The Christmas Gift From Papa She Didn't Like
Slipping in on bare calloused feet-
though my little ears had heard
that friction sound many times before-
placing the doll in the stocking where
a peppermint stick, fruits-
[One of each] an apple, orange,
and Satsuma dangerously,
hang over the dry mantle –just a bit
above the cracking and popping
fiery oak log-without waking anybody
Nothing seems to silence the
Night after nights memories
Of the Incestuous bed
that even sheets couldn't
cover up...
Mama where were you?
Will you'll ever know
How my life turned out?
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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The Forgotten i
i know how it feels to be second and not
Knowing what to do about it; and the first
one refuses to care about it.
i know how it feels being depressed inside
That small capsule with capricious un-
Happiness and hopelessness prison guards
i know how i felt riding greyhound buses unoticed
by those seated comfortably up front, white-curtains
to obscure Negroes instead of light.
i know more saints who kneel and pray
Hoping for something magica in the distance and
finding out Later or never that reality is just being.
i know how it feels to be forgotten and alone
On a stinky garbage bin eating from a can
As passer-bys cosign to oblivion.
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Body Snatcher
In season of red and gold leaves exchanging lush green
with the amber leaves dancing by the music of the wind
on their
descent to the ground to make a fresh start in spring.
Not to feel like a dependent child, he snatched the clip
board from my hand as if it were his body, then commence
taking his
eyes
ears
and voice back...
'Dearest wife,
I want [my] me back! '
I'll take 'Me' with tubes dangling from
[my] love handles and my drowning tears.
Even the heart that beats like a captive bird's.
All the fears crowding out hope. I'll
take all those cries that sound like
moaning wind.
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Sound of Her Memory
Every day I hear the sound of
your memory ringing loudly
In my ears and the mind of my
heart feeling the beat of your beings.
Absent trace of songs and true
stories: all of a mouth no longer speaks.
Soundless, unreasoning, unjustified
hostess [fear], host [you] and
anxiety and phobia were sidebars.
Number of years ago,
a door opened and reluctantly
she entered and took her seat, with
quivering a heart, crossing
her wrist and becoming
captive of the dark.
Its 3 in every morning,
no sleep still,
because
the sound of
locked doors,
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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I Shall Dote Myself
I SHALL DOTE MYSELF
I was inspired to write "I Shall Dote Myself" Mother's Day, after noticing I had not received one card from my four (4) children! I thought, perhaps they cannot -after so many Mother's Days-find the words to express their sentiments. Her, my children, I shall dote myself:
I am a widow, mother, grandmother and great-grandmother, a sister, a partner and friend-
just an ordinary woman who can do extraordinary things.
I know how to lead, and
I can follow
I am naive:
shun sophistication in styles and techniques
I am ingenious:
clever, original, and effective.
I am sensitive, but
can be thick-skinned
I am a pragmatic, yet
I have fancies:
Impulsiveness, desirous-sometimes unfounded.
I'd rather truthful pains than comforting lies
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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A Mother's Collection: Tissues, Bones, And Blood '(Third)
You filled my life with joy
on that hot sticky summer day
Daddy had hoped the old car would live to
take us to the hospital and back-it did just that-
and earning its place in the car grave yard.
In spite of the tangled web you'd woven, you
were destined to cross the threshold of sixties
into the seventies by valiantly fighting to unwind the
cord from around your neck and lifted to safety.
We were separated and you became 'you'
Boo, your tender heart and patience has been my delight.
You have a way of smiling appreciation for ordinary
things and changing them into extraordinary ones.
You stand tall, a man, in the theatre of time.
Son, mama's love is only one dimension of your life!
Son, from a little boy to present, I promised you a 'BIG CHECK'.
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Turkey Strut: In Remembrance Of Thanksgiving
The overseer prances the ground,
keeping watch over his roosters, and
taking delight in his pear-shape hens.
All this in commemoration of harvest
by colonists of yore.
I Remember the war between
courage and cowardice and the
battles lost year after year and
scanning back over my short life
of freedom in the wilds...
"summonding into mind my own freedom
held captive by paranoia and its cohorts...
my own overseers'?
convincing myself that, a turkey i
am not because i'm exempting myself
from fear, yet knowing man's crimson
deeds are no phantasm.
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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How To Survive The System
Arguing the differences percieved during childhood: the freshness of youth and
silver time now, keep me pondering inconsistencies of things that has too long
hindered me exploring causes of numerous concerns:
political fuss about one's quality of life;
huge prices paid for souls for sale;
feaing losing that which not owned;
lack of concerns for the hungry and homeless.
the 'Nice Guys' sucking wealth from weak and high-minded alike
while,
preaching man-made morals and ethics
while,
rape, incest and all sorts of abuse-by the same minds of my times in the 40's when it was commonly thought that children had no sense or lasting memory-
by adults, lurks in disguised, amongst the vulnerable:
babies in cribs and children in their teens
while
holy adults relax silently in their high chairs, yet, all these are composition of the whole.
I'm shucking off this mess to draw from my muse and design a 'utopia' for my own delight:
A universe of love for the living, ill-treated, born and unborn
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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The Sound of Love...
It's 8 am in the morning…
Silver light spilling through the openings in the blinds:
The songbird signaling today is his and her play date.
I'm starting this day, in my place, in the circle of my lover's arms.
Eyes could no longer sleep, because the sound of poem
proclaiming love as natural as a bird professing his love
in the highest note, and arousing voices and images,
of my seeing and hearing you in mind and beyond.
Permission has been given to cease dreaming, instead dream out loud!
So, I stay nearby my poem to see, taste, feel, and hear
you anywhere awake or asleep.
I dozed off in your smile, yet am wide-awake, in your dreamy eyes.
When your arms wrap tight my waist, I feel the vibrato
of your fingers playing up and down my spine, likening
the melodious music Ilana plays on her Cello.
After all's said and done, we rose to the sound and aroma
of coffee dancing in water, under heat, reminding me of
our slow moves to the rhythm of that special song!
Dear, you need to know…
Ever since we met, you have been pen and paper
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Beautiful Morning...Witnessed by whom?
There they lay watching rising sun.
No more can night see daylight,
than darkness hide me more.
Desiring a new beginning, feeling
that world slowly slipping away,
hands and fingers open and
those old things blended with the wind.
Now, we lay trembling between what was
as all old slowly disappears.
The heavenly host turns on light,
leaving those things in the dark,
illuminating a brand new day
Many suns and moons, the norms
of my times confined, but I have
the key, now my dear,
release this captive bird to wing free
Loudly dreaming!
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poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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