Knobbly Poems

OLD FRUIT

You are getting on, old fruit
Too obese to wear your new suit
Your face resembles a wrinkled prune
Old age is showing on you too soon,

What has happened to your lustrous hair
Your scalp is shiny and noticeably bare
Your jowls are hanging lower than your chin
My word, I cannot believe what a state you're in

Shoulders that were broad and strong
They are now all hunched and look all wrong.
Your knees are knobbly and a little bent,
The left leg forgot where the right one went.

I can not understand you when you talk,
Your brain, not your legs, has gone for a walk
Your eyes look blank, staring into space
You have lost touch with the human race.

We lost touch over the years,
After sharing much laughter and some tears
I have just seen you interviewed on TV
Old fruit, it was a shock to me,

To see you sitting in a chair,
With all the hoi polloi and fanfare there
Smiling happily from ear to ear
Holding up a glass of cheer

With the TV presenters and your guests
Wishing you the very best
And the audience stood up to say
Many happy returns of your 110th BIRTHDAY!

A Recipe For Happiness

I need a recipe for instant happiness,
For all that are feeling sad
I'd start with a ray of sunshine
That doesn't sound too bad
Next, a sweet smile
Or a baby's toothless grin,
It stands out a mile
As you start to mix it in
This happiness recipe
For all to feel and see
It needs a pinch of wit
From all the family
A cuddle, Hug and kiss
That would be hard to resist

The tapping of feet
To music loud and clear
Someone shouting "Cheers,"
As he handed around beers.
The sound of a piano
A kitten on the keys
An old gentleman dancing
With bow legs and knobbly knees.
A friendly Hub Hub a buzz of happiness
That would be an excellent start for the recipe.
I guess.




Previously submitted

SENSE PLEASURE

SENSE PLEASURE 

Red honeyed apples
        autumn leaves dewed 
           ****** merge with sun streams 
             whilst children sleep dear dreams

Bobbing bubble baths
        yogurt on hot chilli pie laughs
          smell the sour dough
             nourishment oh oh oh !

Blue moon paints front stoep
       knobbly hand whispers stories
          of heritages and future glories
             skin ripples aptly rapt

Prancing clean laundry dance 
        mother’s milk in melting mouth
          puppy grovels dirt digging south
              sound frequencies simmer smoothly 

Von Gogh sunflowers float in
        mental notes skipping 
            Mozart phantom pianos airwaves
               come dine alive then to jive

Pleasure finding the lost gazed
         glance glimmer with God at no cost 
             Earth to Heaven find 
THE JOYOUS JOURNEYED CONNECTION ! 


©GhairoDanielsPoetry&Song
2000

A Recipe For Happiness

I need a recipe for instant happiness,
For all that are feeling sad
I'd start with a ray of sunshine
That doesn't sound too bad
Next, a sweet smile
Or a baby's toothless grin,
It stands out a mile
As you start to mix it in
This happiness recipe
For all to feel and see
It needs a pinch of wit
From all the family
A cuddle, Hug and kiss
That would be hard to resist

The tapping of feet
To music loud and clear
Someone shouting "Cheers,"
As he handed around beers.
The sound of a piano
A kitten on the keys
An old gentleman dancing
With bow legs and knobbly knees.
A friendly Hub Hub a buzz of happiness
That would be an excellent start for the recipe.
I guess.

The Donkeys

The Blackpool donkeys have given up:
they have boarded passenger jets -
to be emotional support animals.

Once they used to plod from Blackpool pier
half a mile up, half a mile back,
day after day,
carrying kids and plump matrons.

In a dull daydream the donkeys moved
with downcast eyes,
plodding until exhausted.

Now the donkeys have retired,
when not flying
they surfboard on Hawaiian waves.
their Bermuda shorts billow,
tailored as they are for four-legs.

