Poems by Alora M. Knight

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.

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.

I wonder if we realize
The gifts that we've been given,
The endless flow of beauty
Bestowed on us by heaven.

A rainbow arcing 'cross the skies
Shares its radiant hues,
While clouds that tumble here and there
Portray fantastic views.

Nighttime's filled with countless stars,
Each shares a twinkling light
While the moon rotates in glory
As it travels throughout the night.

Those who welcome early dawn
See beauty unsurpassed.
The evening sun surrenders day,
Its glowing lights amassed.

It's there for everyone to share,
To benefit thereby.
A beauty that is freely given
To those who look up at the sky.

I realize I've reached the time
When it's very plain to see
That I now must be selective
In what my preferences will be.
No longer can I toss a coin
To see which direction I should go.
As far as speed in getting there,
Only one would fit, and that is SLOW.
It's wise to have a goal each day,
There is no doubt about it.
A reason to rise each morning.
No one should be without it.
Still, if I decide to dilly-dally
Throughout the passing day,
A bit of procrastination
Is bound to come my way.
I can read with great delight
Great books that I've forgotten,
And if I chose, I now can read
The ones that were verboten.
I do not waste my energy
On things that can't be changed.
If I spent time on past mistakes,
I soon would be deranged.
Life has much to offer
To each and everyone.
I hope to conquer many things
Before my time is done.
When I've fulfilled my challenges,
And hopefully passed each test,
Then I will wave a fond good goodbye,
Content I've done my best.

I was in a room the other day
Where seeds were being planted.
I could only hope and pray
Their growth would not be granted.

For many prejudicial words
Were the seeds so often scattered.
Though none were said in malice,
Just their use was all that mattered.

Most people there would be surprised
If told they were a bigot.
Still, two small children playing near
Heard words they'd not forget.

Deep into their consciousness
Contempt would start to grow
For those who differed from themselves
Because someone had deemed it so

The most fertile soil in all the world
Is in little children's minds--
Absorbing and retaining
Messages of different kinds.

How wonderful this world could be
If every one took care
To plant only seeds of kindness,
Then love could blossom everywhere.

So try hard to remember
That every word you say
Can make a difference in a child
As he goes along life's way.