Best Knick Knack 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 the bronzed bell of a tinseled Ocean ship.
Until Destiny was scuttled by a fiery water witch.
In time, it became the haunting clang upon a reef.
A macabre knick-knack for cliques that ruled the deep.
They returned like blue birds, lonely for a blossoming.
To pay homage to every sailor overtaken by the sea.
They lay bouquets over shadowed grief...
as ghosts pared sweet memories into paper effigies.
Between shuffles of worn decks and ninety-proof lips.
They spin tales of crimson seas and horrible dorsal fins...
Torn hearts and sails, forever on a starboard list.
Drifting between a blue refrain and the salty mist.
In the graying vein of time, everything's forgotten.
The sweet angelic, the mundane, the eternally rotten.
Gravestones hoard salt within their granite cracks.
Tokens to a time when auroras bled into blackness.
One by one the crew will drift from this pearled realm.
Riding Tradewinds into the gilded scented heavens...
or become driftwood in the brackish heart of hell...
as the captain sways to the clang of his beloved water bell.
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!!
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
Knick Knack Paddy Whack
Can’t take back a wisecrack
If you wanna be a crackerjack
Earn a greenback from blackjack
Gotta buyback your backpack
Need to blister pack your flapjacks
Evident ebbing of drawbacks
Raises the bar for the sad sacks
The good life, so Kodak
So long as you don’t sidetrack
Selfie people hide in haystacks
Hoarding their golden tie tacks
Shall we ponder how to give back
Go beyond the dusty knickknack
Respect deserves a worthy payback
Not a flimsy whimsy kickback
Society requests a comeback
This is the Simplest alibi of this timeless magnum Opus, that I am not the capital
This is a point of exclamation in me, that I am not the majestic warrior
eternal.
Only one hope is remaining there, and up she goes, in round and round
I will be there, with you, to the farthest, along a shore of life, predestined.
In a lonely lit-up night, an enchanted one, the midnight hymn came as mine
My beloved, your face had the bliss of a smile line, my chime.
In one unbearable moon-lit day, when the solar lamp dimmed low
I knocked at your door, there
Weaving some knick knack, words sounding pretty, I yearned for you.
My love, where art thou?
I’m the center. You are my encircled bohemian, the only eternal , staying there that remains!
I’m the empire in your submerging love, an entropy ruling in me, all that fall short in sense!
I’m the center. You are my encircled bohemian, the only eternal , staying there that remains!
I’m the empire in your submerging love, an entropy ruling in me, all that fall short in sense!
Love, an endless epic for poets, wandering swiftly through the reigning gypsy times.
For no good reason, a blister in a scorching hot sandy dune, then a sleepy oasis chimes.
I thought that I’m an exception there, a loner , far from the madding crowd.
Too cuddly a love, only a mannerism, words are often playing there, as it could.
Why are you that smile at me that rules me often on the full swing whim?
Why are you that sweet poem on a versed phone call, in words of a brim?
Today, you’re a enchained latitude in my gaze, too long a brushstroke in my palette
I am a helpless frozen teardrop there, brittled.
I’m the center. You are my encircled bohemian, the only eternal , staying there that remains!
I’m the empire in your submerging love, an entropy ruling in me, all that fall short in sense!
I reached the domain of stardom, from the Jupiter to the saturn
A nomadic I, traveler through your passion of love, in high, a mere elongation. Expression.
I’m the center. You are my encircled bohemian, the only eternal , staying there that remains!
I’m the empire in your submerging love, an entropy ruling in me, all that fall short in sense!
Knick-knack paddywack
Give the dog a bone
Grown up quick
But you didn't go wrong
Criss-cross twist toss
Over and under
Wonderful memories
Are always of blunder
Clip-clap snap back
Shakin my head
Fed up people
End up red
Stop-skip jump trip
Lick up the wound
Noon is the time
To just sit in your room
Flair-fall stumble stall
Live to love your life
Strife and grief
Make it all the more bright
Give-got taken shot
The higher you climb
I'm still with you
So smile all the time
I'm the daughter I'll have you know!
~Reecie
"Give the Dog a Bone"
It's a 'nursery rhyme' and sung 'wisdom' for ages,
which this child ('would be' man) sees as 'love' now (life stages?)
I don't lust for friend's gifts (but still find them quite pleasant)
though one's rich like a king (most aged hearts house a peasant!)
We evolve toward life's gifts, sea to land (fewer eaten),
ground to sky (more advantage) though predators sweeten
this rich mix in the end. God's a God of creation!
Let us pray we've got soul (for Earth's marked for deletion!)
Friend, if God does exist, Evolution's His treasure
and survival's tough goal in this life (no joke - 'leisure!')
Man's not been here that long (thirteen minutes of day
that the dinosaurs knew)! 'Good Book' says God took Sunday
off and called His week's work a success! That's a pattern
you aspire to? What's good for the Goose is your lantern?
Does this honor 'true' God or your 'faith?' How's that humble?
A child's sinner or saint? What might saints learn who stumble?
The least gift from God's hand takes a genius to process
what time's verdict will be; does God's heart get a recess?
But bone given to dog by a child who is sated
is a kindness that leaves choirs of angels elated!
Brian Johnston
25th of January in 2023
Poet's Notes:
A favorite Children's Song from my childhood...
'This Old Man' Lyrics
This old man, he played one,
He played knick-knack on my thumb;
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.
Etc.
Samuel Woodruff was a very old man, who once drummed for the army;
That marched to his rhythmic music, along with all fifers, playing hearty.
