We figured out the Great Missing Comment Box Mystery of 2013 around the end of last week. So we should have a completely healthy commenting experience today (knocking on wood). In fact, let’s make that the prompt today.
For today’s prompt, write a knock on wood poem. This might be about a situation that should happen or hopefully will happen. Or I guess it could even involve someone (or something) actually knocking on wood–a table, a door, a window pane, etc. Per usual, feel free to get creative with it.
Here’s my attempt:
“Tomorrow”
We will wake before light outlines form around trees
before birds start shouting each other above earth
We will shower dress our children leave earlier
dance at work school grocery stores & gas stations
We’ll embrace thankless tasks find incredible peace
know ourselves & understand everyone else
We’ll live our lives but with better homes & gardens
popular mechanics field & stream people wired
*****
Follow me on Twitter @robertleebrewer
*****
Publish your poetry!
Learn how to publish your poetry with the 2013 Poet’s Market! The annual publishing resource features dozens of articles on the craft, the business, and the promotion of poetry–plus original poems by 20 fantastic poets. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg, because the book’s true value is in the hundreds of publishing opportunities for poets, including listings for poetry publishers, publications, contests, grants, and more!
*****
Need even more poetry? Good! Here are a few recent posts:
- 2013 April PAD Challenge: Guidelines. Daily poeming begins on April 1.
- WD Poetic Form Challenge: Pantoum. Write and share a pantoum for a chance to get published in Writer’s Digest magazine.
- 5 Ways to Revise Poems. Writing poetry is the fun part for me. Things get sticky when it’s time to revise.
knock on wood
by juanita lewison-snyder
“every day you wake up is a good day,”
my scottish grandmother preached daily
from behind her pulpit of schnapps,
“so quit yer bitchen, belly up to the bar.”
if tomorrow the good lord sees fit
that i awaken, then take it a sign to
pack a lunch and head for the woods
to dine among the bracken fern
and songbirds, sandwich those troubles
‘tween layers of manna and waxed paper,
the memories of which should be
poured out of a glass-lined thermos
like sweet condensed milk,
reminiscent of gentler days
when god spent more time
amongst thieves and whores.
well, tomorrow anyways…
(knock on wood)
© 2013 by Juanita Lewison-Snyder
Mine isn’t made of wood.
It’s plastic with some sort of weird wood-looking filler.
I know because I installed a new lock and knob.
But, it still knocks the same.
KNOCK ON WOOD
Knock on door number one?
The first thing that life hands you.
Knock on wood. Will it protect you?
Door number two has the pretty girl.
Will you take her for a whirl?
Doors three and four might be great.
Every decision affects your fate.
Will you take door one or will you wait?
Will you knock on heaven’s gate?
Choices, choices, what to do?
Be sure to open that door where He beckons you.
CONTRARIAN
The knock on Wood
was that he would
not quit for good
his neighborhood
to learn Talmud,
although he could
stand up for good,
as well he should.
But Wood would not.
What are we knocking on?
Sometimes, when I knock on wood
I wonder if it’s really wood I’m knocking on
Or some cheap imitation. It looks like real
Wood and it makes a sound when my fists
Lightly pound – but is it solid? A thin veneer
Of wood might be spread over some manufactured
Materiel and painted or dyed to match the
Idiosyncrasies of the real thing – knotholes
In a darker shade, the progression of rings.
Smell is a good indicator of real wood. Even
If it has been around for centuries there is
Still that smell of must, the old forest with
Its tangled webs of birth and death. But in
Order to get that smell, you have to put
Your face down almost touching the wood
Itself and that is not always possible – or
Desired. So there you are, you knock on
Something handy, within reach and if it
Isn’t real wood, it is a stand in for wood,
Playing wood’s part in the grand drama of
The lives of all of us, trees, man and the
Earth itself.
This wood
This wood is
tired
and not
the least bit
enthusiastic.
Abhors
the attention
and it’s being
in no way
sarcastic.