Those that once rode them
on that uncultured British beach,
now take river cruises
to the more refined European cities
and hardly now ever see a donkey,

but if they do
I hope that for a moment
they feel a knobbly donkey spine
roughly slapping their
tender time-worn *******’s.

Short Trousers

SHORT TROUSERS

When I was young in trousers short,
Children laughed at my knobbly knees.
I asked my mother why she bought
Short trousers in the winter’s freeze.
Fresh air was good for me she thought.

But Dad wore full length all year long
Which didn’t seem to me quite fair.
He was quite healthy, fit and strong
Without his knees exposed to air.
I said it was unjust, all wrong

But now, commuting on the train,
Day after day in sultry heat,
I find long trousers are a pain.
Sometimes I wish I could retreat
To childhood and wear shorts again.

20th November 2020
Quintain/Sicilian contest
Sponsor - Emile Pinet

The Wood

enter the wood, end of the day
  deep deep reverb, everywhere
  eerie sound from between the trees
  from bowels of earth, around the sky

  then chilling stillness, flee or stay?
  thump thump! disturb the very air
  flurried dance, the following breeze
  as yowls of mirth personify

  monsters lurk and skulk, hide away
  blink blink, acerbic scary stare
  belly scales grow knobbly knees
  fat jowls of girth, the fleshy eye

  children scamper, fierce games they play
  beat beat, why curb their merry dare ?
  carefree clamber through ill-at-ease
  with howls of worth they yelp and cry

  fungi feast while dank leaves decay
  sleep sleep superb in fairy lair
  life poking head, no guarantees
  where scowls give birth, when dreams do die

  look up beyond where branches sway
  squeak squeak perturb the glary glare
  past hazy stars, the " Pleiades "
  night ghouls of dearth by radar fly

Wrangell Fare

Crackles of snow in midlit-air.
This Wrangell fare!
Aflame, the Alaskan forest
of calm and rest.
Salmonberry sparks, deep yellow —
knobbly, mellow.
Raspberry red and mute orange —
berry-torrent.
Tasting its sweet, perfume of life.
Backwoods — no strife.

Cool crunch of footprints at midnight.
Late Spring so bright.

5/28/2019

Hairy Mary

Hairy Mary, really scary
Hairs grow from her nose
Some sprout from her pointy ears
And in between her toes

She's got hair on her fingers
and her one remaining thumb
I can't confirm the rumour
That she's got a hairy bum

A hair grows from the mole
That is sprouting from her chin
Her wicked eyes are purple
And her nose is bent and thin

She said some funny words to me
when I was just a boy
And waved a knobbly stick
Like it was some magician's toy

She said that she was turning me
Into a slimy frog
I told her she was bonkers
And I'd rather be a dog

For witches live in fiction
But my theory has a glitch
I called her lots of names
And then my skin began to itch

I said she was a daft old bat
She didn't get the joke
And now I find it hard to speak
But easier to...

CROAK!!!

Death In the Bath

There was an old dear
She is no longer here
As one day she fancied a bath
Her son said, she was too old for all that
To shower instead and don’t be so daft

A cantankerous old biddy
And ignoring his pleas
She began to feel giddy
And sunk to her knees

The pain it was awful
She could not get out
Tears welled in her eyes
As she started to shout

But no one was there to hear her pleas
As she tried to kneel on her knobbly knees
And the poor old dear
She is no longer here
She was finally found
In her bath - she had drowned

So after the age of seventy
Try not to act too rebelliously
Do not cause a furore 
See the moral of this story

If you don’t want to drown in your bath
Leaving others with the aftermath
To die in your bath is not a pretty sight
As when you are found you will look such a fright
All wrinkled and red, as you will be dead
So listen when told if you want to grow old
No bathing for you, try a shower instead

