Long Knickknacks Poems
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Home invaders
Climbed the fence;
Huffed,
Puffed,
And blew the windows in,
Suddenly, they're inside a mansion.
They came prepared
With large duffel bags.
They grabbed all they could -
A family heirloom,
Jewelry,
Knickknacks, etc.
Then one walks out to the balcony
And a caged parrot locks eyes
With the stranger,
Bows its head, thinking -
"Please, don't take me, too! I don't want to part with Mr. Tyson!"
"Matthew? It's time to go!" a voice calls out
.
"There's a parrot out here, Cam!"
"Nope, you heard Cam! You guys go now. Leave me be!"
thought the parrot.
Cam peeks out to the balcony.
"What do we need a bird for?" he asks.
Shouldn't we take it with us? Parrots talk, right? It could give us up." replies Matthew.
Cam thinks for a moment,
So does the parrot.
"Great, just great! I'm about to be stolen!"
"What about we kill it?" suggests Matthew.
Frantic thoughts: "Oh, hell no! You'll do no such thing, boy! Horrible idea! Cam? Help me?"
"No, we don't need the damn bird. Let's go, now!" Cam says, emphatically
"Whew! Thank God!" thought the parrot, breathing a sigh of relief.
The cat burglars made a clean getaway,
Or so they thought.
They made one fatal flaw.
They should've taken
Mr. Tyson's beautiful talking pet.
The parrot began spilling tea
Upon its owner's return -
"Matthew, we gotta go!"
"There's a parrot out here, Cam!"
"Matt, let's go, now!"
"Damn, I can't find my phone!"
"Back door! Back door! He's pulling in the driveway!"
Personification- Pets Talking Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
06/08/2022
she never threw anything out
the driveway is filled
clothes hang on racks
hers on the left,
a few of his on the right
tables of her shoes
kitchenware, pots, pans
knickknacks, tchachka’s
souvenirs from long ago trips
some of the furniture
will go..there’s no need
for all of it now
the most valuable,
jewelry, some paintings
are in the garage
the money isn’t important
at this point
it doesn’t matter….
how can he put a price
on what’s been taken
his memories aren’t of
a particular dress or
pair of earrings she wore
he won’t look at a painting
or photograph of a trip
and think of her
he misses her smile,
the touch of her hand on his face
the look in her eyes,
how she curled up inside him
in bed at night, stealing his warmth
… when she spoke his name
A lot of life I’ve lived; in all these years
some attitudes and thoughts of mine have changed.
Here’s one example: I’ve got fewer fears,
but one thing mainly I have re-arranged.
I’ve switched around the way I used to feel
about possessions. Now that I’ve grown old,
It’s so much easier for me to deal
with quitting seeing things like they were gold.
I realize the many things that I’ve
been spending money on mean so little.
Simple joys are the real gold; I’m alive!
The many things my kids would belittle -
my records, knickknacks, clothes and lovely rings.
Time with family is much more worthwhile.
She wandered into the prissy bathroom hating it for its prettiness.
There were all kinds of trinkets and knickknacks
She reached for two, and threw them onto the floor.
The fairy broke into slivers bringing her at least a squeak of satisfaction.
What are you looking at? She demanded of the mirror.
Her face was puffy and unkind dark ugly mean circles under her eyes.
She glared at herself, considered breaking the mirror also.
She was in the mood to break, burn, and stab everything.
Her three best high school friends would all be married after Saturday.
She was the only one left not belonging to anyone.
No job, no life, no hope. Fast on her way to nowhere town.
She hated this house; this nonlife, this feeling of stuck.
The men she had met were liars, and narcissists.
She had been easily fooled by two of them, possibly three.
She glared at herself in the mirror
Feeling undesirable, ugly and unlovable.
You are pathetic! She said to her reflection.
Her brown eyes did not believe her. They laughed.
God I hate myself! She thought.
Received a sliver of satisfaction after slamming a bottle into the mirror.
Watching it crack up into a spider web’s face.
I hate all three of them! She screamed.
But of course, she only hated one.
O to live life in relentless outreach
And still stay put, stagnant, nowhere to reach,
To struggle hard, getting not so in hand,
To feign busy as if a butterfly,
Or a productive bee nevertheless,
O to say thoughtless yes in place of no,
To make hurried choices on onward ho,
And still fail to find meaningful flurry
Amidst meaninglessness of life lived in hurry.
What need be done not so in life to fret
Is slow to say yes, to deliberate,
Not so quick, vacillate nor hesitate,
A secret to live life free from regret.
‘Wish, I’d courage to live life but my own,
‘And not lived per someone’s expectations’,
Some, terminally ill on deathbed, wish.
A firm and deliberate no often
Saves one from a thoughtless and a suicidal yes.
And oftentimes to opt what not to do,
More telling turns out O than what to do.
*****sapiens are we, for, we can think,
And humans, not apes, for, we well can choose.
Why, one wonders, man opts for default mode,
Over a more proactive design mode.
For, less is often more, even better,
Why not that be the choice, a chosen mode,
Mere invitation’s no reason enough to go.