Although
you may
view
its demands
as drastic…
It asks
that
from now on
you
only
knock
on plastic.
love it
If everything goes as I intend
the red faced owner of this glass house
will drink an extra bottle of pinot noir
and forget to close his windows.
Then I, his parakeet, who craps on his leather
couch, and you, the scrub jay who bullies
squirrels from the dandelion garden,
will get a chance to know the difference
between thin air and glass.
We will leave behind the flightless memory
of bashed in bird brains and sit together
on the branches of a dying apple tree
squawking Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata
until just before sunrise when sleepy
neighbors start throwing stones.
If Everything Goes as I Intend
The red faced owner of this glass house
will drink an extra bottle of wine
and forget to close his windows.
Then I, his parakeet who craps on his leather
couch, and you, the scrub jay who bullies
squirrels from the dandelion garden,
will get a chance to know the difference
between thin air and glass.
We will leave behind the flightless memory
of bashed in bird brains and sit together
on the branches of a dying apple tree
squawking Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata
until just before sunrise when sleepy
neighbors start throwing stones.
THE KNOCK AT THE DOOR
I rise at the promise
Of the knock at the door.
Good solid wood resounds,
Begging for attention.
No matter my intent,
It will not be denied.
Promise.
Of adventure?
Of problems?
Of friends?
Of strife?
Promise.
I can’t ignore it.
I rise at the promise,
Drawn to the sound like
A cat to a bug,
A dog to his food,
A child to mud and dirt.
Girl Scout cookies?
Helpful neighbor?
Power outage?
A noise complaint?
Small child-peddled kittens?
Door-to-door salvation?
I rise at the promise
Of the knock at the door.
©2013 Orion Lyonesse
Four Leaf clover,
Shooting star,
Horseshoe, rainbow
Rabbit’s paw,
Fingers crossed for something good,
Hope I’m lucky
Knock on wood
Hope its not to late to try this ^^;
Four leaf clover,
Shooting star,
Horseshoe, rainbows,
Rabbit’s paw,
Fingers crossed for something good
Hope I’m lucky
Knock on wood
I jotted down antoerh tonight …
Libraries
Books
Illiterate crooks
Carrots
Peas
More stew please
Bushes
Grass
A smallmouth bass
Makeup
Eyes
A pretty girl cries
An outcome
Good
Knock on wood
TO SAVE SUSANA
Knock on wood, on pipe, on rebar, chunks
of brick from a knocked-out wall
ceiling between 2nd and 3rd floors between
rows of sewing tables / knock and
listen for a response between calls for silencio!
and siren between collapsed corner and
broken window as a dog goes scouting between
so many dead and the chance someone’s
still alive under jumbles of concrete scraps
of fabric chicken-wire holding up what
used to be standing wall / gray scum
of concrete-dust on Friday’s cold coffee /
knock on wood and listen for a prayer
Beautiful writing, Taylor.
Varnish and Girth
I always thought of it as a sign that would punctuate
a better season. I saved up for the pinewood table
with golden growth rings and brown knots.
It looked so regal among the poor white
patio chairs, wickered and repurposed for living
room furniture, where the varnish, I then noticed,
had slipped away from its legs and arm rest.
I envisioned fancy dinners on royal blue plates
from a discount palace my eyes fell in want with.
Food with Martha Stewart’s fingerprint
and my coming of wage were inevitable.
I just knew days of digging in a coffee
can for rainy day change would be
archived in some memory with bare walls.
I just knew I wouldn’t have to knock
on my parent’s door, or precious wood.
I love your images! ‘Martha Stewart’s fingerprint,’ ‘memory with bare walls,’ ‘royal blue plates…my eyes fell in want with,’ and ‘patio chairs, wickered and repurposed for living
room furniture.’ ‘Coming of wage’ is a nice twist on the phrase. Nicely done!
I appreciate your kind feedback, Orion. I’m pleased you enjoyed this poem.
Gracias.
Wonderful, Yolee!
Thank you, Sara.
