Lord, He will restore everything from the start;
He will reshape whatever was deformed
And make us stand straight, a forever cypress amidst the storm.
Dec. 9,2014 10.50pm
©2014Leonora Galinta
All Rights Reserved
-I hope this humble poem of mine can inspire or uplift. God bless! This was not entered in a contest because it’s too late but it’s ok with me.
You feel your body falling in blackness.
You snatch your shoulder to the right.
The nausea stops.
The bottomless pit is hell.
Do not enter the midnight.
Up in the window, stands a coyote.
His teeth are bared in detestation.
He howls his satanic verses.
Abomination is his curse.
Do not confront this animal.
Life fades.
Humankind is mentally dead.
They have goaded the animals with the splicing of human brain.
A dog walks with the persona of man.
Do not speak to him.
In the hollow of a tree with leaves as a covering, lies a wolf.
Her teeth are gleaming as she slyly looks.
She stands and yowls her satanic verses.
Atrocity is her hatred.
Do not attack.
Run as fast as you can.
Satan is on a journey to win.
Shout for the Holy Spirit to enter.
Abhor venerating the regards of our creator.
Do this to be save.
Satanic verses you hear in the howls and yowls of the pacts.
They speak in tongue about your nicks and knacks.
Purloins humankind has become by affronting the world the omnipotent formed.
The great divided is no more.
Satanic verses are the faunas’ voices.
Beware the midnight!
_______________________________
Penned on May 27, 2014!|
Dangerous Mind
The mind is a most dangerous thing,
Forcing memories into replay,
Endless relived moments drowning bring
Snippets in time more real than today.
Paralyzing sadness is trouble
Which the mind needs to be addressing.
Before I died inside, I really tried.
The sleepless mind toys with our heartstrings,
Always knowing our loved one can’t come back.
‘Sorry for your loss’ causes cringing,
Tearful anger and urge to attack.
Remembering makes sadness double,
Sharp edged memories, full of longings.
Why drive to survive, living isn’t alive.
The mind is also a tricky thing,
Lulling into complacency when
Life together starts out with a ring.
Daily work and play begin to blend
Into a wonderful, safe bubble
That protects against everything.
Love is giving a life worth living.
The unhappy mind prevents planning
For a future without one to love,
Alone, unsafe, fruitlessly scanning
Every crowd for my dearest dove.
Real life bursts that beautiful bubble,
And now frightened by everything.
Looked everywhere on Earth for her.
The mind needs a sense of belonging,
Not at all happy being alone. Minds together sing dreams that take wing,
Unsatisfied by just talk on phone.
The mind stings by the urge to cuddle
That knick-knacks and holidays still bring.
Be kind to the mind by living to love.
July 27, 2019
I’m quirky; that’s just how I love to be.
I don’t think many people are like me.
The things I like most, I turn them into
obsessions which, without fail, I must do!
New movies weekly I have got to see.
I’m quirky; that’s just how I love to be.
Movies at theaters on a big screen!
This habit I’ve had since I was a teen.
I have collections, and how each one grows!
Old records, books, knick-knacks, jewelry and clothes,
and some of them span half a century.
I’m quirky; that’s just how I love to be.
Routines I’ve formed for my health and for fun.
Each week I can barely get them all done.
From skin care - to diet - to poetry,
I’m quirky; that’s just how I love to be!
Feb. 14, 2018 for Madison Demetros' Quirky Contest
It came to me
upon reflection
Life is one
great big collection
Starting with a
teddy bear
and ending with
a gasp of air
The time between
those points is rough
accumulating
all this stuff
Books and knick knacks
line the shelves
and in it all
we lose ourselves
Hand-me-downs
and souvenirs
hoarded all
throughout the years
Cups and saucers,
pots and pans,
electric heaters,
ceiling fans
Pictures, music,
magazines
amounting to
a hill of beans
Clothes and cars,
boats and planes,
nervous breakdowns,
aches and pains
Husbands, wives,
foes and friends
This great collection
never ends
And once our time
on earth goes by,
the years wind down
and then we die
We never seemed
to have enough,
and someone else
gets all our stuff
Such wondrous things that come to you from travels far and wide.
