Long Knick Poems
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Under the inky façade of the night sky,
With reluctant steps, I joined the stream of men
Flowing to the place of the great celebration.
A huge crowd was already there in the temple premises.
Its vicinity was bursting with colour and flashing lights.
The young and the old, clad in festal attire,
With fire in their hearts and festive sheen in their eyes
Thronged, not driven by piety, but mostly to enjoy the fanfare.
Festoons decorated the trees that lined the compound.
Colourful lamps were blinking everywhere
Sacred bells kept chiming intermittent
At the auspicious hour, as devotional songs rent the air,
The chief deity was brought out of the shrine
And was placed on the caparisoned elephant,
Accompanied by pulsating percussion ensemble.
The devotees cheered witnessing the majestic entourage.
Within them, the fervid spring of joy swelled.
Colourful umbrellas were unfurled,
Drawing synchronized patterns in the air.
An army of hawkers had already set up shops.
Each made it a time to earn some bucks,
Selling knick-knacks and goodies- from ice creams
To popcorn and colourful balloons, to tempt children
The young ones ran around licking cotton candies.
Some enjoyed blowing up soap bubbles,
With iridescent orbs landing softly on their hair and dress.
Under the glare and noise, the heat and sweat,
Amid the tumultuous beat of trumpets,
And the rhythmic sounding of cymbals,
The crowd swayed in psychedelic lassitude.
I was just a mute witness to the whole hullabaloo.
Amid the faceless crowd, I stood aloof, so aloof,
With an abysmal loneliness gnawing me from inside.
I had hoped the carnival would help me forget the past
And drown my scalding pain, but sad memories,
Followed me close to my heels like a mangy mongrel.
Deep down, how I wished I was part of the revelry!
I remember now. Something was heavy, a winged
dragon that refused to fly from my chest
My eyes were secret mirrors, or a doomsday judge.
I remember morning as a flighty horse,
or like a new school year,
that first careful sentence written on a page.
Time became a sequel. Roads were rootless trees
racing by - Fog an x-ray – the night, annoying as a fly.
I had a misconception and her assumptions followed
every stray dog. I quivered hollow with a frantic yellow zest.
I ate from a dish of nutmeg.
I woke to the sound of dying frogs, impossible spiders
trapping rainbows in their webs, the nebulous orbit
of knick knacks in the room, my reach
too small for a mother’s heart.
Her seeds had such an element of surprise, her
plum lipstick, the zing of frayed nerves
she mocked death with a cup of sunshine
she kept an artist’s palette - adding
color to existence
Too late, the impossible demand on angels
Each bitter thought the baroque decomposing
of an empty optimism
My keyless lock - emotion
Premiere Contest number 12
Contest Judged: 9/24/2016 12:01:00 AM
Sponsored by: SKAT A
Placed 9out of 10
Entered in the Best Poem worthy of a Trophy
I have entered this poem because it came from
out of the ether. Some poems just do.
Deeply felt almost not understood but felt on a visceral level.
N/A’d
The missus pounded mine posterior...
causing percussive rumpus
Meanwhile good n plenty vibrations resonated
felt and heard round the world wide web
(strongest quaking sensations
occurred upon double mattresses atop bed
within apartment unit b44
2 Highland Manor Drive),
but woody d'ya believe
drumming, flagellating
and whipping gluteus maximus
spurred surging aftershock tremors
launched rocketed pecker
(property yours truly).
Imagine slap happy spouse
ain't misbehavin
just being her playful
(think cheeky) self
knick knack paddy whacking
undeservedly thrashing,
pummeling, beating
the living daylights
buttucks long past their prime
formerly cute palm pilot tushy,
now subjected courtesy
cruel aging process
wrought ugly human cellulite,
nevertheless I made
feeble attempts to rear up in protest
against asinine wifely antics,
while she obviously disregarded
feebly wailing for nought
me lamely uttering
friggin bloody murder in vain.
Zee spouse ain't no sadomasochist,
she just thrills
treating gluteus maximus (mine)
as a plaything
(think cat toying with mouse)
thwacking me fleshy behind
until derriere belonging to yours truly
feels comfortably numb.
Thee aforementioned shenanigans
predominantly arise, when
wedded counterpart owns advantage,
whereby I eagerly welcome shut eye
lo and behold only to experience
mine hinny quickly getting smacked
after I barely shuttered these tired eyelids
sneaking couple winks.
What recently began as
whimsical spur of
kickstarting moment
ushering tactile kibitizing
suddenly became nightly ritual,
whereby this humble husband
meekly surrenders bare bottom
(actually partner with skewed enjoyment
at my expense)
pulls off outer clothes
plus underpants (elasticity
long since stretched out)
wallopping me bum
until flesh heavily
spindled, lacerated, and bruised.