THE CARPENTER’S COMPLAINT
(The Knock on Wood)
Knotty pine, knotty pine,
you give me a naughty time,
bending nails, dulling blades,
just look at the mess we’ve made!
You make me nuts, I start to drool
and measure twice (which was the rule).
When I cut you down to size
I get sawdust in my eyes.
Soon I sneeze, choke and cough,
surely I have had enough.
I look at you and I see shelves,
but you’ve loftier visions for yourselves.
You chip, you split, you dent, and fail
when my hammer misses a nail.
My wits end has made me spastic.
I wish that you were made of plastic.
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik 2013
You made me laugh! I could easily see a frustrated handyman trying to build shelves!
WHO’S THERE?
It was a great place to gestate and grow,
knowing that the nuts never dwell
where the trees no longer grew.
A strain of Dutch Elm erased
the classic overhang that once graced
her curbs. Children played
where their imaginations took them,
and staying engaged until the street lamps
flickered hello. And you knew you had to go
when the symphony of parental
whistles sounded. You were grounded
to the people who resided there,
never a care of destruction or death
until age showed its tired head.
The yards were mowed and trimmed,
a shimmering emerald island
surrounded on all sides by love.
Above all else, it was the home
for generations, felt the pains
and elation of a familial bond,
until we finally reached beyond
her borders. Wood Street was home.
But now it stands alone. The only
knock on Wood was that no one had remained.
Knock, knock? Who’s there?
No one.
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik 2013
You so evoked my childhood and home that I cried for past times long gone. Wonderful!
Knock on Wood
“Luck is believing you’re lucky.” ~Tennessee Williams
We rub lamps to conjure genies.
Some magic’s what we wish we had
while we sip our dry martinis,
while cursing out our luck turned bad.
Some magic’s what we wish we had.
We knock on cherry, maple, oak,
while cursing out our luck turned bad.
The gods of fortune, we invoke.
We knock on cherry, maple, oak.
We wish on four-leaf clovers, and
the gods of fortune, we invoke.
We pay our seers. Cash in hand.
We wish on four-leaf clovers, and
we rub lamps to conjure genies.
We pay our seers. Cash in hand,
while still sipping dry martinis.
###
I recognize this as a certain type of poem but don’t know the name. What is this? I love the way the lines dance among themselves, changing partners and acquiring new meanings.
First you quote my favorite playwright, and then follow up with a fabulous poem. Loved it, RJ.
Uncovering the Past
Looking out the window
frosted tints covered it’s ware
tiny spread out lines and shapes
crispy feathered squares
Wondering where she was right now
wondering where she used to be
nothing seemed to make sense anymore
of the woman she used to see
Flickering flashback moments
sometimes forgotton closets in her mind
keepsakes of the times gone by
closing up her blinds
Turning to see another
the image on the wall
who is this before me?
i pray, i can not recall?
Confusing takes over the body
nothing makes sense anymore
of who she used to be
of who she is no more
At the tree door
Knock gently
In the woods
bare knuckles
brushing bark
softly
Knock gently
as chestnut blossoms
float in your hair
Knock gently
as the mother of
all welcomes you
into One
knock wood
beautiful poem, loved it!
Beautiful
beautiful poem to test posting on
Lovely writing, Dr. P.
At the tree door
Knock gently
In the woods
bark brushing
bare knuckles
Knock gently
as chestnut
blossoms float
In your hair
Knock gently
and the mother
of all will welcome
you into her arms
of all
Knock wood
Whoops thought I lost the little poem and rewrote as quickly as I could -sorry now there are 2 hope you enjoy 1 – knock wood
Keep
Never
Obliterate
Conscience
Knowledge
Observe
Necessity
Wondering
Over
Obvious
Destiny
Knocks on wood
Knocking rays and dripping water
Graphics on the graining wood
Maple, birch, oak and cherry
Hardening,— misunderstood
Ash and beech are like brothers
Hungry, thirsty for the sap
Roasted, toasted, ripped from Mother
Bleeding hearths with tearful wraps–
And dressed up leaves just do not wonder
Why the wood doth look so sad—-
PriyA Jane
`knocking rays and dripping water’ – wonderful imagery in this poem. Love it.