30th September 2018

EARLY POEM CONTEST
Sponsor Brian Strand

Topical Tree Poetry - Love

LOVE
love a human trait
togetherness in nature
instinctive you will find
love
amour
ardour
liaison
devotion
adoration
endearment
idolization
besottedness
unselfishness
hate
~~~
~~
~


'Topical Tree Poetry: Defined:'
A new form of poetry invented by me, (Mick E Talbot), utilising, the 'shape' poetry format overall. Using the 'snowball' poetry form for the trunk, and any form that makes for a good canopy. The subject material must be "topical", ie, trending, current, historical, events. 

The format: The canopy; any form of poetry, 1 stanza, no restraint on the number of lines. Lines not to exceed 12 syllables.
The 'trunk'; a form referred to as a snowball. It starts with the smallest word alluding to the topic, then using synonyms increase in size by 1* letter, ending in an antonym, refer to my example poem. The whole must be centered. 

* Try to make the trunk branchless, the odd knobbly bump or hole not a problem. (The latter will happen at times).You can by hitting the space bar make the branch/es, hole/s appear on one side of the trunk, Or the other, just an afterthought ;-) Mick

#instinct

Draw Me

https://m.soundcloud.com/user-921599710/draw-me

I stand so tall and slightly lean
The sharpest creature ever seen
My t-shirt boldly has a rose
I have a much lengthened nose
My stringy arms I wave and cheer
Yet I have just one small ear
My rounded mouth looks like a ball
My little left foot is so small
My right foot is yet rather big
My fingers are just like a twig
I’m wearing very spotty shorts
My shoes have crosses and noughts
My teeth though crooked always please
I have awesome knobbly knees
There’s many big and many small
Yet each amazing, one and all

Written by Geraldine Taylor ©

W,A,W,D

OH! What A Wonderful Day.

There's Billy Bosh and Tommy Blease
and Frankie Welch with knobbly knees.
Theresa Moon and Shirley Lake
running and splashing about in the lake
enjoying their play on this hot sunny day
Oh! What a wonderful day.

Then Kevin Macey kissing Stacey
underneath the Willow tree.
Joseph Frost and Jackie Green
sunbathing on the bank.
As Selby sails his bright blue boat
when it hit a rock and sank.
Oh! What a wonderful day.

A wonderful day, I hear you say
Yes what a wonderful day.
Oh! Yes what a wonderful day.

Steed

Horse catcher I said she looks down at me don't you mean wrangler said she, but then quick as a flash I'm back at that bloody track down at the start waiting for all to load almost all done then one throws its midget and runs, off in the pickup I leap to go corner the big black beast

and there we are with me breathing deep I have him corralled of sorts cutting down the angles closer I creep, then I see the twinkle in his eye

I've got no protection for my head or knobbly knees and he fancies his chance of running through me, back in the stand with the delay all eyes are watching the big screen with glee.

Then round the corner walks his lass and makes me look a silly ass, for off he trots head held high snorts in my direction as if to say did you see what he did to me, so my dear I prefer my steed to be made of metal and come with a key.

Horrendous Fruit

Horrendous Fruit

“Ah my eyes!” the acid sprays,
From the knobbly whorled display,
Of the thickened orange skin,
Pith and citric acid akin.

I take a bite of segmented fruit,
Cells explode and sour does too,
My eyes fall closed, My faces is scrunched,
As on the awful food I munch.

“One piece down!” I say with a sigh,
Surely this is how I die,
Biting on this horrid meat,
This one, I say, its got me beat.

As more skin I peel away,
That lovely orange like break of day,
Reveals itself with a suckling rip,
Where 'low the membrane lies a pip.

I steel myself and put it in,
Tastebuds protest a horrendous din,
Again and again my teeth crunch round,
Until, finally, the monster is down.

I hate the fruit, the way it grows,
Two are gone, too many to go,
A sway, on a tree, in the wind,
I pick when ripe, the stalk is thin.

But back to this horror, I want no more,
Tears of frustration begin to pour,
Thats it, I refuse to eat more, none.
With this fruit, I am done.

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