"knicks" poems
You are the sweetest of my torments.
You're the tangible torture of citrus
The bite followed by the ****
Fresh and unbearable in the same instance
You're the lemon zest scent;
Sultry, as I quarter fruit
In my hot summer kitchen.
You're the juice in the cut
As the knife knicks my thumb;
The sweetness meeting the wild coppery tang
of blood in my mouth.
You're in the twist in my chest
That exists somewhere between my heart and my stomach
Both organs being wrenched apart...
When I see your picture
And remember that we haven't spoken in months.
Jul 9, 2015
Jul 9, 2015 at 4:19 PM UTC
The knicks and the knacks of you and I.
The knicks as you chisel tru the glass enclosure around my heart.
The knacks of.. of.. of.. you on I…
Tear the walls down,
I mean beat the walls now.
The knicks and the knacks that have come to define our pact,
our pack,
our.. Knacks..
I visualize and shiver,
even in the shower the gentle whisper..
Touch…. Your… Toeeee……s
Oh stop it,
ur making me blush,
making my heart rush
The knicks and the knacks that have come to define US…
But wait,
hol-up!
Isn’t that what you wanted US to be?
The ability to derive pleasure selfishly.
Your narcissistic tendencies,
expecting me to conform to this atrocity…
But I did…..
Oh yes I did…
and foolishly,
candidly,
unrepentant in every way,
I enjoyed every knick,
every knack,
in our little knick knack
------
you can check out this poem and my other works here http://tonipayneonline.com/poetry-by-toni-payne/
Sep 8, 2014
Sep 8, 2014 at 5:01 PM UTC
The calendar reads March, the winter is done,
Its time for the spring and all kinds of fun!
Work your body, as the days grow long,
Exercise your muscles, and get real strong!
Things come alive, trees start to bud,
Testosterone flows, men feel like a stud.
Women look for a man to provide,
Less clothes on the body, no skin to hide
Play ball! The baseball umpires cry,
A long fly ball, hit high into the sky.
Unstable weather, warm and then cold,
It matters little, this story is told,
About the season that is loved by most,
The days lengthen, and other things to boast,
Like the hockey playoffs, at Madison Square,
Turn on the TV and pull up a chair,
Watch the Rangers play and kick some tail,
When shooting the puck, they cannot fail.
The Knicks also are home at the Square,
For years, their playoff cupboard's been bare.
Things looking better, hope the veterans last,
A ring for the team, lies deep in the past.
Easter time occurs in the spring,
The son of God and strong feelings he brings,
The story does tell, of his death on the cross,
Mankind's big mistake, what a terrible loss.
All these good things, happen in the spring,
Nature smiles at this time, and we fly on her wing.
Visit poemsbypaul.com
Mar 13, 2013
Mar 13, 2013 at 1:01 AM UTC
Spider web crick-cracks on eggshell skin
Raggedy Ann rag doll made of porcelain
Second-hand bruises, scratches, scuffs, and knicks
In the healing shields of my hands, quick enough to fix
Super glue and elbow grease I knew would save the day
So full of good intentions, I carried her away
The best laid plans of mice and men, all buggered by my feet
The jingly song of transience played out on cold concrete
A mindless second's trip-up, the crystal princess killed
Her splintered features looked up, haunt my memory still
Lips forever frozen, screaming "Please, no more!"