Monochromatic walls slowly
regain their pigment in the
early morning glow.
You slumber still, a peaceful
state unbroken by any worldly
distractions. As the rising light
illuminates the planes of
your face, I glimpse a future
as tranquil as the dream
from which it spawns.
Easy conversation, layered with
laughter and likeness.
Our limbs intertwined on
a bed of forever.
You entice authenticity from
its road-weary resting place.
I hold my breath, hopeful that
this glimpse will become a
dream of life rather than a
life of dreaming.
Outstanding poem. I loved the last two lines.
well done!
This Will Turn Into A Limerick … Knock On Wood
By Madeleine Begun Kane
I often will say, “knock on wood,”
And I WOULD knock on wood, if I could.
But it’s rarely around,
So instead I stomp ground,
In the hope it will do me some good.
This Will Turn Into A Limerick … Knock On Wood
That got me to thinking; thanks for the inspiration:
TARGETED
When a flicker goes knocking on wood
and the wood is in my neighborhood,
and he looks at my house
with the look of a louse,
then I’m sure that he’s up to no good.
Love it
Love it
– comment was misplaced -though PressOn is adorable!
When I wish and want for things to come true and are good,
I just knock on wood.
Like…
that my kids would grow up in a nice and safe neighborhood;
[knock on wood]
that people would be kind and decent like I know they could;
[knock on wood]
that the rich would give to the poor like a modern day Robin Hood;
[knock on wood]
that people would respect one another like we know they should;
[knock on wood]
and that we would see that life is really simple,
and we could go through it without being misunderstood…
knock on wood.
WITHOUT PORTFOLIO
I’m knocking at your door because
you need me on your team.
I’m a specialist in Difficulty Analysis.
I’m a Polylemmist
fluent in Hobson’s Choice and Buridan’s Ass.
I’m ABD in Ennui, the balancing of alternatives
without committing to any of them.
I have no previous work experience –
I could never find a job that seemed to offer
the perfect fit for my skills, bad choices
being more in my line than good ones.
But I’ve come to see the value in a paycheck,
and I’m willing to massage
my principles. You’ll find me adept
at ways to avoid taking action.
I have the perfect polysyllabic word for any
conundrum. Don’t just knock on wood
and hope it turns out OK – I can give you
whole dissertations
that come to no conclusion.
She Gives Good
She gave it to me
gave it good
the way she touched
me like no one else
woke up feelings
in me
that I didn’t know
existed
sure, as a boy
just discovering
how to use it
by myself at first
then with others
but not like this
and still
after all these years
she’s still got it
she knocks on wood
unnecessarily
as no luck is involved
she has me
she has my heart
forever.
THE CREDO OF TWO-SHILLELAGH O’SULLIVAN
Knock on
wood and
bruise your
knuckles;
ain’t no
way to
garner
chuckles.
Why not
flick some
brass belt
buckles?
Then the
other
quits and
truckles.
The Meadow
Walking in the woods
I saw the doe,
still, in the meadow
like a magnificent
sculpture and—then
a blink.
Now it was my turn
to become planted
to the ground,
to stand watch
as she rooted for some
morsel untouched
by the cold nights—some
tidbit unswayed
by the argument that
soon, Cold would
be the only
language spoken.
And then, as I
blinked she was
gone—there was an
emptiness
to the meadow,
a hollowness.
And as the wind
pushed through the
trees on the far side,
the empty branches
clacked together
in such a way,
that from where
I stood, it sounded
like bamboo
wind chimes,
sing a chorus
all their own. Ellen Knight 3.6.13
(write a “knock on wood” poem)
This is so beautiful. Truly radiant.
Thank you Amy!
Ellen, this is a haunting and beautiful poem.
Eviction Notice
I heard the knock, knock, knock
on my ceiling, which was your
floor; our code, a neighborly
agreement with no strings attached…
we’d meet outside, flip a coin-
your place or mine?
