Poetry From the Heart

by William Hill

build,

  And the drivers will fuss,

  But nevertheless,

  Day comes to an end,

  And over the city,

  The sun sets again.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  If You Did Unto Me

  Would you tell me,

  You're sorry,

  A million times,

  Would you beg me,

  To come back,

  On this telephone line,

  Would you try to blame,

  Someone else,

  For the things that you do,

  If you did unto me,

  Like I did unto you,

  Would you cry,

  On your pillow,

  Almost every night,

  Would you wonder,

  How could you,

  Wrong someone so right,

  And every lie,

  You would tell me,

  Would you swear that it's true,

  If you did unto me,

  Like I did unto you.

  Author: T. Sky Handring

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  The Master Biscuit Maker

  Up to elbows in flour,

  White on tan skin,

  She does the work,

  Like no one else can.

  On time every morning,

  Before the dawn breaks,

  Preparing the dough,

  For the biscuits she’ll make,

  On a butcher-block surface,

  To create the right bond,

  She’ll sift enough flour,

  To place the dough on,

  With the touch of her fingers,

  And the heel of her hand,

  She kneads the dough,

  Like waves on the sand,

  Then taking her pin,

  She rolls out the dough,

  Then cuts out the shapes,

  Of the biscuits we know,

  On a large baking sheet,

  Rectangular in creation,

  She lines up the circles,

  Like troops in formation,

  Then once in the oven,

  Her magic is found,

  The biscuits arrive flaky,

  And sporting golden crowns,

  So, why do her biscuits,

  Taste better than the rest,

  Well, that’s very simple,

  She’s simply the best.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  A House with No Doors

  It doesn’t seem different,

  Looking from the outside,

  By the casual observer,

  Or those passing by,

  But from the inside,

  It’s like nothing before,

  You're totally surprised,

  It's a house with no doors,

  No doors, no windows,

  No means of escape,

  Once you get in,

  You’ve the devil to pay,

  Please heed my advice,

  For I’ve been there before,

  And I’ll never return,

  To the house with no doors.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  The Chair

  They always sat together,

  In his big comfortable chair,

  And you would never find him,

  Without his little dog there,

  And every morning before work,

  He'd call his little pup,

  And just as he sat down,

  The little dog leaped up,

  And every evening after dinner,

  Once again you'd find them there,

  Watching TV or relaxing,

  In his big comfortable chair,

  And this pattern would continue,

  Almost up until the day,

  When the little dog grew older,

  And finally passed away,

  And though the man and this wife,

  Kept the chair in their den,

  Torn and broken hearted,

  He could never sit there again.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  High Definition

  Early one morning,

  Feeling sharp as a tack,

  I looked in the mirror,

  At the face looking back,

  And to my surprise,

  Like an overnight transition,

  My image in the mirror,

  Was in high definition.

  So I picked up my phone,

  And placed a call to the Doc,

  To see if they could figure out,

  Exactly what I've got,

  But the nurse on the line,

  Said due to your condition,

  You’re hearing my voice,

  In high definition.

  So I hung up the phone,

  And went to the kitchen,

  Fixed cereal and milk,

  My daily tradition,

  But as I tasted the milk,

  As weird as it was,

  I could tell which cow,

  The milk came from,

  Then I stepped to my closet,

  To get ready for work,

  Put on my best slacks,

  Reached in for my shirt,

  But I didn’t have to look,

  Like I always do,

  I could tell from the touch,

  That the color was blue,

  All readied for work,

  And the day to commence,

  I smelled something brewing,

  But it didn’t make sense,

  The coffee maker set,

  Just the night before,

  Jarred me out of bed,

  And my feet hit the floor,

  I ran to the mirror,

  To check my condition,

  And I had only been dreaming,

  In high definition.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  Life Is Like a Sandwich

  Life is like a sandwich,

  Two slices of bread,

  One, the beginning,

  And the other, the end,

  But what’s in the middle,

  Really matters the most,

  For it can be chicken filet,

  Or nothing but toast,

  So if you’re in the kitchen,

  And your bread is still baking,

  What kind of sandwich,

  Will you be making?