That was a lifetime ago, in dawn days so pink, golden, and richly green;
Like petal strewn time moving backward, to the premiere, pivotal scene.
Samuel never stopped playing drums, like mulberry heartbeats of sunset,
And played them after his daily walks; like the love you will never forget.
His fast friend, Comet, followed him, through fields of fascination flowers;
As he made up ditties to match the beat, of the flaming, futuristic hours.
Of faithful family, Sam had none, but for his fond, faddish sister, Pauline;
Who felt every fandangle pulse of summer, like allure on the silver screen.
Sam lived in the house of memories, of past and present changing places;
Where often rolling thunder was noted, like apricot roses, in cream vases.
Starlight snuck in windows, on a street that never seemed to say goodbye;
As sophisticated moon adored supper music, of redbirds, next to ebon sky.
Neighbor children noticed Sam's ditties, and often trailed behind to listen,
To each verse of nostalgia, featuring him. They loved all the fun repetition!
'Mad dog skullcaps' were running amok, when black-eyed Susans, sparkled;
And bright daffodils recalled Narcissus, when magenta butterflies, startled.
'Cupid's dart' flowers were hitting the mark, working magic in love potions;
While chrysanthemums spread the 'truth,' in vivid colors, of every emotion.
Samuel was heading home, one weekend day, and a huge crowd followed;
Comprised of both children and adults, like pretty colors, sunset swallowed.
The people sang along and clapped with Sam, to the song so easy to learn,
As Sam played his drum to the march, elated with sweet memory's return!
Many years have gone since then, and though Samuel's no longer around,
Folks still march while singing his song; as violets spring from the ground.
'This old man, he played one,
He played knick-knack on my thumb,
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Give the dog a bone,
This old man came rolling home.'
Remembrance for a choker in my deathbed
(Read-only version, a knick-knack too)
Precious finger, the witnessing one, Count
The forehead of a pious one, leaving a mark
Glowing along days and nights, prayer mats, in trying times
And prayers at dusk. Prayers valid till the sternest hairline dawn.
I touched his forehead, long past after the soul is gone.
He was the only one in my life, the only one of his capable kind.
He was the stubbornest hand holding me and mom inside an elevator
He was scrutinizing the sky to let me fly, however superficial it may sound.
I got wiser through all these years. I earned wisdom.
In turning grayer hair colors too, underneath the head scarf.
You will see my purple there, but I will label it as a purple heart.
Torn tears are in sheets of Facial tissues, also, in mourning mistakes, never to be known.
Just for my persuasive temptation, for the next one,
How many harms roads are there along the enlightenment highway in one full Cloverleaf, the old one?
Rum tum timpy tappy tum tum tum
Rum tum tippy tampy tum.
I flip tiddle winkies with my thumb
Rum tum winky wappy wum.
Ring rang nippy nappy tee tie toe
Rag tag sticky taffy yum
I flick tiddle winkles high-dee-hoe
Knick knack deedle dyddle dum.
"This old man, he played one……”
There has never been a more joyful homeless guy.
We had brought turkey sandwiches to his alley.
He had a small ukulele, and he was loving his song.
“….with a knick knack, paddy whack, give a dog a bone…”
“He is really something!” An old lady said to me.
She took the sandwich after asking if it had mustard.
I had a mustard packet in my pocket, so I gave it to her.
“I need two,” she informed me.
The old man was singing more loudly now.
There were six of us church people here.
I looked at Jim’s face because he was near me.
He rolled his eyes which surprised me.
I thought he would appreciate the guy’s enthusiasm.
On the van ride back to the church the others discussed the singer.
“He was ridiculous!”
“I loved his enthusiasm,” I told them.
“He was not that great a singer,” someone said.
“I loved his enthusiasm!” I repeated, but a bit louder.
Realizing now that I liked the guy with the ukulele better than I liked them.
Oooooooh bagels and bread by golly
Rumors and ramekins, fools folly
This attitude aggregious
But a knick knack fecicious
Hold a tick, did you say napkins?
Not for glass jars and captains
A twist off jammed and stuck in a rut
Threads on a screw doing all the scut
A nail has it easy
All smooth and goes in easy
But time and hammer gave a chance
As long as it was done in baggy pants
So a squid with a quiver
Full of arrows did deliver
Down the narrows did they float
But on a paddle not a boat
So he ate his breakfast fast
And wiped the ink off from a blast
Broke open the container
It's no crazier than saner
Built the shelter speedily
With headphones on greedily
Balanced atop a wooden oar
A raft, no no, just such a bore
Not very analytical
But we won't become political
Since it was a higher ranking tenticle
Who made the inky wooden popsicle
A little poem nonsensical
Where sense is reprehensible
My dreaming suns tapered into groves
Of mandrake plants and roots of cleft shadows,
When the bootstrapped heels of tramping dusk
Kicked my reveries that they dissolved to dust and husk,
Bowling in a spiral down a nightshade path,
Fracturing against the moon-stained tombs epitaph,
Dispersing among the graveyard grasses,
Flying bat-like against chapel window glasses,
Evaporating around the puritan wood pews,
Resting on the turning of infinite screws,
Laying on the altars of burgundy and stone,
Sacrificed for a knick-knack of crystal and bone.
Such is the duplicitous heart of the dark side,
Outer limits of a rat arsed world split wide,
Where the edges and meanings blur like smoke,
And white-eyed girls blow kisses for a joke
To settle like ghosts upon frosted blue lips,
Until time reverses, trips, flips and slips
A drunken stutter of moonwalk proportions,
A flock of masochistic temporal distortions,
And dreams, or truth, whichever is preferred
Become the children of yore, seen but not heard.