Unless I didn’t want you, then I’d
answer twice on the pipe. One,
two, three. One two. Back and
forth that night it seemed you
wanted me more than I wanted
you. Still, you persisted;
you’re evicted.
~~
*Inspiration: Golden oldie~ “Knock Three Times”
Thanks for those memories
Of the song 
Good one, Laurie!
Still
Still as a statue,
she thought he
would see poise.
Even as she makes no noise,
he sees only stone.
Otis
Knock on wood
Maybe the dock
of the bay
You had no
time to waste
It was snatched
by a crash
Still, the music lasts
From vinyl
to CD
to download
Well past the time
you had to
knock, knock on wood
Knock on Wood by Eddie Floyd and Steve Cropper
On the Dock of the Bay by Otis Reddng and Steve Cropper
We walked the green fields,
grandma Maeve and me,
and as we passed the old May tree
we touched its bark.
“Absit omen”, said she,
“perhaps its spirits will nah trouble thee.”
And now I am far away over the sea
and Maeve has traveled the Spirit way.
But ever and always I’ll knock on wood,
remembering Maeve, so Irish, so fey.
woodpecker searching
for remainings of last year,
making room for spring
That’s what they do. Wonderful haiku; thank you.
Nicely penned.
thank you, Marie!
Good Gift
It’s small and simple
and quite light
I forget what
you decided
It should be made
from finally
I wish we
had gone ahead
and patented it;
A really good idea
and I wear mine often
As it’s handy
Just the way
you said
it would be
When you gave
it to me
I remember
how carefully
you burned
the message
onto the surface
Before stringing
it on a leather thong
and slipping
it over my
head
What could be
more perfect?
How often did people
say, “knock on wood”
Then spend the next few
minutes looking
around for some wood?
With this pendant…
I’d always have
mine handy
The School of Hard
Close counts
in horseshoes; hand
over your last
(lucky)
penny and smile
for the camera,
honey.
We’re fresh out
of rabbits, but
this chicken foot
might scratch
the surface.
If nothing
else,
rap your knuckles
against this page
stay away from the broken
mirror and throw your own
salt.
.
Veery cool, De!
Knock Wood
Fire, plague or for common good
or to prevent some calamity,
and amend our misfourtune, knocking wood
will help to preserve our sanity.
In the event of calamity
there’s only one thing we can do
that helps to preserve our sanity,
touch or knock wood (or bamboo).
It is true, the one thing we can do
if we do not want a catastrophe
touch or knock wood (or bamboo)
to stall pain or sorrow or bankruptcy.
We don’t want some kind of catastrophe
fire, plague or something not good.
So stop pain or sorrow or bankruptcy;
to amend all misfortune: knock wood.
Diana Terrill Clark
MAC’S KNEE
Some people
rap their head for luck
but old Mac
rapped his knee,
so when he struck a match on it,
we knew
he’d be smoking like a fire.
LOVE IT!
I decided to post first and then check to see if anyone else has been humming this oldie but goodie all day after reading the prompt:
Knock on Wood
“It’s like thunder, lightning,
the way you love me is frightening.
You better knock(knock knock knock knock) on wood. . . ”
–Eddie Floyd
Third of May, they called the band,
maybe somebody’s birthday,
maybe the day they started it up,
practicing in David’s basement
until his mom or maybe a neighbor
complained, then hauling the drums,
the guitars, amps, over to the garage
out back of Ricky’s house.
The play list was edgy then—Louie, Louie,
We Gotta Get Out of This Place,
Ninety-Six Tears. When they played
at the annual high school talent show,
the girls all scream, and no small number
of the teachers sat glumly, fingers
plugging their ears, complaining later
that they expected something more
along the lines of Mitch Miller,
Lawrence Welk, nice music, none
of this wild stuff—no talent, no dignity—
which only made them play louder
and the drum solos last longer,
which made them push the limits
sometimes, just to see if anyone
really listened to the words. Hell,
they didn’t even know the words
to Louie, Louie, and they sang it
at least once or twice at every gig.
