MIND WHERE YOU KNOCK
(A Tanka Trio)
A door opening,
Yet, it could be the wrong door;
It could be Satan's:-
He's fooled so many of us,
With his bastardize guidance:-
When a door opens,
Check out whose the opener;
God cannot be aped:
Satan washes guilty hands;
Jesus washes weary feet:-
A door opening,
Can be for good or for bad.
Be in awareness:
God's open door enlightens;
Satan's open door blindsides:-
There are some
looked down their nose
in the troubled Covid times
at those who bump elbows
as opposed to shaking hands
so with a bend let's start a trend
a new fad across the land
and instead if you please
why don't we
lift a leg and all knock knees
i hear you out there
knocking for my attention
holding a small nut
Tittle tittle
make love the middle
love
Which complicated romances
A fool should be
more wiser to see
not be obvious taking chances
It ain't bout rejection
See all I am reflecting
Is complicated
But it real
What I am suggesting
In such complications
Is ah due wash thyme will be
It ain't that complicated
And all you
Debated is where.
You stand with him
Or me
Neilsen got ratings
And what we debating
Is one of those
Who are oh succiees
White shelves and bammas
Your tense reminders
Is bout you and mi
Oboe, oh oboe
The piccolo has played
The piano is tuned
The song is fluted
Bytch why can't you behave
Barking and spicing
In your conversation
The secret recipe gave
Can't trust whores
Sorrstrees who
Chore-9h
Trick
Please behave
What that
Is it jelly
I ain't Mackiovelli
The triple crown has past
Is Preakness playing
We ain't behaving
Gonna give next guy
Sum azz
For the Love of May Poetry Contest
Andrea Dietrich
"May is the month of promise and the sweet beginnings of summer." - Unknown
As the three sisters prepare for Summer
April, May, and June dance to the drummer
Each with a unique beat
Each brings a pretty treat
But it's May that is the overcomer
The middle sibling is proud of her spot
Not rainy, wet, and cold, and not too hot
She wears the prom, wedding, and fresher look
And is filled with promises in her book
She threads the needle into a nice knot
They changed their flags before sunrise,
and called it weather.
By noon the microphones were blooming
like plastic flowers in dust.
Reporters asked straight questions;
answers arrived sideways,
oiled and smiling,
wrapped in patriotic ribbon.
A man declared himself the nation,
the worker, the owner,
the speech, the applause,
the hand that signs its own praise.
He wore green glasses in famine
and praised the harvest.
He wore dark glasses in fire
and admired the shade.
Truth stood outside barefoot,
waiting to be invited in.
No one heard her knock
above the cutlery of ambition.
Wherever the platter was fullest,
there rolled the faithful.
Principles were folded neatly
and kept for ceremonial days.
Someone asked why the hen
still sat upon the egg.
The minister promised progress,
a cushioned chair by evening.
We laughed, because laughter
is cheaper than revolt.
We laughed, because the room
was wired to record our silence.
And still, every season,
the chair arrives before justice.
I am trying to narrow this idea down to one
If I could choose one person to knock on my door
Bette Midler, Cher, Reba, Dolly Parton and Liza Minelli come to mind
Wait! Tina Turner; yes, I want Tina to knock on my door
I have loved her energy since the first second I saw her
On TV in the sixties, doing Proud Mary like only she can do it.
The way she moved those flashy sequins was unbelievable
Those dancing legs and that unique voice, showing me woman power
Woman power. Wait a second. I loved Helen Reddy too.
I am woman, hear me roar – that changed my entire life.
And I love the other four that I already mentioned.
No, it is Tina Turner, definitely I want Tina to knock on my door.
Lucky, the lattice of friendships thrown across time’s long curve—
shared laughter still ringing in the hollows we carved,
wild tales we hoard like pocketed stones, warm from the hand.
The first hello thins to a ghost now, faint as chalk on pavement after rain.
Two boys then, wide-eyed as new calves, blinking at the world’s glare.
I trace the years backward: from that pair to a ragged chorus of five,
each addition a door flung open, a shout across gardens.
We still miss the small, hesitant rap at the frame—
timid as a held breath, hopeful as first light.
There on the step, heart a trapped bird against ribs,
“Can he come out? Tell him the ball—” the plea half-swallowed,
then vanished indoors at the call of plates, the steam of stew,
gulped down fast, then out again, spilling into dusk like water from cupped hands.
Let us not surrender the feral children we carried inside us—
kings of cracked kerbs and sun-dappled alleys, our realm decreed
by nothing grander than speed and the next game.
It will not circle back. That knowledge settles like frost
on the morning the knock never answered,
and the door stayed shut, sealing the kingdom we lost.
Hey girl, I know you’ve been feeling blue
For believing that he really wanted you
Instead he hurt you after he was through
Now you need to knock him off his pedestal
Hey girl, I know you gave it all
But your soft heart took the fall
When he pushed you away and put up his wall
But you must knock him off his pedestal
Hey girl, I know you dreamt for more
When he acted like loving you was a chore
You can’t be chasing him anymore
Best for you to knock him off his pedestal
Hey girl, I know you tried to understand
Why he crossed that line and you took a stand
Asking for respect isn’t a huge demand
You gotta knock him off his pedestal
Hey girl, let go of the thief who steals your joy
Who cranked you up high like a spinning toy
As you caught feelings for this little boy
A firm push will knock him off his pedestal
Hey girl, you let him control your heart
He’s hiding again and you must depart
Self-love is now your journey to start
As you watch him fall off his pedestal
He knocked on my virtual window
Knock knock
I just wanted to say hello
A smile on my face
A light in my eyes
Ugh ugh ummm
Hello back dear friend.
Open your heart and let me in ~
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Shaken to the core
by a knock on the door
My mood’s not conducive
to visitors intrusive
Though what else am I here for
.
hot
damn
bamb
pop
i cave under
thick
pleasure
i mean
p(r)essure
*"bamb" iz spelled with
the astute think ')
Father
I miss you
I wish we were close
You're not that far,
we're in the same house
We eat dinner together
We converse by silence,
You smile at me, fill the space
with jokes and love
That we both know I won't respond to.
But we pretend, we all do,
That we are a happy family.
Like I don't just act like you don't exist.
You were the quiet storm,
I remember watching the ashes of
my favourite teddy bear
That you set fire to, behind my back.
Good thinking,
I didn't scream with tears or
Make a scene
I quietly told myself
'That's impossible'.
Maybe it wasn't just the stuffed animal
You knew to burn.
You burnt our connection too.
This time again, I didn't cry.
I swallowed my sadness and
Painted dreams on denial.
Denial that you're not my home.
That you're not the void inside me.
I waited, looking at you
through the window of hope
With the doors wide open.
You didn't come.
I quietly locked it from inside.
I stopped waiting.
And then the city drowned,
The soft rain now summoning floods.
You knock on the door,
Desperate and helpless.
You try to break in, kick it open.
It doesn't budge.
The city drowns under.
Open your heart
Listen to my knocks on its door.
Open your heart
So that our real love can start,
And it can flow into your core.
Give me the chance to love you more.
Open your heart.
Written as a Rondelet: A French form of poetry.
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