Trinkets and knick knacks you keep somewhat near at hand, and never too far from your side.
Throughout life's journeys You'll check on them for fear they'll be left behind.
Being of meaningful purpose; that's remembered whenever they cross your mind.
Naively not that you're rashly in love; although of them
your feelings are warm and kind.
Solely fond memories of notable times; ergo they're ne'er out of place nor ever hard to find
'Tis odd you must hold onto them whether your abode's a fancy home or merely a shared cot.
You realize as long as they're safely tucked away, in the place of "Forget Me Nots";
You're strangely better off with them__even if they're all that you have or got.
~~~ w 11172018
I Weep
From childhood I revered them
Huge chunks of gray magnificence
Now my home holds their image
in herds of knick knacks
I am old and almost dead
My elephants are fading too
Man has stalked them
Hunted them
Stolen their habitat
One of God's
most noble creatures
Loving and faithful sentinels
who face extinction
I pray I go first
Rushing to the car at six in the morning,
packing knickknacks and things we need.
With sleep in our eyes hearing the robins sing;
a prelude for the road ahead.
Packing knick knacks and things we need:
from gameboys to confusing road maps.
A prelude for the road ahead,
the little ones softly nod their heads.
From gameboys to confusing road maps,
Pokemon evolve, as does the scenery through the glass.
The little ones softly nod their heads,
faces silhouetted, driving through the narrow tunnels.
Pokemon evolve, as does the scenery through the glass.
With sleep in our eyes hearing the robins sing.
Faces silhouetted, driving through the narrow tunnels.
Rushing to the car at six in the morning.
Alicia altered my life attachments!
All I say, all I see, all just happen!
Errors exist in English!
Emotive enable enthusiasts explore!
Even the early come to an end!
Fate finds fortune!
Fortitude foretells the future!
Hypocrites hibernate in church!
In joy, Joyce jubilates!
Ice cream conversations intensify romance!
Join Jesus but not Judas with jinx!
Knacks are known and renowned!
Lend a hand to the lentitude lass!
Misogamists and misogynists mix well!
Moths multiply at night!
Ministers minister ministry of politics!
Politics are never pellucid!
Practice and praise the present!
Signs and symptoms aren’t similar!
Sweat or not smile!
Some people aren’t sought after!
Sink or swim in a swimming-pool!
Save a sinking ship from the rats!
Talent is never taught twice! no
Twins are taught twice the same way! yes
Times of troubles torment!
The devil dares in the darkest moments!
I say words I say!
I speak speeches!
All Rights Reserved
© T.m.T scripts
Students at Work
See them work!
Studious looks,
Buried in books,
Leaflets flipping,
Binders snapping,
Pencils tapping,
Textbooks slamming,
Nick-knacks toppling,
Back-packs rummaging,
Noses rubbing,
Nail nibbling,
knees flapping,
Foreheads scrunching,
Eyebrows rising,
Lips compressing,
Faces scowling,
Chins supported,
Tongues catapulting,
Coughs echoes,
Work Accomplished!
Trodden down and beaten out,
That is me for you and whole of the world.
While inside me I still shout,
"Wait to see my rage unfurled".
Since long have I been messed and marred,
Raped, ravaged, killed and scavenged.
Undaunted still I have dared
To get all those wrongs avenged.
Bearing flogs on bloodstained backs,
With burning tyres around the neck.
So many times those malignant knacks
Have left me shambling, a complete wreck.
Withered soul and parched hopes,
My modesty clad only in tatters.
Around dark corners my soul gropes
To think that all this hardly matters.
You want to know who I am,
And I shall tell you in good time.
I have been robbed from grave to pram,
For neither reason nor rhyme.
When wars were fought and lives were lost,
When men decided these were needs.
My heart was caught in unthawed frost
My being collapsed under those deeds.
