Poems by Alora M. Knight

I had decided that it would awaken my muse
If I read the poems current publishers use.
When I looked at what is marketed now,
I couldn't help being puzzled, somehow.
The words do not rhyme, no story is told.
I simply felt I was left out in the cold.
I really can't say how many hours I spent,
But it all added up to complete discontent.
Somewhere, it seems, in the passing of years
There have been many changes. It brings me to tears
For words always have been such a joy to me
When they have been written in pure harmony.
So I went to the dictionary, and lo and behold,
This is the gist of what I was told.
"It's imaginative language, rhythmically expressed.
An art in which the beauty of emotions is stressed."
There are so many poets in my books on the shelf,
Including Will Shakespeare, the old bard himself.
If he, and the others, catered to rhyme,
It surely shouldn't be destroyed by time.
Would Thoreau now rest by his quiet pond,
Contemplating the heavens beyond,
Grasp what today's poets seem to be saying,
Or would he liken it to a donkey braying?
Would Whitman, if he lived in these present days,
Think "Leaves of Grass" just a passe phrase,
Or would he give in to the poet's curse
If he'd accidentally start rhyming a verse?
I'm wondering just what Thomas Moore would say
If he could read the poetry today.
With nary a word using rhythm or rhyme,
Would he back in his coffin gratefully climb?
When Edgar A. Poe wandered weak and weary,
Thinking about the midnight dreary,
And he heard the raven quote "never more,"
Did he think it was just a metaphor?
If Emily Dickinson came back to earth
Do you think it possible she could give birth
To words that have no connecting thought?
I doubt if that was the way she was taught.
Do you think that Longfellow could really survive
Reciting "The Children's Hour" on TV live,
Or would they boo him down from the stand
Before his rhyming got out of hand.
Today the Brownings would surely recoil
To think they had spent all their earthly toil
Perpetuating words of enduring love.
What could they have been thinking of?
Dear Robert Frost can peacefully lie,
Knowing that his poetry will never die,
But some poets today, though many are read,
Who will remember them after they're dead?
I shouldn't include everyone in this verse.
Good poets are still writing, for better or worse.
The fact that I love both rhythm and rhymes
May only show that I'm way behind in the times.
The need to express comes straight from the heart.
At least, it would seem that's the best place to start.
So I'll try to respect all poets today,
But for me to be happy, I'll do it my way.

Let everyone gather
With no heartaches or tears.
Let the bright memories flow
From all the past years.

Let there be music,
Familiar old songs.
Let flowers stay in gardens
Where their glory belongs.

Let peacefulness reign
'Til the evening sun sets.
Let no words be unspoken,
Then there will be no regrets.

True love's everlasting
Through eternity.
So brighten the world
In remembrance of me.

I will take those precious memories
And frame them with my love,
Then hang them in the hallways of my heart.
I hope the fond remembrance
Of the joys that once were shared
Will overcome the tears that want to start.

Little thought was given
As the years went quickly.
We took good times for granted, that is true.
Perhaps, it all was for the best,
Enjoying simple pleasures,
In retrospect, that was all we ever knew.

There was no use to ask the future
To give away its secrets.
No blueprints for what would lie ahead.
It is the choices that are made,
Experiences, both good and bad,
That down life's pathways, all are led.

Looking back, I sometimes wonder
If there were things I should have changed,
A hurt that even now I might appease.
Has it all been taken from me?
No, time has shown a tender mercy
For I still have my precious memories.

When sleepless I lie,
As the hours slip by,
I go walking the paths back home.
I hear the meadowlark's song
As I amble along
In this fanciful way that I roam.

As my memories clutter,
A tractor's soft mutter
Is providing new chocolate brown fields
For the ground to be seeded
When spring planting is needed.
A plan for which all nature yields.

A tinkling cowbell
Tells me all is now well
With the herd contentedly grazing.
Mother cows keep an eye,
While their newborns race by
With a speed that is simply amazing.

Thunderclouds overhead
Start to fill me with dread,
For I know that soon it will storm.
I cannot complain.
In fact, I love rain
As long as I'm in where it's warm.

As my feet stir the dust
I know that I must
Leave my childhood memories behind.
Still, it's a comfort to know
That wherever I go,
They will always be there in my mind.

We are never finished products,
No matter how long we live.
There's always something we can add,
Like learning to forgive.

It isn't all that easy
To release a long held grudge.
For years it's been a part of us.
It doesn't want to budge.

I often wonder if that is why
Some of us live so long
In what seems needless suffering.
Is there still need to right a wrong?

Perhaps we're given extra time
To clear our hearts and mind
Of many thoughts so negative
That peace is hard to find.

Forgiving past offenders
For the harm they did to you
Opens up a channel that
Will let His love come through.

Like a butterfly lies dormant,
Awaiting to expand,
So waits love's own perfection
In the chrysalis of man.

Perpetuating hatred--
It's happening every day,
While many who contribute
Would be the first to say,
"Don't call me a bigot.
I'm broadminded as can be.
It's just that I don't believe
In a mixed society."

So deeply has this poison spread.
The roots have long been buried.
Still, in a small child's fertile mind
Some seeds will still be carried.
If they have heard somebody
Speak out with great contempt
About a color or a race,
Then hatred will ferment.

It later will flourish
If no one interferes.
Racial slurs and epitaphs
Will frequently appear.
There is an old Indian quotation,
One that clearly speaks.
"Don't judge a person 'til you have walked
In his moccasins many weeks."

There is no person living today
Who wouldn't somewhere be an outcast.
If everyone would just remember that,
We might have peace at last.

If you have helped one single person
To overcome a prejudicial mind,
You have made an angel sing.

If you've withheld hot words of anger,
When control was hard to find,
You have made the heavens ring.

If you keep a smile upon your face,
Though the going's really rough,
You'll be blessed in many ways,

Doing little acts of kindness
Will, perhaps, be just enough
To brighten up somebody's days.

If you find love within your heart,
Do not leave it there unspoken.
There is no greater gift to give.

Reach out to everyone around you,
Let its warmth be spread unbroken
Into this world in which we live.

What will it take to free this mind,
Imprisoned long in apathy,
Now reduced to mundane thoughts
That stultify activity?

What words might somehow trickle up
Through dormant webs of talent,
Releasing from the tangled depths,
A joy once prevalent?

I stand and peer outside my cave,
Security behind me.
Am I afraid to take the chance
Success might someday find me?

Can I withstand the pounding waves
That new ideas foment?
Or shall I once again retreat,
In dullness be content?

Time laughs as I now hesitate.
It says, "Can I keep waiting?
Afraid to leave my placid nest,
Just stay there still debating?"

No! Not when new horizons
Are reaching out to find me.
The glove is thrown, the die is cast.
I close the door behind me.