In kaleidoscopic pieces scattered on the floor
Aug 6, 2013
Aug 6, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
Still puffin' cigars in my sixty six jaguar
Made a hood star from climbing a far
**** the drug games I made my name
Through lyrics of pain easing ya migraine
Words pure as Columbian *******
That's means you'll go insane
Tryna hang with the dark Knight Bruce Wayne
Which means ya mentallydrained going
derange
My smiff n wesson lays a nice range
From the Midwest to the south of Central Texas
Get love from my barrio we stay thorough
Haters get marked like zorro so follow
The leader beat pleaser turn ebenenzer
Once I spit vocals take over ya locals
Can't Max me out my own **** hardest to hit
Ya swear it's back in the year of nine six
Slammin' all of the these industry clowns like Jordans did the Knicks
A Timely essence
Even if I'm chillin' with the dead residence
you'll still feel my presence no hesitance
To foes stained ya calicos wake ya up with a cup of
Flow
and I stay smokin' girls ******* holes setting fires to their mentals
My flows set on auto pilot causing riots
Baltimore rage untamed had to put my rhymes in a cage
Seen the guage
Cocked back ain't no taking away from that
Deaths in progress only blessing you seen
Is stress so take another hit of cannabis
Before you enter the eternal abyss hang ya body over the
cliff
Like Big Red record every word I said
And still can't get a word to the feds I'm the black
Hoover
got flats from Houston to Vancouver
Let me show ya who's the real bruiser
Spittin' rhymes that lay more bodies than Fallujah
Cruise right through
tha
My rhymes is tank shootin' missles with no
thanks
I'm only here to live out
My fathers prank
Though the devil keep me above all levels
Tryna stay from the goods I was made rebel
Fools thought they was Cain til they found out I was
abel
Killin' em with microphone cordless cables and
turntables
Read between my eyers n you'll see visions of many
halos
Feb 16, 2019
Feb 16, 2019 at 8:01 PM UTC
The steam it takes me
To reach each 6p.m.
Is unsustainable, exhaustingly so
With knicks and clotted flesh
Bruises aging brown
mix with, overlap the latest
Deep purples and ill hued blues
I am beaten by my own doing
Little to nothing is compensation
But the things i have touched
Broken made new again
From raw to finished, tangible
My hands, rough, scarred,
Talented and beat up
As is my body. Nightly.
By the end of the week i am a sight
Too tired to want morr from life.
Filthy and sore, single, alone
There has got to be more to life
Then the beast of burden i resemble
If not be the ending too soo
See i am beaten at the end
Tired...
Goodnight.
Sep 7, 2018
Sep 7, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
crusty ring, sore and discolored
leaking
bacteria ridden slip’n’slide
swimming on dry land
spasms contort cavities
gravity dragging spirits
sinking in the murky quicksand
spinning
fictional premises flood the frontal lobe
“Am I dying?”
“Can a head cold **** me?”
“Will the Knicks be better with Jackson?”
delirium from desperation
if only to breathe through a nostril ……..
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 4:06 PM UTC
You are of no use to anyone
Just another son of a son
Like all the other men around you.
You're lost and no one has found you.
Is it any wonder as to why this is?
Take a look at your strengthening wrists.
It took a long time for them to heal.
You are just a man, not the man of steel.
You hide behind a mask. You still think
It works but people see the kinks
And knicks and scratches and battle scars,
A tortured soul and, on your sleeve, a broken heart.
Who do you still wear it for?
Can you even feel it anymore?
Do you feel it when you are on your own
Breaking sweat and breaking your bones?
All in vain attempts to feel alive.
Without taking up in arms and knives.
Only taking up pencils and pens, a literary warrior
Writing stories, who do you write these stories for?
The people you say? YOU ARE A LIAR
Will they stand up for you when it comes down to the wire?
No, and why should they? To them, you're an unknown
They want to be left like you are... alone
So pack up your supplies and pick up your shame
If you can carry it, that is, and scrape your name
Up off of the ground. Realize the truth.
You can't save or help anyone when YOU CAN'T EVEN FIX YOU
Dec 19, 2011
Dec 19, 2011 at 9:16 PM UTC
I just want someone to
Love me
Look me in the eyes
See my pain
Hug me
I just want someone to
Hear me
Listen to my tears
Help me conquer all my fears
Don't conceal me
Tell me all the good and bad
Don't care if it makes me sad
Feel me
I just want someone to
Acknowledge me
Realize there's more than meets the eye
See I'm standing in disguise
Understand the analogies
I just want someone to
Pray with me
Help me strive for more
Open every hidden door
Save me
I just want someone to
Embrace me
Kiss me on my knicks and knacks
Call them pretty
Claim it's facts
Don't degrade me
I just want someone to
Lift some weight off my shoulders
My problems eat too many carbs
******* on emotional shards
Train my mental soldiers
I just want someone to
Memories my iris
My clothing's not important
Try not to be abhorrent
Don't care if I'm not stylish
I just want someone to
Ignite me
Pull me from my deepest dreams
these mazes are not what they seem
Excite me
and
I won't settle for less
Nov 29, 2017
Nov 29, 2017 at 9:38 PM UTC
Wooden spoon, traveling along
A marvelous companion and friend
With knicks and chips and weathered bits
From all the places we've been
Wooden spoon, hand carved with love
Yet longing to be with the forest once more
Thus it fell, from my net
To the waiting forest floor
Apr 13, 2021
Apr 13, 2021 at 2:49 PM UTC
I read minds and break hearts.