Gary hovered over the drum kit,
all angles, arms and legs, ready to solo
on Wild Thing, Born to Be Wild,
begging to try In a Gadda Davida.
His favorite, though, was always
Knock on Wood, his drum sticks ready
for that knock knock knock knock,
knowing all the crowd sang along.
Late at night he dreamed of finding
that frightening kind of love one day,
like thunder, like lightning. Luck
like that was enough to make anyone,
superstitious or not, knock on wood.
Enjoyed this read and walk down memory lane. Thanks Nancy! (And I’m all about the long drum solos!)
Elegy
Beethoven’s Fifth can fill our head
with pounding death and mortal flight.
Imagining night streaked with dread,
a wolf outside, we wait for light.
And if indeed the morning comes
bringing a store of hope and good,
our psyches still retain the drums
as death at our door knocks on wood.
i love this, Jane!
When You Need a Bit of Luck (A Pantoum)
Knock on wood
when you wish for luck,
be good,
don’t be a schmuck.
When you wish for luck
find a four leaf clover,
don’t be a schmuck,
don’t roll over.
Find a four leaf clover,
a lucky penny will do,
don’t roll over
wear something blue!
A lucky penny will do
when you are in a pinch
wear something blue
never give an inch.
When you are in a pinch
be good,
never give an inch
knock on wood.
Wind Song
We thought the rain was gone today
leaving a slice of heavy gray
along the horizon atop
a darkened forest, a winter crop.
The weary fields soggy with rain
wait for the storms to come again.
A muffled cloud-mass hovers now
as gust of wind shakes barren bough.
How their limbs knock a neighbor tree’s,
such clacking bark on bark, like knees
that shake against the winter cold
or creak and pop as we grow old.
So wind on wood on wood on wind
determine sounds that must attend
the swaying prelude to a storm,
that lets the wind decide the form
of music it will make today—
flute or drum, wind has a way.
Beautiful!
Thanks, Marie.
A lovely poem, ..beautiful images…
That’s Why
I got up this sunny morning
With a to-do list ten miles long:
Wash the car, mow the yard
Write a children’s song
Clean the kitchen, mop the floor
Feed the kitty, clean its box
Do the laundry, vacuum up
Match the single socks
Run the errands, pay the bills
Crock chicken in the pot
Read a book, exercise
Study how to plot.
So why didn’t I
do the things I should?
Of course it’s all because
I didn’t knock on wood.
Great rhythm, and great fun!
Agreed!
Yew branches bow and twist.
Rain pelts screens and storms–
meant to keep out bugs and cold.
A stink bug dive bombs
the light above my list–
not one thing done.
Shivers ski down my spine.
Maple stretches to the door
and knocks on wood
PENNY! How good to see you out here! Well done, as always.
Nice to BE back, Elena–been missing you guys.
oops….sometimes I type too fast and leave out half of people’s names
A Feral Itch
It is the start of March.
Bare branches fan screed grey sky
over snowdrops that hang their heads
and melt winter’s heart. We drive the last howls
of winter into spring, a growling feral itch
scratched, and we look on faint green
that hangs like veiled ghosts through birches,
and we knock on the white of birch,
and beg entry into spring.
This is gorgeous, Misky.
I especially LOVE:
“faint green
that hangs like veiled ghosts”
Thanks, De.
YES. And this: “snowdrops that hang their heads and melt winter’s heart”
WOW.
Thank you.
beautiful!
Thanks, Adriana.
Gorgeous writing, Misk!
Shattered I suffered what a release
Escapism thought to have consoled
Bitterly pulled me back into a realm
How could I not explode…………….