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  Call Me Mister

  Refer to me as Mister,

  Until you’ve paid your dues,

  Like fighting in some foreign war,

  Featured nightly on the news,

  Or working two jobs every day,

  For those you clothe and feed,

  And being loyal to your family,

  Fulfilling every need,

 

  And when you conquer all your demons,

  And are saved by saving grace,

  Then and only then, my friend,

  May you call me by my name.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  Champ

  Last night I saw him,

  Running in the field,

  A puppy would envy,

  A dog of his years,

  With the eyes of an eagle,

  His legs free of pain,

  So happy and excited,

  I began calling his name,

  Oh, Champ, come here boy,

  You are my friend,

  You stood right beside me,

  For more than ten years,

  Let's go for a ride,

  Or we’ll play a game,

  But Champ was unable,

  To hear me again,

  Champ ran through the meadow,

  Just like a pup would,

  And up by the fence,

  To where Daddy stood,

  Yet Daddy had pa
ssed,

  Now over three years,

  Awaken from the dream,

  My eyes filled with tears.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  Going Home

  He was trying to do,

  What couldn't be done,

  Turn back the clock,

  To nineteen and seventy-one,

  So he got in his car,

  Set his GPS,

  And before he knew it,

  He was at the address,

  He saw Dad on the porch,

  When he pulled in the drive,

  The neighborhood children,

  Were playing outside,

  And in the distance was Mother,

  Getting clothes off the line,

  He wondered why no one,

  Had seen him arrive,

  Then all of a sudden,

  Realization set in,

  For a parking lot stood,

  Where the old house had been,

  And the truth of the matter,

  Is time marches on,

  And in cases like this,

  You can never go home.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  How do I get there from here?

  How do I get there from here?

  Can you give directions?

  Which are concise and clear?

  Do I turn left, or do I turn right?

  Can I reach it by car?

  Or must I take a flight?

  Is it one of those places?

  That is out of the way,

  Must I pack a suitcase?

  For an overnight stay,

  But just one more question,

  When I arrive there,

  If I reverse my directions,

  Will I get back here?

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  Long Enough To Know

  I’ve lived long enough to know,

  It’s harder than it looks,

  And I’ve lived long enough to know,

  The cover’s not the book,

  I’ve lived long enough to know,

  That someone pays the bill,

  And I’ve lived long enough to know,

  That “could haves” never will,

  I’ve lived long enough to know,

  It takes more than it took,

  And I’ve lived long enough to know,

  A kitchen has one cook,

  I’ve lived long enough to know,

  That freedom’s never free,

  And I’ve lived long enough to know,

  The honey makes the bee,

  I’ve lived long enough to know,

  That young folk fight the wars,

  And I’ve lived long enough to know,

  The ocean makes the shore,

  I’ve lived long enough to know,

  A secret’s know by one,

  And I’ve lived long enough to know,

  The name of my grandson,

  And though I have lived long enough,

  To have knowledge of such things,

  I have not lived long enough,

  To wear my angel wings.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  The Portable Radio

  It was boxy and red,

  And heavy as lead,

  Just unplug and go,

  It was the first one,

  On our block,

  The portable radio,

  Vacuum tubes,

  Plastic and glue,

  It’d play anywhere,

  With a battery as large,

  As a river barge,

  The portable radio,

  It tranquilized,

  And mesmerize,

  The people of the day,

  Hear a song,

  And hum along,

  The portable radio.