I break rules then fall apart.
I was living a nightmare, like Freddy vs Jason,
**** left my psyche with Knicks and bruises -
Im the new Anthony Mason,
Mfs was movin foul, soon got upgraded to a flagrant,
I was in the cut bumpin Indicud,
I felt like Elmer Fudd cause of the backstabbing i was facing,
I soon got aquainted..with the fragrance, of defeat,
Thought revenge was sweet,
I had **** twisted like a twizzler,
Jealousy is for the weak,
You gotta live with your decision but them emotions are just visitors,
I couldn't stomach it .
My arrangements was far from edible,
I made a mess of the amendments
Im a of a man mess - I got a list of demands...
Im always on a different tune from the rest of the band,
I refuse to just sit and watch but this is more than i can stand,
Life was a beach..
My coral reef was in disbelief - My castles were made of sand.
You gotta learn to appreciate the darkness.
I was too proud to beg your pardon ,
I preferred the isolation - coulded help but be guarded,
Sometimes you gotta take that step back, like Harden,
And sink some of them boats filled with feelins you been harboring,
I was feeling more like Malcom - less like Martin,
My cruise was less controlled, My directives were departed,
***** I been hard to reach & outta touch,
been tryin to get a grip but been stuck in a rut,
I had an underlying desire to be violent.
My treble was to the left, cue the chelo and the violin,
I felt the hate on my skin and my distain was topical,
My blood was boiling but my climate was far from tropical,
It was a wrap for ****** but my plans always got foiled,
I was ready to strike, so like a cobra - I coiled,
I was quick to bite but took mad damage from the recoil,
****** did me ***** i was just sinkin in the soil,
I would stoop to levels with antics that resembled porch monkeys,
Was supposed to be a boss - but was movin like a flunky.
I was Jefe in my head - but was actin like a *****
Went from optimizing opportunities to wondering where my optimism went,
Karma had dropkicked me , left my armor with a dent,
I couldn't get through by just hoping - started swingin for the fence,
Nas said "Life's a ***** - Now Im seeing what he meant...
Oct 6, 2023
Oct 6, 2023 at 1:14 AM UTC
Dennis Doyle, a barrister,
gave up his job upon a whim.
Now what to do? A quest!
A quest he would begin.
A lifelong fan of the New York Knicks
He'd follow them home and away!
Tickets were a big expense
=Twenty five thousand he would pay.
Then there would be planes to catch,
food and hotels along the way.
He'd sit and cheer his heroes on!
Each night he'd watch Carmelo play.
Too soon, the losses began to mount;
he watched the season slip away.
It takes a special sort of soul
to sit and watch this team at play;
to seize defeat from victory ,
the Knicks would surely find a way.
To qualify for a high pick
they traded half the team away.
Each night He'd sit and glumly watch
This team that will not win a ring.
Is it all worth it? Who can say?
For the true fan, the play's the thing!
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 9:04 PM UTC
Looking through old belongings,
Knicks, knacks, and other things.
A paper she wrote three years past,
Ticket to a show from summer before last.
A wallet containing five dollars and some,
An old, slightly mushy piece of gum.
Blue ribbon from the first-grade Field Day-
The picture taken when a friend came to stay.
Some things just have to be tossed;
Others are treasures that she'd lost.
Sorting through her childhood,
She sees she's grown... for ill or for good.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 7:56 PM UTC
Don't wait up.
The decision has been made to defend myself.
As my mind wanders, the softer the shield gets. It can't hold on for long.
The camel's back is broken because the horse didn't drink.
