Linda Knight's More Allsorts Of Poetry.© Copyright Linda Knight

The Skip.

A skip in the garden
Contains many things
From old broken chairs
To brass curtain rings.
One person's rubbish
Is another's treasure
As people sift through it
When passing at leisure.
That old metal stove
That old iron gate
A load of old pots
Some wood for the grate.
They turn it all over
And take items out
An ancient old can
With a rather large spout.
A wickerwork basket
A balding old brush
An old laundry basket
Made of fine rush.
A black bag of clothes
Still o.k. to wear
A ragged old dolly
An old teddy bear.
When they have finished
Their sifting all day,
The truck comes along
And takes it away.

The Beach.

The wind is whipping sand into my face.
Seagulls are calling, swooping, giving chase.
Waves are crashing in, sucking holes in the sand.
Black skies are brewing all over the land.
Rubbish, is lying all over the beach.
Green plastic bottles, old stone from a peach.
Driftwood is floating in on the tide.
An old leather boot being left on its side,
The thunder is loud and the lightening is flashing
And little boats are tossing and thrashing.
Everything is getting a soaking in the storm.
But I know in a while that all will soon be calm.

Rainfall.

Raindrops settle on the earth
Supplying moisture for the plants.
Raindrops hit the window panes
And run down like tears shed on the cheek.
Raindrops hit the surface of the river
Creating outward circular patterns.
Raindrops drip from brollies
As we try to keep dry underneath,
And as the raindrops end and the sun comes out,
Water globules left on plants look like diamonds.
Window panes show up the dirt
As the sun shines through into the room.
Rivers run faster and muddier
As the land sheds off excess water,
And puddles are left on the footpaths
So that little children can run and splash in them.

Thinking Time

Tick tock.

Twenty thirty.

How long does it take to write a poem about a clock?
Tick tock, tick tock.

Twenty thirty one.

I feel so constricted and very restricted,
to write a good rhyme in such a short time.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.

Twenty thirty two.

I haven't a notion, I'll mix up a potion
of words in a mixture, I can't get a fixture
as time's moving fast and I have at last
a poetic rhyme with thinking time.
Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock!

Twenty thirty three.

The Hunter.

With flattened ears she lowers her body,
Her blackened legs slowly move forward,
Her eyes transfixed on the prey.
Her rear end wriggles from side to side,
With thin black tail twitching at the end.
She stops perfectly still,
Seconds pass by,
Her ears go forward in slow motion,
With eyes focused on the movement ahead.
Her body and head stay perfectly still for a moment
Back legs spring into action and
At full speed she throws herself on to the mouse,
Biting, rolling over and scuffing her back legs.
She has caught her dinner.

Thinking About The Moon

Without the moon there would be no ebbing and flowing of the sea,
No eclipses where darkness interrupts the suns rays,
No harvest moon, or song in tune,
No soft moonlight for lovers kisses.

The moon, a piece of rock,
Scarred with craters.
A place where spaceships have landed.
A dusty surface
Where man has left footprints.

The full moon, a golden hanging globe,
Lighting the way for travellers throughout time

With it's light and threads of love.

The Seasons

In the sleep of Winter
The dawn air smells fresh and cold.
Frost covers everything in the garden
With ice crystals that shine like diamonds in the sunshine.
Trees have a beauty of their own
As they stand naked against the sky.

At nature's awakening from sleep
The air smells pure and sweet
Yellow daffodils nod their heads in the breeze
The garden awaits a colourful explosion
As the earth warms to longer days
And the birds sing out the glory of Spring.

With Summers heat and vibrancy
The flowers respond in scenting the air
With perfumes not found in bottles,
And insects find pleasure in responding
To their task of pollinating.
The trees are now fully clothed in their leafy grandeur

The Autumn mists and lowering of temperature
Tell of what is to come
And as nature starts to shut down
It gives forth fruit on the vine
Leaving a message in a bottle
Of a good harvest.

The Four Seasons are a wonder to behold.

Young Spirit

The firewood crackled
As the flames burned bright,
And a sweet young lass
gave a smile of delight.

She danced, casting shadows
On the folk round the fire,
She was spirit of the night
As she danced with desire.

Dark eyes shone with fire,
Long black tresses flowed,
Red skirt swished about
And her gold jewellery glowed.

She danced on and on
'Till she fell to the floor,
To rest in the moonlight
Then she danced once more.

Quicksteps In Time

Dancing across the wooden floor,
One two three four,
One two three four,
To the rhythmic beat once more,
One two three four,
One two three four.
Round and round we'll dance together,
Round and round we'll dance forever,
Quicksteps in time.
One two three four,
One two three four.
With light feet we quickstep more,
Floating off across the floor,
We share quicksteps in time,
You and I.
Love and passion, round and round,
In the quickstep heartbeat sound.
One two three four,
One two three four.
Two hearts as one we dance on and on
Taking quicksteps in time until they are gone.


I wrote this next poem while in "lock down" for Covid-19 2020

Hard times.

Emotions are deep
Hearts are broken.
The battle is tough
against the unseen enemy.

Unity and strength,
Kindness and love,
We stand apart,
Yet we stand together.

