Your Uniqueness Meets My Need
Only I…find less comfort in just me
The likes of me ends former me
Because I desire a brand-new-me
Dissimilar…there's none like you
Strange [er] I know not you, you know not me
yet we behave as two do
Unique…others before I didn't get
But when we meet, so did our eyes
then conspired to equalize
Now, I'm placing my bet
Unknown …oh how mysterious
But if you're love, then both know
Your uniqueness meet my needs
Poet-ess has needs as well
Allow me to dip into that well,
and draw from my muse
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Present From A Thief
Papa always picked the smallest doll,
Movable legs and arms loosely
Held together by rubber bands.
Sneaking through the door
In bare feet-not waking all
And placing it in a box beside
Little candies and fruits
The firewood snapped and popped
Lighting up the house like firework
On the Fourth of July…they slept.
Was that terrible act
Perfectly covered up?
For years, I called the action into question:
Whose eyes the wool was pulled over?
How could he in his drunken stupor
Slip in and out unnoticed to
Steal her innocence?
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Oh, How The time Slips Away
There was grey in my hair, when we met.
Young men or nor men -no longer catch
Their breath when passing.
Yet by happenstance we meet.
Laying bare heart and soul,
You seem to betray both.
I, being fully dressed in personal
Accomplishments, and I having
Been ill and frazzled by a disease
Had only love to ease.
And you “love “ quarreled
With me days and nights…
Monopolized my days and
Nightmares my nights;
Time and space defeated both.
I continue loving kindly and softly,
Even as a hail of words of your late wife’s
Feats troubled my heart to beat.
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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To Hope: from despair
All tell me not to despair, yet
I’m worn and flat as a tire.
Yet my mind recollects the
times we spent in the park.
Strolling and talking, discussing
old and current events, as well
as the number one book
on the bestseller's list.
And a narrative of happy times to
leave behind to be read in spare times.
About love poems that color our hearts red,
about a ton of kisses you planted on my forehead
about your strong right arm being comforting cane.
Drawing back the curtain of moments of birth:
Look! the stained blue dress tucked away in memory’s trunk;
Look! those gentle tummy pinches or waves and tucks;
Look! your knowing smile and catchy eyes were your line and hook.
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Home...
Heaven?
Paradise?
Rapture or
Cloud nine?
Where is the key
to enter your Bliss?
So high on your heavenly horse.
So proud under your rose-studded straw hat,
can't see disheveled man on his dead cement
horse, independently hardened by empathy- the
anesthesia for poverty;
begging for a dollar piece of bread to eat,
not an outhouse or bathhouse to shit, piss, and bathe-
still nose high as the clouds in the sky;
can't smell nor tell what's smelling to high heavens, cause
head held as high as the hundred dollar
stiletto holding you high and its blade piercing the lowly hearts
Cheeks and lips blood red, sculptured
eyebrows and polka dot finger nails. Yet, you
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Dirge
Remembering he who walked dirt roads.
Mounted knolls to reach her house. By ways where
heaps of fruits lay in ruins. Memories of
ashes to ashes and dust to dust.
Pains and sorrows gather tall, yet
she slow danced with sorrows and all.
Moods bending and twisting but having a ball!
Lasting desire the only wallflower alone.
In her time, Momma's milk nurtured nine.
Springs sprung greens and fruits; the blazing
Summers ripened berries and plums; autumn's
Amber splendor signaled her work done.
Now winter renders cold and gloom.
No more seeds in spring, summers cold, autumn fell.
Now, harsh winter's gone but her venerableness lags on.
She marveled no more the vivid moon, nor
her smile as bright as the sun.
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Transcendence
Seeds, berries, and foods in short supply
flocks of feathered friends made a V line
to a place of plenty.
The existing regime idealism-over time-
calls for changes in the status quo.
Ethics and morals of our leaders “ism” in its
existence has to be comprised or discarded.
Before...an evening star stood alone
in the shadow of the sun.
But on this blustery winter day an
era of change is on the way.
A morning star rises in glory to overshadow
despair, shed light on hopelessness, and presents
a gleam of hope on healthcare and education,
jobs and housings, stable families...even
an open hand to friends and foes alike.
So that the whole world can live
on a well-preserved planet.
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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The Power Of Love
Early on
The radiance morning sun
infused space exposing
unbound self.
I lay beside him marveling the pink aura
waltzing behind my lids…
could this be some kind of omen or link?
I begin to hold onto his body, squeezing
extra breath on my neck, and delighting
in the croon of his melodic breathing.
Beguiled by his sensual eyes caused
me to feel like the trembling heart
of a captive bird then, I knew love had
captured my quivering heart again!
At this time
pregnant with your love.
appetite increasing, throwing up,
nights devoid of sleep, and
ecstatic tears dropping in heap
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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My Special Birthday Card to You
No words could be found that could
tell you how delighted I am spending
this special day telling you how lucky
and privileged I am to be sharing this
day with you, my husband!
I could find no words in the store that said, “you’re
My friend in good times, my rock in
times of sorrow-my reason for all the
wonderful yesterdays, and my promise for tomorrows!
Too, I found no words that said to you: “honey
I feel the same love for you today, your birthday,
that I felt for you the many days before-even
before becoming your wife, and promise to make
this year, and every year the best in your life!
I couldn’t even find final words to tell you: that this year’s
betters and worst, pains and sorrows, we stayed by each
other’s side sharing the laughter and tears through
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Raining...
Morn, midday, midnight…
Pouring off rooftops,
down windowpanes,
down my face, pouring
hardship to absorb
Morn, midday, midnight
complete, but I'm disengaged
from my whole
day follows rain and the
advent of sun, and solitude
finds its place in dry rest
Baring loneliness and
longing for my sun and the
injured sky rains blood without
coloring my big star red, these increase
energy in my bedlam! Yet, I'm not too
absent-minded to intuit the omen:
trees deprived of life, and
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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