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Best Poems Written by Tyshawn Knight

Below are the all-time best Tyshawn Knight poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Tyshawn Knight Poem

What Would You Think

A Note to Kenny 
A Gifted Young Man and Student
“WHAT WOULD YOU THINK”

If you saw
A caged bird without a beak
Or heard a deaf song
From a parakeet?
A gazelle that could not run
A midnight black morning 
Without the sun
A mother that refuses to hear
The sobs of her daughter saying
“Mother Dear,
Please…”

It would be tragic indeed.
Only one other tragedy could compare. 
That of seeing a 
talented
black young man
refuse to declare.
Make known to the world,
“I am here…”

Yes tragic indeed,
to see an intellect
that we couldn’t even forget
Because it was never 
used 
to remember.
Can such a curse be forgiven?
It would be my sin
to see this wrong and remain 
silent.

So in this poem I yell!
Plead with the black young man

“Do tell!”

You with something to find

Seek…

You with something to stand

Be…

You with something to say

Speak…

 While there is still time
Make up your mind

And shine…

Details | Tyshawn Knight Poem

From Sunday School To Monday Morning

Once again I tip the scale
And mutter, whoever invented it was a man from hell.
It was not a woman who created weights for size
For women can look past the outer shell
And search deep for what is inside.
Men must have their cake and eat it too…
From head to toe-perfection-from hat to shoe
I dress in all white for today I must teach Sunday school
If only a man’s heart would find my food
I can shake and bake
If only on my plate would a handsome man chance to take.

The preacher gets up on the pulpit and puts on his show
Talks about the place where adulterers must go
None of us admit he is a hypocrite as we all know
For he has slept with every woman in the front row.
But, even still my pig’s feet goes from hot to cold
No matter how many ties for him I’ve sewn.
Some women have all the luck
Others like me can’t even get a look-let alone a touch
Being me, ah yes, it is too much.

Sister “Gossip” waves her fan as I go past
“Speak out loud?” would be too much to ask.
I wonder if it is my skirt that is too tight
Or whether I will be at home alone again tonight
I wonder if whatever she says about me is worth a fight
Or is it even true and right.
I pray for her soul with all my might,
I can’t let the Devil move into my mind.

People tell me I sing like a bird
Its gospel time, time to praise the Lord with words
I walk on stage to take my turn
Hands sway from side to side and my throat burns…
But the men stare at the teenager in the short skirt
And the first lady with the red dress
My curves ripple my stomach
For I am not that blessed
I have what a man wants to hear
But to lye beside me is what they all fear.

The service offered nothing by way of encouragement.
But, I have worshiped God
Even if the day was not heaven sent
I know somehow it must be time well spent.
I kiss the little children good-bye
And pretend all is joyous on the inside.
Satin-Legs Smith walks pass the church and sighs
We all know what is on his mind
Therefore though I dream of marriage he doesn’t give me the time.
He looks at me winks and a little smile.
He would only laugh if I asked him to come eat with me
For a little while.

I hang my coat in the closet
Beside a dusty wedding dress
I was wishful thinking when I bought it.
It is four sizes to small
I had planned to shrink into it by last fall.
But, too much time passed and I can’t even return it to the mall.
I can’t bring myself to put it in the trash down the hall.
I may use it for curtains or to cover the dirt stains on my front wall.

I lay myself down to sleep
And pray to the Lord my soul to keep.
And that I do not die before love I see
It is enough to at least give me hopeful dreams.

Monday comes and I have to go off to clean
For rich white people who don’t need anything.
Except for J. Alfred Prufrock
He lives on top 
Of the food chain
But he too is looking for love
We’re both the same.
He always looks at me like he has something to say
But he can’t get past his bald spot or the creases on his face.
Again I wonder should I do the flirting dance
Let him know I am available and that I can
And I will, so he will take a chance
I know he would be willing to love me still
I am not settling for second best!
He is a man!
I am a woman!
Shouldn’t we make love manifest?