No matter how much sense it made to, and how many times I told it to.
My intentions were good at least. My heart was open.
But I am at peace with the trials of recent.
There are no knicks in my armor.
I have, and will survive. My heart will recover.
Jan 14, 2017
Jan 14, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
Turn nightmares to dreams, selling blocks to people on the block, under the inner city blocks, where streets are blocked with croaked cops, taking innocent lives over rocks, from kids that've been walking straight lines for blocks. Parents knock on wood the end up Forte Nox, then on their last mile they get shoot. Or his pops is locked up behind bricks, from the projects - selling spliffs to undercover cops, that gave him deals on his nicks. Instead of playing for the Knicks, gets getting 76'd getting locked up over petty **** either that or some "lets get him **** or on the news in Red Sox, taking shoots of him shoot on the block with shoots lying in a blotch of red plots. They way the child is lying, logic showing the officially lying, but our judicial officials saying hes officially not. I got to believe it or not.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 1:12 PM UTC
i was doing
so much better
and now
i am falling off of my desk
to play in the sunrise with
a god **** knife
spraying pepper spray in the knicks
somebody help me
i'm not even sorry
i'm an addict
can't ******* stop
i was stupid to think that i could
so now my insides are flying out like of my pores
and it feels so good
to hurt so much
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 10:28 AM UTC
ice came down
mixed with rain
streaked windows
on this april spring day
thunderclap
struck the sky
bolted across
blanket white deck slick
greased up the skillet
stir up some eggs
fried, plated
bangs, knicks, scrapes
pushes on curb-top
pours into driveway
rips mailboxes from posts
in muck
like drums
rat-a-tat rat-a-tat
down it spills
beating on housetops, hose-water
streets
neighbors drive on
wash-out roads
a few speed through
riper to pass slow
folks losing electricity
trees fallen 'round
hibernating, little, town
colorless sounds clog up headset
on a mismatch sort of day
out-of-place ride-out
gasket blown
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 8:49 PM UTC
Forever young
Never grow old
A muse forever sung
Only a few skin folds
Having heart and soul
To play all day
Staying forever young is my goal
Enjoying life I shall stay
With a few cricks and cracks
I'll still tango all night
All the Knicks and knacks
Inside my head, a little out of sight
Forever young
Never grow old
My life I've won
My passion never sold
May 15, 2014
May 15, 2014 at 9:53 AM UTC
I’m sorry that I’m the problem.
Oh let me tell you I’m sorry for being the way I am.
I’m sorry that I like you and I like her.
I’m so sorry that I want you in my arms..
I’m sorry that I can’t change.
I’m sorry that I create issues.
I’m sorry that I fight for what I say.
I’m just sorry that I disgust you.
And I’m sorry that other guys who do the same.
Get called better names.
I’m sorry instead of playing with a taken person, I stood my ground and walked away.
I apologize for like women, in the selfish, self serving, greedy way
That only I can.
I’m sorry for respecting, at every endeavor, to walk away.
Yet still yearning for them to turn, and off their hands.
I am sorry for being lonely, strange, weird, annoying.
I am sorry for being human.
I am sorry that your feelings matter more than mine,
I am sorry that who I am gets lost in the shuffle.
I’m sorry for arguing, for fighting, for not denying certain truths.
I’m incredibly sorry for this pain I feel, not even knowing you.
I’m sorry that you felt the need to isolate me.
I’m sorry that you don’t know me.
I’m sorry that I’m needy.
I’m sorry that I push too hard, as others don’t try at all, or try much harder.
I’m sorry that I don’t look that good.
I’m truly sorry for all my knicks, mis-intentions, and flaws.
I’m sorry for this stupid poem, for venting.
And, gosh, I’m just so sorry, that I’m nothing at all.
Except the jokes on you. I’m not sorry at all and neither are you. If you read this, you’ll blink nary an eye, all your suspicions will be true. What a creep. How uncomfortable is this feeling, in my seat.
Hypocrisy is a wheel, lookism an ideal, and people like me, the pieces that don’t fit.
Truly a sorry lot, all.
Jun 18, 2018
Jun 18, 2018 at 9:30 PM UTC