  Then came the transistor,

  Which barely missed it,

  Still leaving it afloat,

  But the microchip,

  Would sink the ship,

  Of the portable radio

  The sounds of today,

  Just download and play,

  It fits in the palm of your hand,

  But history knows,

  It was the first,

  The portable radio.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  Retirement

  I had been some forty years,

  In a job I’d learned to know,

  And I had thought of retirement,

  Those last few years or so,

  But when I finally did retire,

  What I found was such a fright,

  For what I used to do all day,

  Now, I do all night.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  The Decision

  For those beneath,

  These rows of granite,

  Time is standing still,

  To them,

  One hundred of our years,

  Is really no big deal,

  Their present,

  Is our future,

  But we’ve still time to decide,

  Exactly where,

  We want to be,

  On the other side.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  The Feather

  The feather floated,

  In the air,

  'Twas like none other,

  Anywhere,

  Carried by,

  An autumn breeze,

  Across the meadow,

  And through the trees,

  I followed it,

  Without hesitation,

  Hoping to discover,

  It’s final destination,

  And after awhile,

  The feather touched down,

  By an ailing sparrow,

  On the ground,

  And I cared for it,

  Until the spring,

  Allowing time,

  To mend the wing,

  And the day I set,

  The sparrow free,

  The feather landed,

  Next to me.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  The Pocket Watch

  He’d roll over in his grave,

  If he knew the things he owned,

  Were quickly being auctioned away,

  On his very front lawn,

  But whoever made the decision,

  It was good for me that day,

  For I bought his old pocket watch,

  And hurried on my way,

  The pocket watch was ancient,

  Inherited by the sons,

  So I took it to my jeweler,

  To see if it would run,

  My jeweler, ever so carefully,

  Used the stem to wind the spring,

  But the pocket watch stood silent,

  It wouldn’t do a thing,

  I suggested the jeweler open the case,

  And he did so with a click,

  The cover dropped and spun around,

  As the watch began to tick,

  And in plain view for us to see,

  Were the moving tiny gears,

  Synchronized, working together,

  As they had for so many years,

  But the greatest find in the watch,

  Was soon to be discovered,

  For the following engraving,

  Presented itself, just inside the cover,

  “July eleventh, nineteen twelve,

  Repair of watch certified,

  Damaged leaving the titanic,

  Owner and watch survived.”

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  The Storm

  Rain pelted my windshield,

  So barely could I see,

  And my wife was busy,

  Yelling “slow down”

  Riding shotgun n
ext to me.

  But I’m a seasoned driver,

  I’ve seen storms like this before,

  So my mind was set on driving,

  To the other side of the storm,

  Many drivers pulled off the road,

  With emergency flashers on,

  But I knew summer storms like this,

  Would never last too long,

  Yet this storm seemed quite different,

  Like nothing I’d seen before,

  For the rain had poured for hours,

  And it was continuing to rain even more,

  Water spilled from overpasses,

  Just like Niagara Falls,

  Golf size hail bounced off my hood,

  But I kept driving through it all,

  Some might call me stubborn,

  And my wife was really sore,

  But I set my sights on driving,

  To the other side of the storm,

  Then finally on the horizon,

  Was a sky so golden and warm,

  And I knew we would be there soon,

  On the other side of the storm.

  Author: Randolph Knight

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  Tomorrow is Tomorrow

  Tomorrow is tomorrow,

  And today is today,

  So get it done now,

  Ben Franklin would say,

  For what happens tomorrow,

  Will get in your way,

  And keep you from doing,

  What you should have done today.

  Author: T. Sky Handring

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  Waiting

  People in a hospital room,

  Waiting, waiting,

  Hoping to hear good news soon,

  Waiting, waiting,

  Somber faces, starry eyed,

  Waiting, waiting,

  Some will laugh, some will cry,

  Waiting, waiting,

  Why does time go so slow,

  When everyone has a need to know.

  Waiting, waiting, waiting.

  Author: T. Sky Handring

  Sky and I want to personally thank you for including “Poetry From the Heart” in your ebook library. We would certainly appreciate your time in giving our work a positive review. Other ebooks by Sky and myself include "Poetry Perfect" (formerly "life is like a bullet train"), and our third ebook, "Poetry Reveals". These ebooks can be found at Kobo, Barnes and Noble, and other distributors of ebooks. Thanks again and enjoy.

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