KNELL:Oxford Dictionary


Line breaks: knell


Definition of knell in English:



1The sound of a bell, especially when rung solemnly for a death or funeral.

1.1Used in reference to an announcement, event, or sound that warns of the end of something:emails and text messages are sounding the knell for the written word


1(Of a bell) ring solemnly, especially for a death or funeral.
1.1[WITH OBJECT] Proclaim (something) by or as if by a knell.


Old English cnyll (noun), cnyllan (verb), of West Germanic origin; related to Dutch knal (noun),knallen (verb) ‘bang, pop, crack’. The current spelling (dating from the 16th century) is perhaps influenced by bell1.

Words that rhyme with knell

Adele, Aix-la-Chapelle, aquarelle, artel, au naturel, bagatelle, béchamel, befell, bell, belle, boatel, Brunel, Cadell, carousel, cartel, cell, Chanel, chanterelle, clientele, Clonmel, compel, Cornell, crime passionnel, dell, demoiselle, dispel, dwell, el, ell, Estelle, excel, expel, farewell, fell, Fidel, fontanelle, foretell, Gabrielle, gazelle, gel, Giselle, hell, hotel, impel, lapel, mademoiselle, maître d’hôtel, Manuel, marcel, matériel, mesdemoiselles, Michel, Michelle, Miguel, misspell, morel, moschatel, Moselle, motel, muscatel, nacelle, Nell, Nobel, Noel, organelle, outsell, Parnell, pell-mell, personnel, propel, quell, quenelle, rappel, Raquel, Ravel, rebel, repel, Rochelle, Sahel, sardelle, sell, shell, show-and-tell, smell, Snell, spell, spinel, swell, tell, undersell, vielle, villanelle, well, yell

Definition of knell in:

Empty diary,like sea shell

{Imagine the tune of Allelluia sung  by Leonard Cohen]



As I walk through the kitchen door

I see your hanky on the floor

Your diary that’s almost bare

The man I loved is  never there

i’m grieving.


A diary with just one date

We didn’t know it was so late

Here are scarf and gloves and pen

My eyes are  widening with the pain

I’m grieving.


Red address book,took a look

Your friends’ names, like little hooks

Invitations to the rites,

Suffering faces  in twilight

I’m grieving.


They turned to go,they walked away

Now alone,how can I pray?

Who has gone and who can tell?

What shall ring for his death knell?

I’m grieving

My sister and my hair and my vanity or humiliation



My sister and I had a lot to talk about but when she got home she rang  sounding  mor animated to say she and her daughter in law loved my new hairstyle.Unfortunately the main difference is that it is shorter at the back  and longer on top and in front which does not show in a photograph.When we had major things ro discuss it’s good  they could think about my hair!I had been about to buy a wig.To satisfy my family who may be reading I shall take a selfie of the back of my head later on




tiff infomation
tiff infomation


Myself  someyears ago,carefully hiding my hair which stopped growing owing to underactive thyroid gland.,Unfortunately after treatment I became  extravagent.So if your wife’s habits alter it may not be lack of will power it may be her glands…even my glasses were more upmarket.Lord knows why when I have not been able to have a social life and my cat does not mind what I look like.My husband did like me in bright colours.Sometimes I even wore clothes.

I think I hear you humming.


I look up our small street,
To see if you are coming.
I don’t know what time it is,
But I think I hear you humming.

You sang sweet songs for us,
And you could whistle well .
You wore an old tweed jacket
You loved us,I could tell.

I look out there each day,
But I can’t see your tall, thin shape.
I saved your Woodbine packet,
It made me feel some hope.

What does death’s door mean?
Where has Daddy gone?
When will be the welcome day,
When we hear his songs again?

I’ll sing like him all day,
I’ll dream of him all night.
I hope he won’t be angry,
If his cigarettes won’t light!

He can’t write his own songs now.
He went too far away , too soon.
I’ll write down what I think he sang,
And I’ll invent the tune.

I hear him singing now,
He dwells inside my heart.
And though I still can’t see his face,
I recognise his Art.

The newest words in verse.


I once was the  main cynosure

Of eccentrics who write and endure

both mockery and fame

when one mentions their name

But lately I’ve found my own cure.


Elusive I move through lightwaves

Pellucid till I’m in the grave.

Never abscond

From where you belong

With Plato stuck in a  dark cave.


Perambulate, if you desire.

People are flesh,not barbed wire.

Walk up and down

Around London town

Wear a  T shirt saying.I’m not for hire.

Cats praying
Cats praying

Do you like eyes pellucid and blue?

Complexions of a peach and cream hue?

Well be less demanding

In your search never ending

For women are particular too

I’ll be loving you

Until the very end of time I’ll be loving you.

Until the end of all my rhymes,I’ll be writing you.

Until the day I die,I’ll be unintentionally annoying you.

Older and older,I’ll never leave you,but I will,no doubt, grieve you,

deceive you,misperceive you and misconstrue my meter when I am writing for you

and I can’t stop to get the right rhythm

Otherwise I’ll think of you,wink at you and make a hyperlink to your blog

For now,my fingers will be all over you..looking for fleas in your clothes,

and for for mice in your shoes.
I’ll be looking for tears in your eyes  to lick up for you


and making you surprised.