I think I will give it a go
And see if I could be someone he would come to know
A fine meal some sweet potatoes and a roast
A pan of peach cobbler, such things men love the most.
I will make his house squeaky clean
Show him what he could expect if he married me.
I drive up and he is at his window
Watching his neighbors come and go
Eavesdropping on their conversations
About Michaelangelo.
And he is reading a book, Dante’s “Inferno”

“Is this for me?” when he sees the plate of food.
I nod yes and hope it gets him in the mood
He smiles, blushes and turns red.
All sorts of happy thoughts run through my head.
But still he only eats and does not speak
It seems the asking will be up to me. 
But what do I say for I do not wish to be
Considered by him, a hussy.
I ask him if he likes the movies.
He tells me he prefers plays
“I have never been to one” I say.
“Maybe I shall take you to one someday.”	
“And I will make you a German Chocolate cake.”
“I guess then it is a date.”

How should I wear my hair?  Should I sport an afro?
Or get a perm?  This is the time to use all those make up tips that I learned.
It seems I will feel the joy of being an Eve.
The birds are singing just for me.
The sun is shining, the flowers are blooming.

Will they be putting Prufrock on my tomb stone
If I do this right I won’t die alone…

Details | Tyshawn Knight Poem

Mowing the Lawn

I’m mowing the lawn free and clear
Don’t have no pants on
Because it’s hot out here.
Neighbors always said I was insane
Always called me out of my name
“Well to hell with them!” is what I say.
I’m mowing the lawn free and clear today.
People always lookin’ down on me.
Well what I think of them…
Now they see…
My moon
And my sun
Watch me as I mow my lawn.

Details | Tyshawn Knight Poem

This Dirty Old Man Wrote a Poem

This dirty old man wrote a poem.
It was an ode to lovers.
He sang a song
that glorified adulterers.

And when his rhyme was done
there was a thunderous applause
from everyone.
People seemed to get
what he was talkin' 'bout
Since many in that room
had tip toed out
with someone who did not
belong to the ring
on their finger.

The poem was a dead ringer
for sin
and much to my chagrin
I realized that the majority in the room
Would never know the truth
that I held within.
The truth that can only come
from being with one.
One perfect man
and experiencing perfection.
Knowing that you are the only one that knows his secret
and he is the only one that knows yours.
Knowing that since with him you have already won the race
It wouldn't matter if you never played the game again
any more...any place

Knowing that you have a reason
to do it all again
Knowing that your memory of that moment
is enough to make sure you always live.
And feel alive
And that even if you died tonight
Your heart and soul would live forever and thrive
in that glorious moment in time.

Yes this dirty old man wrote a poem
Talking about all his experience
that he experienced when he was growing old.
And I i just shook my head
because it only took me once
to remain forever young.

Details | Tyshawn Knight Poem

I Scream For Ice Cream

Robin Thicke's bedroom voice reminds me of you
And I realize there were good times
When you spoke to me in low tones
Deep low tones
And I must admit 
that every time
I hear Robin Thicke...
I smile and get tingly all over

You were a good lover.

People tell me that I don't know
because I have only had one
taste of freedom

But do I have to drink castor oil to know that ice cream sundaes
are good under the sun on Florida Sundays?
Do I have to wake up mourning
to know that I have a reason to be thankful in the morning?
Do I have to have a piece of pain
to know that I feel good when I am at peace.

Maybe their problem is that it took them twenty men 
to arrive there
and I only needed once.

Thank you for that moment
that has satisfied me for a life time.

Details | Tyshawn Knight Poem

Dear Chris Rock: a Word About Good Hair

I'm a black woman and I cry
I'm a black woman and I cry 
You've been telling me 
all my life
that everything was going to be alright.
But I cried when I was a little girl
when I had to cut my locks 
into Shirley Temple curls.
And I cry now that I am a woman of the world.
And I can see 
it still matters if I want to be
an afro or a weave.