Hiroshima could not finish me,
Nor could any bloody apartheid.
I shall stay and forever be
And rise forever from the dead.
Changing world and changing days,
Can only hurt me and hurt me more.
But these can never mend my ways,
For I shall rise in full galore.
The planet sways under your weight,
And nature collapses under your feet.
But I conspire to keep you straight,
And cajole you to a quiet retreat.
Pained I am that you call yourselves human,
And yet carefully deign to forget me.
Yet I shall redeem the bestial and inhuman,
For I am the phoenix called 'HUMANITY'.
I remember now. Something was heavy, a winged
dragon that refused to fly from my chest
My eyes were secret mirrors, or a doomsday judge.
I remember morning as a flighty horse,
or like a new school year,
that first careful sentence written on a page.
Time became a sequel. Roads were rootless trees
racing by - Fog an x-ray – the night, annoying as a fly.
I had a misconception and her assumptions followed
every stray dog. I quivered hollow with a frantic yellow zest.
I ate from a dish of nutmeg.
I woke to the sound of dying frogs, impossible spiders
trapping rainbows in their webs, the nebulous orbit
of knick knacks in the room, my reach
too small for a mother’s heart.
Her seeds had such an element of surprise, her
plum lipstick, the zing of frayed nerves
she mocked death with a cup of sunshine
she kept an artist’s palette - adding
color to existence
Too late, the impossible demand on angels
Each bitter thought the baroque decomposing
of an empty optimism
My keyless lock - emotion
Premiere Contest number 12
Contest Judged: 9/24/2016 12:01:00 AM
Sponsored by: SKAT A
Placed 9out of 10
Entered in the Best Poem worthy of a Trophy
I have entered this poem because it came from
out of the ether. Some poems just do.
Deeply felt almost not understood but felt on a visceral level.
N/A’d
ARTIST’S CHOICE –
JOURNAL VIII
This old woman –
It’s always a woman
–
Looking out a window
Why not a man?
No he’s on the
front porch smoking
his pipe
This ancient
deep in thought
Looking out a
summery window
Is it always summer?
Yes winter
would be so stark
It’s Whistler’s
Mother with
trimmings
What is she thinking
about,
Surrounded by the
past,
A bible on her lap
or on the table,
Pictures of loved
ones. a neat row on
the mantle
You can almost hear
the rocker creak,
Almost feel the
afghan wrap her
drooping
Shoulders
She’d knitted it
herself once upon a
time
It was meant for
some dear one now
departed
There must have been
an animal once
A cat is included in
one picture
with a
potted plant
alongside
And there are other
relics, knick knacks
too
numerous to
mention
Such a lonely aspect
The verdant summer
outside doesn’t
brighten
somehow
One senses sacrifice
-
All her loved ones
departed
Leaving her alone
and wretched
She occupies the
sacrificial room,
Thinking not so much
of her painful limbs
But, in the face of
renewal,
She has been
sacrificed to live
out her life
in a lonely
cubicle
In the last few I
will guard my
thoughts
Carefully
Ringlet curls
Cabbage patch wrists
Dependent on me
Everyday a new twist
Making and breaking
Toys, games and knick-knacks
Mommy’s little speed racers
Mile long smile’s, are all I can crack
Yeah, frustration settles
From time to time
Then I behold their faces
And think “wow, those are mine”
I try to think back
Before mommy-hood
On a straight road to nowhere
Parties, cigs, all no good
I went to see Doc.
He said “hey, Randa guess what…
…no more parties for you…
…at least not for 9 months”
Shock sunk in
“I’m a mommy-to-be”
A whole pack of cigs in the trash,
For the baby growing in me
Now I’m a mommy of 2
One 10 months and one on year 3
And to tell you the truth
I wouldn’t change one thing
They straightened me up hair to toe
No other could understand
How I thank them so
My hero’s un-planned
Copyright © Miranda Lambert
Written: 6/21/2011
For “My Children” Contest