That’s a love poem,innit?


Wot!I’m British,innit!

Don’t you know Estuary English?

Or Frenglish?

Oh, geddit! You’re a dimwit.I love it!

You spun me a tale…..

Love your particular detail,like you are male

Here’s time and a wail.

Signs and symbols

Signs and symbols guide the route.
Love gives the soul her appetite.
Though the night is black and starless,
The inner guide is never careless.
The notes are struck,the tune is played,
Plain melodies are overlaid.

In this chant and benediction,
Healing comes for desolation.
Though the passage way is narrow,
This road is the   one to follow.

Struggling through the mud and mire,
We see,in darkness, tongues of fire.
The sacred center of our life
Is rarely found without some strife.
Just then, the dark and light combine,
To create an image for the mind.

The keyhole

Sometimes I had my eye too close to the keyhole

Pulled there by some force like gravity.

I was gazing with a sharp but narrow focus

into what I thought was the real.

But the precision of my gaze

left out the surroundings, the other doors and rooms

that  I might have inhabited.

As he came to me and opened his arms with no rancour,,

so my eyes opened wider,I took in the new wide vision

and left my crouched and aching position

no longer attached like a magnet to your force,

He was there with his sea eyes.

He knew the human condition

And how to inhabit a  conversation.

Of course he’s had his wounds but never failed to feel

for himself and others.

In the night he goes through in his mind’s eye the faces

of his friends;

holding them ,like he’d once held fragile rose buds

when we were married,

and asked silently for grace.

The keyhole no longer seemed important

I suppose narrowing the focus can keep out knowledge of pain..

But the pain is atill there;

I have always loved the word “Acknowledge.”
And now I use it. I acknowledge this pain




From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Patrician may refer to:

Absconding prams

Perambulators were usually called prams

So terambulators must have been trams.

Language has  ways

In which logic plays

No part except to activate jams.


Absconding tempts the confined,

Even when they  must leave their own minds.

Better make  mine pliable

So I am less liable

To take leave as my senses unwind.


Some people get addicted to writing.

Better than relying on fighting.

Graffiti permitted

Helps us the dimwitted

Project our unconscious by biting.










His words were wisdom stalked

His eyes were piercing like a bird of prey;

Though  often soft and tender was his gaze.

Do hawks and men share instincts still   today?

How usual are these fierce and frightening ways?


Affection was his  strongest , human gift.

Discernment and evaluation  graced,

As  perceptions he was long prepared to sift

Made their   fine,patrician patterns on his face


To  gossip or waste time in fruitless talk,

He did no more than would a  wildebeeste

He spoke as if each word was wisdom stalked

With carefulness, yet joy, at this life’s feast.


The lines of  pain accepted and outgrown

Make our   faces to  the gods be known


The play of death enacted is now done


My heart’s distraught and dead is my desire

For he whom I did love is torn from me.

The skin that he touched is a witches fire

So in my heart I wonder,can this be?

The play of death enacted now is done’

To home and to the real I have returned

Yet no more through this door will my king come.

Oh God and cunning angels, you me spurn.

What is my world when he I loved is gone?

How to see and feel now I am bare.

Yet is this not the fate of everyone?

History reveals what others daren’t.

The pain of loss in labour for my heart

To be reborn, to make, soon,one more start

I offer up my words to you



Langdale Pikes  from Ambleside Tourist Board 

Living life in all its fierceness,
Birth and death and joy and pain
We struggle on our unknown journey,
Sometimes lost and found again.

We are indeed like lambs to slaughter
Death will be our final goal.
But while we live,let us live bravely.
Let us not destroy our souls.

Climbing in the hills and moorlands
In the heather, children play.
The sun half blinds me with its light
Yes still I see my own true way.

I received a call to climb.
These hills are my essential home.
My vocation is to dwell here
While in the silence, my mind roam.

Noise in cities is destructive.
Though nature’s fierce,she’s also true.
Struggling on life’s rock filled slopes

 offer up my words to you


  1. M-W’s Word of the Day
8282959_f520by the lily pond in a wood brighter
Merriam-Webster's Word of the Day



admitting  maximumpassage of light without diffusion or distortion
2 :
reflecting light evenly from all surfaces
3 :
easy to understand



“This is a controversial question with no pellucid answer.” — The Massachusetts Lawyers Weekly, 4 Apr. 2013
“There is nothing so beautiful as the trees in the sun after a late-winter snowfall, or on one of those days when ice coats the branches and turns them shiny and pellucid.” — Robert Mentzer, The Wisconsin Rapids Daily Tribune, 19 Apr. 2014

Britain helps arm Saudi Arabia…well,we need the jobs,you see


Britain is arming and aiding a fundamentalist dictatorship that’s bombing and killing civilians. This is an incontestable fact. The Saudi tyranny – gay-hating women-oppressors who kicked off the year with ~a mass beheading– has been waging war in Yemen for 10 months.