Who should care if I want to be a blond?
If, I want my hair to be short or long?
No matter what I do I will always be black
or to be more politically correct

African American.

I will always have to pray for my dark son
for he can be shot because of a profile 
or by a thug
no matter if his hair is nappy 
or greasy and waved up.

And even if my lover be kind and white, 
People will say he isn't the one that should be happy
but I.
They will say 
the privilege to feel our love is totally mine,
no matter if I had braids,
or had straight hair below my behind.
And if we have children, their pedigree
will be determined by the black blood 
that flows through me.
Even if their hair is yellow and curly.
For that was one law that never changed
After reconstruction or slavery days...
And all the laws that passed and said I was free
seems like a lie to me.

Because I can't even decide how to wear 
my own head of hair
without it being such a big affair
and a symbol of how much I care
to demonstrate 
that I am proud to say

I'm black and I'm beautiful.

But, that is the question to which I must answer
and tell the truth...
How do I say "Be proud!"
To the little girl that comes from my womb
if my appearance brings any doubt
about what I think my heritage
is all about.

So today I don't buy any Indian hair
And I throw my jar of perm in the trash
And I sit my pretty tender head in the chair

And when she says "Ma that cornrow’s too tight!"

I say "Child! 		
Be quiet! 	
Sit back! 

Mama ain’t got all night. "

Details | Tyshawn Knight Poem

May Forever Be Our Happy Ending

We had something
and whatever it was
is sustaining me
through this lonely moment
of mourning.

You touched me
And you spoke
You loved me
And you wrote
You sang to me a sweet song
and that memory is helping me
keep on.

I don't want you to die
I don't want you to cry
You are my answer to that question "Why?"
What kind of romantic story
Could we to our children tell
if we wound up in paradise together
        if we actually both survived this hell.

I realize I loved you tonight.
Everything that went wrong
went wrong
But today I understand
You were something I did right.

Because if we had never touched
If you had never loved me that much
I wouldn't be able to survive tonight
A night so tough.

That memory of that moment
is keeping my sheets warm.
It is keeping me from tossing and turning
I can whether this storm.

This is why Jehovah created me
I am your Eve
Please don't leave...
I need for our story to survive.
I need us to remain the once upon a time.
Please let my loving prayer
help you survive...
Please stay alive...

Details | Tyshawn Knight Poem

We Hugged Each Other

That’s What We Do
In group therapy
We hug each other…
We share personal things
We hug each other…
We confide – open up – open wide
We hug each other…

It seems that when he came to me.
We hugged each other…
He lingered when
We hugged each other…
And it felt so good when
We hugged each other…
 He was so warm…his chest so kind…his sweater so clean…
I felt so alive…

When we hugged each other.

I stand 
and wait
for the lion 
to overtake 
me…

Details | Tyshawn Knight Poem

Good Morning

Last night
You were my Ray Charles song
My Maya Angelou Poem...
Didn't we experience forever
during that moment
you brought my soul home?

Bob Marley plays on  Pandora
in that long episode
to be continued
my mind was blowed...

I liked it best when we danced slow.
There are some things that will last forever
Like that memory
       
         I will never let it go.

Details | Tyshawn Knight Poem

A Prophecy

A Prophecy

John Grisham was rejected by 28 publishers
Before he sold “A Time to Kill”
But because he didn’t say “What the hell”
His books have sold over 275 mil.

Maya Angelou was once a whore
But she wanted to write and sing
When haters were speaking she wasn’t listening
And in 1993 she sang before a king.

Paul Laurence Dunbar was the son of a slave
Wrote his brilliant masterpieces at the elevator door
Determined not to listen to the white man because he wanted more
Now he is an example of greatness for the writing poor.

Tyshawn Nicole Knight was once a mental case
She wrote poetry on the floors in the psych ward
But, she never gave up, she struggled and worked hard
Now she is a publisher and her writers have gone far.