Into excitement hearing the good news
Anticipation hinders my actions at their best
Confused but not disappointed
My lack of understanding
Maybe one day I’ll see the logic
Boggled down in my mind
Until then I’ll hope for best
And continue to ‘knock on wood’
Blue Moon
I washed your clothes last night
sat up listening to you fumbling
with your keys at the kitchen table
trying not to blame myself too much
that all you are able to cook is
tosted cheese and beefaroni
I think about how the grass
survives a herd of buffaloes
and how buffalo survive bad grammar
When I tell you this, you
do not laugh, but reply instead
in Sweedish, arms punctuating every phrase
and I think My God, this is me I am seeing
poor soul, except that it is not, and it’s beautiful
like dormitory food slipped under a neighbor’s door
Andrew, this is vivid and real and raw. And beautiful.
Hear, hear!
Wonderful. Truly.
Arboreal Aubade
I’ll live in a tree.
For here, you see
my roots will go deep.
I’ll rock to sleep
to the sway of this leafy new day
and etch poems
into umber bark.
A lark
will be my muse
and this sun
-rise my song.
I’ve known all
along that I was made
for breeze
and seaside limbs
blown loose to sky. I
breathe best here,
and I plan to inspire
my fill.
If you’re still
and quiet,
and bring in
-digo pens,
you can stretch in
and quench your own
thirst.
Knock first.
.
Love it, De.
“etch poems into umber bark” – sigh …
Thanks so much, Marie.
Kneeling in praise
Light from sun rays
Infiltrate the curtains
Dance on my eyelids
Birdsong flickers
Across my consciousness.
Golden warmth envelops me
It is tomorrow
And I rise up
To let my knees hit the floor
In praise.
Superstitious
Superstitious? Not a chance – that’s my stance. Don’t mind thirteen, and won’t intervene if you open that umbrella, fella (inside implied). Cross my fingers, hope to die?? Just LET that black cat pass me by. That rabbit’s foot can just stay put. An open purse beneath full moon won’t make me richer anytime soon.
So, superstitious? No, not me. And see, I won’t be misunderstood,
knock wood.
Brilliant, Marie. Fantastic.
Love this, Marie. Especially that open purse beneath full moon…
Thanks you guys!
loved your poem, Marie! Very clever mix of superstitions turned into poetry! Loved it!
Excellent, Marie. I love it!
SUPER STITCHES
I’d watch and wonder.
He would mutter
under his breath
and reach for the nearest
surface and rap his knuckles
the knuckles of the hand
that was wrapped
around
a little white furry foot;
she would sigh, roll her eyes
and yell
(not words, really,
more like a growl).
I asked Grammy once
(I think I was five)
she said it wasn’t right
that Pops had super stitches.
I didn’t know
what that meant…
I just crossed my fingers
and hoped they would stop yelling.
Oh my! Too cute, Paula!
Oh, Paula. This is a powerful piece. You had me at that title.
That is sooo 5-yr-old
Good one, Paula!
This is just so adorable! ^^
Ditto on the title!!! ^^
TWO DOWNIES AT WORK ON A WINTER MORNING
A thousand blows dispersed the snow
as the woodpeckers hammered the oak tree.
Five thousand blows diffused the snow,
making of it a smoke tree,
and as they pecked, they parroted so;
by sun-up it gave me a headache.
Ten thousand blows defeated snow
and even made my bed ache.
Nice! I thought about writing about a woodpecker as well. I like this!
Thank you. I actually owe this to a scene from an old movie, “I Remember Mama,” and a ditty about ten thousand Svedes.
I also wrote about woodpeckers. goes with the theme.
Beautiful poem!
Light from sun rays
Infiltrate the curtains
Dance on my eyelids
Birdsong flickers
Across my consciousness.
Golden warmth envelops me
It is tomorrow
And I rise up
To let my knees hit the floor
In praise.
Uncalled, unplanned, but hopefully not unwelcomed
I walk her path, her tree lined, inviting approach
sensing her eyes watching me through her curtained, dark windows
the pane of rejection lingers on my mind, in my chest
her door beckons and barricades
the warm grains invite, yet repel
I stop, halt, hesitate. I wait
I knock on wood, she’s home
EXCELLENT write, PowerUnit.
Beautiful! Loved reading your poem.
Thank you