Best Knocker Poems
by Robert (Bob) Moore ©
Tap Tap on the window on a cold and frosty morn
I try hard to ignore it, it’s still not even dawn
I wish the noise would go away, then I’d go back to sleep
and I could stay here in the warmth, and sweet dreams I could keep
But ‘till I stick my head outside, I know that he won’t stop
that’s his job, to wake me up, or a mouthful he will cop
I stagger to the window, to wave so he will know
I’m awake, and out of bed and off to work I’ll go
He is the Knocker Upper. and on him we depend
To wake us in the mornings, when sleep is our best friend
he walks the streets while we all sleep, with his long wooden pole
to tap tap on the windows, in the darkness and the cold
There’s one thing I’ve always wondered, and I’d really like to know
who wakes the Knocker Upper up, so off to work he’ll go
‘cause if the Knocker Upper, doesn’t make his rounds
then no one will go and do their job, and the whole world will fall down
Mary Smith, a famous knocker-upper
in London's East End,
Shot dried peas with her pea shooter.
At workers windows
to wake them up
to get to work on time
Every morning
Mary walks up and down
the east end with her pea shooter
Shooting dried peas at the shattered windows
waking everybody up to that familiar tune
of tap tap tapping dried peas
on my window.
Orchard tree, spotted
outside our bedroom window -
round and green ornaments,
thrown to the ground, delicious,
in my apple-knocker* pie. lifted
off Autumnal floor, sliced with lemon, cinnamon,
and a beginner’s grin.
never gave thought to the old couple -
the tree’s provision, the hammer and nail
pounding the contoured foam
in a wood frame,
for changing baby,
onto the dresser that would become ours.
that pie and the neighbor’s salmon
(my first taste) - we were like pioneers
in Fortuna. Another neighbor
on this block of rentals,
a young couple who watched our daughter
for a millisecond,
offered up brownies -
i’d not take a bite of the apple,
metaphorically speaking,
as Eden did enough damage -
this sailor would resist the weeds,
drawn instead to the aromatic waft
coming from the oven
and the nestle of a powdered infant.
like the flawed granny apples,
our family life begins
by savoring what life brings -
it’s imperfections in others,
in us…our own sins find us.
true, we found the sky above us,
also - our knees on holy ground,
through the formidable years.
7/2/2022
A BRIAN STRAND PREMIERE CHOICE
*rustic
KNOCKER.B
Yes here we are in the great south land, (Australia)
right amongst the knockers be.
Don't stick your nose up or be grand,
they'll stomp yer like a flea.
In the land of knockers they take joy,
the newsmen shout it loud.
The business people they'll annoy,
if you died they'd steal yer shroud.
These up jumped yokels never were a cut above the rest,
the politicians know and hate the awful bloody pest.
But if you stand a little tall or stand out with the best,
they'll cut you down and paint you black put feathers in your vest.
Perhaps the country'd go ahead with out the knocker be.
if our monied people had the guts to back a prodigy.
Our inventors must go overseas to get a backer, gee?
no one to back the under dog, not cricket, do you see.
by D H Johnson
Stop your balderdash and poppycock
You're the biggest windbag on the block
Everything that you've said
Must have gone to your head
Cuz your bean's the size of Plymouth Rock