Let’s chase nothing in life nigh meaningless,
Nor forget to pursue the meaningful,
Nor miss out what’s central and essential
In blind pursuit of things peripheral.
In focusing upon the dead knickknacks,
Not to forget what’s alive, very life--
Things ever so meaningful and blissful,
Not deceitful, truthful, nor beautiful,
And say a deliberate no than a quick yes.
________________________
Blank verse |15.02.2025| life
Note: This blank verse in iambic pentameter by and large, each stanza of nine lines, the ninth line being a hexameter.
Good day!
Let’s have a marvelous time midst wholesome leisure
toward wondrous relaxation blitz devoid of pressure
allowing hearty gratitude exposure
while basking under heavenly rays’ pleasure
praising God Whose grace and mercy assure
the welcoming of blessings' treasure
abundant for sharing beyond love's measure.
Good noon!
Let’s get out from shacks and barracks
unmindful of distress-scorching attacks
midst sunny mood toward picnic with back packs
full of delicious and nutritious snacks
to be rested from challenging life’s racetracks
oblivious of thunder’s deterring knacks
enjoying nuts, knickknacks from cracker sacks.
Good evening!
Oh, we continue our daydreaming journey flight
beholding nature’s therapeutic scene before our sight
reminded to keep on doing what is good and right
exalting the Lord, braced by faith’s might
appreciating the Almighty for radiant light
then praying before a sound sleep at night
revitalized toward another morning delight*.
*Psalms 37:4 Delight thyself also in the LORD; and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart.
September 9, 2023
1st place, "Dolce far niente" Poetry Writing Contest
Sponsored by Unseeking Seeker; judged on 9/20/2023
He walked with a swagger
Trying to be cool in his lack
He knew what people thought
He was NOT a black
...man
She limped with a drag and a thump
But her smile was a radiant light
In her presence shadows faded
'Neath everything that was good and right
...in huMANity
He was a runt, such a little pest
Running here and there, without time to rest
While Mama whacked his little bum
Between the strides of a vigorous run
...to sin
She dressed way to fast for a child
Daddy told her "Nothing good will come for the wild"
He ran to catch her as she slammed the door
She couldn't take his wayward eye any more
...for alllllll Eternity
They yell out to the Creator of all
We don't need your validation
Therefore, it is against our heart
To embrace the theory of creation
Who cares that all things living, give birth
We have the science behind the fruit
We can make without creation
Beings that GOD would dispute
...NOT REAL....NOT MINE
Glory no longer belongs to the parent
The child has risen up as lord of self
Relationship is overrated
Like knickknacks on a cedar shelf
....collecting dust
Written by Trudy Schrader on 06-23-2019
Divorce robbed him of surprise,
left him disused,
parts of his brain tingled less,
he grew blasé, he had to improvise,
extemporize parts
that were less prone to rust and mold.
It seemed he was a bare broom,
one that could no longer sweep away
a rising sense of purposeless.
Then it was that a new surprise found him,
he began to make yesteryear trinkets
knickknacks held together
with a duct-taped nostalgia.
Walking sticks and old-school picket fences
were carved from the bones of his memory.
Other doohickeys such as
paperweights for light-headed ideas,
or knickknacks to fill in
those awkward holes in people’s lives.
Success returned, so did a new wife.
She had a lever, a jack,
to hydraulicly lift him up
when he occasionally sagged.
She used superglue on all his loose bits.
It’s wonderful what a new lick of paint can do.
If you have bridge chairs, playing bridge
Is not their only use.
Try mah jongg or canasta -
Any game needs no excuse.
Or set them up for extra guests
So everyone can sit,
Especially if there’s
A fold-up table where they’ll fit.
The same goes for a coffee cup,
For cocoa or some tea
Can fill it up as well as java -
Wouldn’t you agree?
Of course, that coffee cup may rest
Upon a coffee table,
Which may hold books or magazines,
Despite its coffee label.
And yet, if you’ve a bookcase,
You may get some eye-roll looks
If the shelves have only knickknacks,
When it’s meant for holding books.
She was a crazy old coot of a woman; most of us made fun of her.
Not in front of her face, we were socialized. But behind her back, watch out.
Story was that she lived with goats. She never went anywhere without one.
Her name was Florence. She wore her hair helter skelter, and men’s clothes.
Sometimes a dress over her bibbed overalls, but not often. She was a hoarder.
No one can get through her house, I was told. I was eight, and a fast believer.
We followed her down the block as she went from one house to her farm.
She told us stories about hangings and killing snakes.
She talked non-stop; as if we were not there at all. We began to adore her.
One day our mother said we were going to have a birthday party for Oney.
Oney? An older lady who lived with Florence. She was going to be eighty.
Our mother baked a cake and we marched up to Florence’s house.
We had never been inside, but I had heard about the stacks and smells.
The door was opened, and it was nothing like I had heard. It was gorgeous.
There was Victorian furniture, dainty china, pretty trinkets and knickknacks.
I never believed bad gossip about Florence again; for now I knew the truth.
She was a dainty lady who worked tirelessly, taking care of her sister Oney.
At the age of eight, I resolved to get to know people one at a time.