Say a kind word to your husband
That's what he wants most of all
Not a gaggle of gifts for his birthday
You don't have to buy out the mall
Compliment him on his appearance
Or say that you appreciate his perseverance
Tell him it makes you happy he's so tidy and neat
That in the house he puts slippers on his feet
Let him know that he's magic for your son
That he's turned him into a real gentleman
Point out just how much his daughter loves him
That she tells you only God is above him
So forget all the knick-knacks and accoutrements
Hubby thrives on kind words and encouragement
Wet streets, like wet streets after rain
hitting pavement like the slacking
of vexed heels before the squabble
of sun battling cloud, sun to win.
Rapid transit, like transience,
like de-coherence with the fade
of transition. Which one? Which one?
This is much like how the dance goes,
your eyes to my skin, to my lips.
In multitudes of shades just like
the weather, touching beyond it-
physicality. Remember.
It’s glitter, glitter hard to sweep
away. Everything echoes,
how long? And will it forever?
And does forever stand quiet
as shadow juxtaposed beside
forgotten dreams that fade away
to nothing? Like yin to the yang
of expedited packages
full of things we don’t remember
ordering. Discarded knick knacks,
antithesis of you. Because
I can imagine with faultless
precision the feel of your breath
on my cheek, the taste of your kiss.
a thing going something like salt
of the sea entwined with sweetness
and heat. I was here. You were there
beside me squeezing my small hand
on the beach, while I thought of ways
I’d start a poem about you.
With a hidden innuendo
like wet streets folded up into
a reference to the city
I love. The one where I met you.
Name of the Contest: Snow Fantasy or Christmas Nostalgia Poetry Contest.
Sponsored by: Constance La France.
"Don't Christmas bells peal through each passage of time?" - Poet.
I think of the times when I was a child.
How, with glittering new garments, I smiled!
The stars, bells, and the animal idols...
Everything resembled solemn idylls.
My adolescence didn't change things much.
I had, then, imagined your gentle touch.
Hymns and carols gave a serene feeling.
Every scene in the church seemed appealing.
Nothing can be compared with that Christmas.
In which each thing, for us, was auspicious
In time's grace-filled tapestry, our threads met.
Our life, like the polestar, seemed to be set.
Our children adorned the cribs, then, each year.
With cuisines and gifts, we had unique cheer.
They got married, had children, and time passed.
We stood, to each other, always steadfast.
Fate has taken you away from me now.
I share my joys with each one, anyhow.
I find your image in knick-knacks and gifts.
I'm feeling within too, the time's soft shifts.
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
"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.
Inspired by... All those houses that long to be homes again.
For our house to become a home forever
By Michelle Morris
20/08/2024
I walk through this empty house
And can see it used to be a home
Filled with joy and laughter
A family who shared fun times
There are photos suspended in frames
Filled with memories and smiling moments
There are knick-knacks collected together
Some funny; and some meaningful
Where the sunlight dips through the window
I can see dust motes dancing in swirls
The family dog lounges in his sacred space
On the chaise lounge near the fireplace
Looking closer you start to notice things
Like only photos of young children are present
Every room is like a museum
Or a shrine to a perfect past wish
For we easily forget certain facts and details
In our yearning to keep certain memories perfect
We want to be able to reminisce
And act like things once went smoothly
But the dust has thickened over the years
The cobwebs house spiders that have taken over corners of rooms
The light has grown dim inside this house
And inside hearts where love was once pure
Funny how humans can take something beautiful
And twist it up and test it over and over
Until nothing is left but hearts spent
Empty and oftentimes bitter and resentful
I walk through rooms where time has stood still
I walk through rooms where life has moved on
And everywhere, everywhere there is hopelessness
For love and light no longer reside here
Bricks and mortar and pretty fabrics
Only create a decorated space for us to live
We have to choose who we share it with
And we have to choose how we will forge our lives together
Only with compassion and kindness
Loyalty, patience and respect
Can we create a nurturing environment
For our house to become a home forever
© Michelle Morris, 2024
Such wondrous things that come to you from travels far and wide.
Trinkets and knick knacks you keep somewhat near at hand, and never too far from your side.
Throughout life's journeys You'll check on them for fear they'll be left behind.
Being of meaningful purpose; that's remembered whenever they cross your mind.
Naively not that you're rashly in love; although of them
your feelings are warm and kind.
Solely fond memories of notable times; ergo they're ne'er out of place nor ever hard to find
'Tis odd you must hold onto them whether your abode's a fancy home or merely a shared cot.
You realize as long as they're safely tucked away, in the place of "Forget Me Nots";
You're strangely better off with them__even if they're all that you have or got.
~~~ w 11172018