This poem maybe a limerick
but for safety with rhyme I will stick
There was a young man
his name was James Crocker
He owned a dog
the breed was a cocker
They decided to go for a ride in a plane
the type, it was known as a twin engined Fokker
The turbulence wild
the flight was a shocker
They arrived back home
at six on the knocker
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
the found map led me to an
asymmetrical doorway, created by an artesian
I wondered at the builder as I approached
the boards were placed diagonally
skillset many carpenters have not mastered
I knew now I was dealing with a professional
the knocker was a bit off-kilter, which amused me.
the brickwork looked a bit random also.
who created this wall? This door?
the paint was not fresh, there were bits of ivy.
A quaint shabby chic look.
I could not wait to meet the occupant.
"I did not expect death to knock on my door.
Now I keep it securely locked." ~ by poet
I bade the knocker at my door, "Please come in."
The visitor to my home, whoever it might've been
But frigid air left a chilly atmosphere in the room
The hand of fate entered; I heard the voice of doom
I sensed my end was near as it swiftly approached
Across my dwelling's threshold, death encroached
Its icy breath etched frost upon my window panes
Blood seemed to stop flowing within my frail veins
Death's wildling wind pelted its anger on my roof
My fear of it climbed higher as I cowered in reproof
Huddled in a corner, horror mounted and spurred
This room was the chamber where I'd be interred
How foolhardy of me to leave my door unlocked
I shouldn't have bid welcome when death knocked
Every gliding step its darkness took in my direction
subdued my will until I could not raise an objection
Terror compelled me to curse what my fate now bore
I should've run when hearing the knock on my door
Demonic eyes searched mine with a look of disdain
Out the door it flew, but my fright will long remain
It had been months since I’d seen Alice
and I felt compelled to see her again.
She was a woman who liked surprises,
so on the spur of the moment
I got in my car and drove,
heading west, chasing down the sun.
But the sun won out
and before I knew it
he was smiling
in my rear view mirror.
Tulsa was just coming to life
as I pulled up in front of her house.
I walked down the cobblestone path
past the well manicured lawn.
The roses were in bloom on the trellis.
When I reached the massive door
I banged vigorously on the brass knocker.
A well dressed man opened up
and asked me my business.
"I'd like to see Alice, please," I said.
"Sorry sir, Alice doesn't live here anymore."
sagger maker’s bottom knocker from barnsley
one of the last of a now dead trade
famed for his skill and precision
where ever saggers had been made
forced to redundancy’s scrap heap
by world wide non demand of his skill
lack of money and self respect
made him tired and physically ill
took up dwile flonking in somerset
became a regular girter of the team
but regular skilled work remained
his great and longed for dream
flonked by a wanton driveller thrust
which he sadly failed to catch
led to his early demise
and an unfinished match
so take note passing stranger
of his sad demoralising tale
a tragic life so swadged short
by dwile flonking and real ale
he rests beneath this stone
his driveller in his hand
the finest sagger maker’s bottom knocker
ever seen in this fair land
sagger maker’s bottom knocker from barnsley
one of the last of a now dead trade
famed for his skill and precision
where ever saggers were made
forced to redundancies scrap heap
because of lack of demand for his skill
lack of money and self respect
made him feel tired and ill
took up dwile flonking in somerset
became a regular girter of the team
but regular skilled work remained
his great and longed for dream
flonked by a wanton driveller thrust
which he sadly failed to catch
led to his early demise
and an unfinished match
so take note passing stranger
of his sad demoralising tale
a tragic life so swadged short
by dwile flonking and real ale
he rests beneath this stone
his driveller in his hand
the finest sagger maker’s bottom
knocker ever seen in this fair land
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.
deck is stacked with black cats
hungry and forlorn
pressing in
bolts of thunder -
blinded with cacophonies
the ace of spades -
fear, bad luck, hatred, war
worry lines, frowns, battle torn
coal, night, pitch -
the starry night, disoriented
lost in oblivion
newgate’s knocker -
prison bars, color drained
from countenance, no kiss
in the abyss
midnight, a dog’s guts -
no clouds, moonless, open
to the elements
the iron cast - seasoned
to death
ebonic plague -
a poet’s drowning in ink
&
someone’s lighting a fire
under
the chimney sweep
8/3/2022
Good morning everyone, I thought i share a poem i wrote not long ago. I had written a poem aquill then i headed to Nashville for a new sing to bring to life free from sorrow and all strife. My song was happy and free, and always reminded me of me,free from sorrow and all strife. Never lethargic but full of love like a white dove,many ways hate to mince so with this great poem I will dispense lead formula for it's in Betty Crocker has now became a real head knocker. Have a wonderful and blessed day brother Terry.
HANDKERCHIEF
I gave you a handkerchief
As a token of friendship
Without hesitation you accepted it
Not to wipe your tears of sadness.
It is been said
If you accept that kind of gift
She/He will make you cry
And make you a broken-hearted.
Dispel that superstitious belief
If you perspire, wipe it with that stuff
Pretend that those are my hands
caressing your beautiful face.
That red, white and blue piece of cloth
Signifies sincerity, purity and courage
Dignity, integrity and loyalty
In case oblivion prevails, a knocker of your memory.
Whether friendship or love
May it reminds you at one time I passed
And walked in this world’s part
And met , a wonderful and beautiful lass.
all this while
I had been knocking at your door
waiting for you to traverse the space
from your locked room to the door front
take the keys from the door side table
and let me in
and all this while
in being the knocker
I forgot to lock my home
the doors were wide ajar
the windows un-hatched,
you’d raided all of it.
Chalk up the above
tummy knocker round
motley fool whimsical caprice
forever one generic
(ewe among us) scapegoat
bullied, lambasted, ostracized...
simian still silently suffering
life threatening wounds
since no protective Jason,
nor the Golden Fleece
shielded me against
Tormentors of Torghast even after
becoming gratefully dead,
struck by lightning bolts well greased
they will still increase
only difference when nonexistence prevails,
versus while given lease
as run(t) of the mill mortal
doth finally welcoming peace
of body, mind and spirit.
Aforestated gallimaufry mishmash
hoopfully doth explain
tangentially, loosely and amazingly
one after another graceful linkedin refrain
now heeds intuitive trumpeted
clarion call moon faced
cybersurfer to wax and wane.
Roll up welcome Harris tweed
Scottish tartan mat after
lame attempt bing witty and wise
fame and fortune elude,
nevertheless logophile continuously tries
this April 6th, 2022 no surprise
quotidian series of Lemony Snicket induced
unfortunate circumstances did rise
every hour these myopic eyes
blinked cognitive depth youthfulness belies,
when dawning consciousness did arise.
butterfly
flower
never
falls
flies
instead
“The knocker (aldravia) is six word verses. It is not a sentence, it is a word on every line. You have to put the maximum amount of poetry with the minimum amount of words”. The style of poetry was born a little over ten years ago in Mariana, one of the historic cities of Minas Gerais. 2014
a half
life
browsed
my
dead
Sea...
Ps:“The knocker (aldravia)is six word verses. It is not a sentence, it is a word on every line. You have to put the maximum amount of poetry with the minimum amount of words”. The style of poetry was born a little over ten years ago in Mariana, one of the historic cities of Minas Gerais. 2014
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