It's a hard time for the whole world,
Let's hope that the victory is ours
In this battle against the unseen enemy,
And thank God for the goodness and courage of those around us.

Can't Find A Thing.

Just moved house,
Can't find a thing.
I open another draw in the kitchen
No cutlery to be seen.
It must be in the next drawer
No that's tea towels
Where is the cutlery?
Oh, this one has tablecloths,
Now where is the cutlery,
No that's more tea towels.
Must be in the next drawer
No cutlery to be seen.
I open another draw in the kitchen
Can't find a thing.
Just moved house.

High Tide.

Grey skies shrouded the sea
And a cold easterly wind rustled the surface.
As surging waves broke over the sea wall,
A fine mist of salt spray was whipped up into the air.

Newly painted beach huts stood in a line,
Longing for their doors to be opened,
So that excited noisy children carrying buckets
Filled with treasures of sea shells and sea weed,
Could run in and out,
And families could relax in deckchairs
And brew a cup of tea.

High above the cliff edge,
Seagulls wrestled with the upsurge of air.
On spanned wings, with dangling feet
And open beaks, they cried out with delight to each other.

As people walked along the cliff path,
Cocooned from the cold updraft,
They made the most of a windy, rainy day.

Shrubbery clung to the cliff edge
With exposed roots, and underneath,
Bluebells nestled in the wild grasses,
While small birds took refuge from the weather
In greening hawthorn.

With small cafes not yet open for the summer season,
Weather beaten sandwich boards and ice cream notices,
Await chalk messages of food menus.
Tree canopies moaned and swayed with the wind
And, as the cliff path got diverted because of erosion,
The traffic noise took over.

The Arrival.

As dawn heralds a new day,
and birds sing sweet music to the ear,
snowdrops gently nod in the icy breeze,
reminding us that Spring is nearly here.
Catkins hang on Birch and hazel,
and with the sap rising,
trees are eagerly waiting,
to dress in their new green finery.
With Winter departing and Spring on it's way,
the expectant earth gets ready to burst forth into new growth.

Woodmouse

Scurrying around
Inside the spaces
Of the old stone wall
, You make your nest
To raise your family.

Sitting on the edge of the wall
To make sure that the coast is clear,
You try to avoid the claws and jaws of predators,
As you forage for your daily needs.

You sit and eat so delicately.
With tiny pink feet clutching sunflower seeds,
You gnaw away the outer casings,
revealing the nourishing prize inside.

The Robin

Pulling his feathers in tight,
he flits from branch to branch.
Flicking his tail up and down
as he fiercely defends his territory,
he thrusts his red breast out,
and from his beak
a melody from his heart
floats in the air.

Time Moves On.

An old brass pendulum swings
from side to side
in its oak casing.
Filed metal cogs click into place.
Ornate metal hands
encircle the face on the clock.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Counting the seconds, minutes and hours.
Time moves on, past the Springtime flowers,
Summer sunshine and Autumn leaves,
Winter snow and icy breeze.
Tick tock, tick tock.
Pendulum swings on the clock.
Tick tock.

Water.

H I J K L M N O
H to O
H 2 O
Water
Liquid water
Precious to all living things.
Drinking water from the tap
Crystal clear, falling down
Hitting the surface of the sink
Splashing upwards and outwards
Creating little blobs of clear liquid.
Water to bathe in
NO JUMPING,
NO DIVING,
The pool isn't deep enough.
Swim,
And create outward flowing ripples
Of light patterns on the surface of the water.
Float and feel the water supporting your weight.
Strange liquid
Water,
It's recycled by nature,
Condensation,
From ground to sky, and sky to ground,
Water,
H 2 O.

A Round Of Love.

Love.
Love is an emotional journey through life.
Love is passionate,
Love is pure,
Love is kind,
Love is forgiving,
Love moves the senses,
To love and be loved is a wonderful, powerful experience.
Love moves the senses,
Love is forgiving,
Love is kind,
Love is pure,
Love is passionate,
Love is an emotional journey through life.
Love.

I Wish You Joy For Your Birthday.

Birthdays come and Birthdays go,
Each one special as you know.
The Birthday cake, with candles on
That you blow out and wish upon.
I wonder, does that wish come true?
On Birthdays old and Birthdays new.
Each day's special, live each one,
With joy, and have some Birthday fun,
With all your family and good friends,
And, before this poem ends,
Make that Birthday wish anew,
I hope the wish comes true for you.

The Dame

In the hustle and the bustle backstage,
The dame sits at her lighted mirror,
Dabbing pink rouge on her cheeks,
Sticking on her magnificent long eyelashes,
Painting her eyebrows a dazzling blue,
And following the outline of her pouting mouth with lipstick,
She creates a pair of red kissable lips.
She chooses the first of her glamorous dresses
To wear for the first scene of the pantomime,
The one that really gets the audience screaming,
An outrageous shiny, multicoloured number with laundry hanging round it,
The one where she can un-peg the washing to tease and show her knees,
Then bend over backwards
Exposing her magnificent tiered lacy underwear with the big blue bows on,
And get the intended wolf whistles.
She places the first of the wigs on her head,
The one with the birds nest in the middle of laundry packet,
After all she is Widow Twanky in Aladdin,
And what a Dame, there is nothing like her in all of Peking.