Best Knick Poems
Faded photographs; a sentimental knick knack;
a much loved movie from so many years ago.
The times I chance on things like these, it takes me back.
The person that I used to be, I hardly know.
A much loved movie from so many years ago -
so out of style today, not like it used to seem.
The person that I used to be, I hardly know.
Time brought me swiftly to the Now. It seems a dream.
So out of style today, not like it used to seem -
that saved old pair of jeans; that certain special song.
Time brought me swiftly to the Now. It seems a dream,
I grow unsure if in this new world I belong.
That saved old pair of jeans; that certain special song;
the times I chance on things like these, they take me back.
I grow unsure if in this new world I belong.
Faded photographs; a sentimental knick knack!
Inspired by Paula Swanson's "Back to Back" Contest
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.
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
scars running up and down my arm.
Making them count, I wonder if ma has noticed.
How long can i say there cat clawings?
Scars running up and down my arm.
showing weaknesses, showing power.
comforting, relaxing, deliberate, slow.
Scars running up and down my arm.
pressing harder and harder, loving the feel of an angry pulse in my arm.
A little bit of demon inside of me, bowing down to me.
Scars running up and down my arm.
I am the master, I am the blade, I am the cutter of a lost little girl.
I bend under the knife, pressed until my skin fails, Luscious red ink comes
from me.
Scas running up and down my arm.
remind everybody of my past, of my love, of my addiction.
It all flows inside of me, churning in despair and desire...
Scars running up and down my arm.
It all happened with the knick of a blade.
Boys do boys BREAKS toys. Knick knack paddy wack. Give. A dog. A bone.
Some say the things that boys do are wrong and even more wrong still.
Pushing a go cart up a steep steep hill. Wrestling down steps and falling.
Breaking bones. Being home alone. Fire crackers one two three STOP spitting
On me.
REPEAT REPEAT REPEAT
Boys even when they're right they're wrong. Boys are strong. They are
Triumphant on mix martial arts and wrestling night. They need a place here in
SOCIETY. They need their own show and tell month. What week? What's a week?
Fighting through one trillion trillion jeers. Not wanting to show their fears.
THE MEDIA COMES THE QUICKER
Fearing vulnerability boys are nothing but the brunt of solid steel with DIAMOND
Spikes. Many boys are MELLOW but spell WE DO RAISE HELL. Some might
Think boys do things for SPITE. Such as staying alive? Or flying a kite?
Boys but when dark is night stay inside. At DIFFICULT times they fight even when
They're right thinking they are strong. MAYBE they are wrong?
Wrestling tearing fisting clenching cursing spitting stomping reaching for his own
Fate. Suffering alienation and hate. What he wants he gets one way. (Sparing no grace) or another. All in all in all. Some boys walk a CHALK line and are fine.
In the light of the life of things this is how it is. Boys are STRONG. They go long.
THE MEDIA THE CONDEMNATION THE VILIFICATION: Boys are bursting through malls tearing down walls shooting guns on the run.
Nothing but boys will be boys. Nothing is truth until it is seen through the eye of a boy
Keen. Gangs, tussles and physical rebuttals. There those tails wagging of puppy dogs,
Yeah boy! You got SWAGGER you got sway. Football gear and baseball cards yeah all
Hard. Make way for shooting hoops hanging on stoops
TRACES OF MANHOOD TO DATE. BEEN NEVER A MAN WHO HASN'T BEEN A BOY.
ENJOY!! GOOD FATE!!
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.
I know my capabilities
But, you won't get it like that.
I know how I love
But, I can't love you like that.
You're just a dog
Trying to catch the cat.
I'll blow back your braids.
hand you your hat.
Beat you down with a bat.
F*** that!!
Knick, knack, patty wack.
Your loss,
Gotta pay the cost
to be the boss.
read between the lines,
dental floss.
You're tossed,
in the trash.
never needed your dusty ass.
Plus you wasn't dropping the cash
When the rents due.
Nigga f*** you.
F***ing up my face,
Scars on my heart.
Was blind from the start.
Walking around, head down.
Stuck in Demonic love
I was bound.
True Tee,
no, F****** around.
Hands hitting me.
shattering all personality.
My Reality.
Normally, never weak.
But, this nigga had a hold on me.
I had to let him go.
A CAPITAL, T.K.O.
Hell no.
You're no King.
"That's for sho"!
Tears singing.
"Soprano".
Should have left your ass.
A long time ago.
Washed up from the shore.
you, and those dirty whores.
Loving you is a battle.
"WAR"!!
Can't take it no more.
Got my finger on the Barrow.
Time to close the door.
Hurt me, to the core.
"That's not what I stand for".
Sent me through hell
and back again.
Hell and back again.
God, never left.
Always, my friend.
"While you're tryna pretend".
First aid kit,
ain't getting it.
Me and cowards don't mix.
Carryijg the shadow of a broken spirit.
My Father's, my witness.
You gone get the business.
What comes around, goes around.
"Quickness"!!
I'm just too damn good for this!!
On my bad side!!
" list".
Time for the album drop!!
Closed fist.
I don't need this !!
Called the quits...??
I dated a designer named miss Quiche
And walked her chow at the end of its leash
But she got irate
On our second date
When my tchotchke got too close to her niche
Although in a week she asked for me back
And let me polish her two bric-a-brac
Then below that ledge
I struggled to wedge
My doo-hickey inside her knick-knack
Yet she had the nerve to mock my trinket
Which that, of course, effected to shrink it
But I seized from the rear
A select souvenir
Hoping in the end she would rethink it
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
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
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