Best Bobby Poems
This one is totally fictional.
Don't cry little guy just 'cause you're moving away
Your daddy's got a brand new job out in Santa Fe
He's trying to make a better life for your mom and you
So, how about holding back those tears
Yes, I'm crying too
So I said goodbye to Bobby like I knew I had to do
But Some things that I told him
Weren't exactly true
I wish I could have told him to stay
If that's where he'd really like to be
I wish I could have told him the truth
About his mom and me
So, I said goodbye
And tried not to cry
And told him to have fun
I wish I could have said to him
Bobby, you're my only son.
He calls me Sis he's Big Brother
Kindred spirits to one another
His muse is sweet won’t ever smother
Joyful kindness is his druther
He spreads cheer like no other can
With silly rants he would never bother
Bobby May’s my favorite brother
From some other universal mother
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
Submitted on January 1, 2020 for contest FIRST TIME HERE - ANY MONORHYME sponsored by WILLIAM KEKAULA - RANKED 2ND
In a horrible dull monotone
Bobby spoke, and his girlfriend would moan,
“No kisses from me,
dear Bobby McGee
till you first kiss the old Blarney Stone.”
Written March 15, 2017 for
Kim Merryman's Luck of the Irish Limerick Contest
Bobby, the rastaman
Never wait for the I to come,
He waited for his Black Starliners
Nothing more
Bobby, the rastaman
Sang his reggae songs
To veil his mind
From the misery of life,
And all day would read his Bible
And watch the sea
For Marcus Garvey prophecy,
But he never wait for me.
And I wanted to see him one more time
To hold his hand
And march in the hills with him
Bringing rich Maroon lore
Like a bankra to his door.
I wanted to tell my nephew
I am not afraid of his dreadlocks
And that I am proud of him
Wearing the true identity
Of the Nazarite
The Melchizedekkan Black man
But he was waiting for the Blackstarliner
Bobby, the rastaman
Did not wait for me.
Is it possible that I may strive to think
Of what has never been
Or that such would raise me from where I sink
And wipe my sorrow clean
Day and time pass but memory remains
The archive of our knowledge and our pains
Against this bruised part of me your face press
Little nephew, and my love finds no rest
Your mother says, as if the dead still grow
Out of the dust of time,
You would be thirty five, could you but know
This side of life sublime
But I shall never see you stand again
Beside the gate, calling my son to ride
With you, or play like swallows in the rain
His brother came though to be by your side
But none can tell what compose that world yet
Nor how my flesh keeps faith
With me, if may leave its house at my death
Leave close its broken gate
And free from time and space reclaim being
In some place where spirit returns longing
For earth within the bars of time, for old
Memories that round eternity roll
Yet without the pulse of time's cycling pall
The ebb and flow that age
The lost past living only through recall
The shadow on the stage
In which we believe, but ne'er apprehend
The fading light and the shift of scene again
The laws we write as candles in the night
A wind broken dream intimating sight
Bobby, Bobby, I have no final why
Or reason for my tears
The deeper things that make the oceans sigh
Through veils of misty years
As if some deeper wisdom unengaged
Ponders something in our frail sorrow caged
And yet can find no wing except this grief
To weep our life and renders some relief.
I miss you, little nephew, and remain still
A fan, though no more you
Play the ball and let men shout at their will
Or sing melodies blue
About the earth, and man's injustice to man
Nor can I listen the telling of each plan
You had, and against this void now I scream
This senseless violation of our dream!
I spent the whole night dressed up like a witch
collecting lots of candy and then YOU
stole all of it! You’re lucky I’m no snitch,
I won’t tell Mom, but here is what I’ll do:
I know your secrets and the games you play
with different girls that you like at our school
(especially Patricia) and the way
you two-time her. You know that isn’t cool!
You like her best. Well, Bobby here’s the deal.
You give back all my candy that you took
or I’ll be spilling all the beans – for REAL.
Remember I have seen your small black book!
And I’ll be wanting interest for I’d like
not just my candy, but your old blue bike!
Oct. 22. 2019 for Bobby May's If I Were Your Brother Poetry Contest
His name was Bobby.
Angelic eyes; light blue.
Nothing like anyone I had ever seen
Blonde hair
Odd for a boy I thought
Giggled better than me
I was completely smitten
He was smitten too
With Joyce, another blonde angel
Sweet girl whom I immediately decided to not like
in any way
He did not know I was alive
Could not tell me apart from my identical twin
I tried, but it did not work.
My love went to the other side quickly
He whom I had loved and dreamed about
I now hated with a passion
It is odd how you can go from love to hate
when you are in kindergarten.
Friends, by the way
Much credit for my POTD
surely goes to Bobby May
His 'Pick a Friend' contest
motivated me to try my best
to describe what Chris Green means to me
and so, it is now clear to see
my POTD also belongs to Bobby!
Little kids have a natural curiosity
that can catch us off guard too often.
Like little Bobby, who went into the kitchen and said,
"Mom, can I ask you a question"?"
"Okay", says she, "I've time for a few".
"I just wanted to know...how old are you"?
"That is not a question you ask of a lady in point,
if you don't want to get her nose out of joint".
"I'm sorry, if I got you upset.
So I'll ask instead, How much do you weigh"?
"Those are not polite questions you are asking son,
and as a lady I'm unwilling to say".
"I'm sorry", again, came Bobby's retort.
"Why doesn't Dad live with us anymore"?
That was it, she'd had enough as she ran him outside,
"Go out and play with your friends before I get sore".
Out he went, his little attitude shattered,
until his friend saw Bobby's face in a frown.
He asked Bobby what was going on,
to make him so gloomy and so down.
After a little conversation about his encounter with mom,
his friend's advice cheered him of that there's no doubt.
"You can get all that info, you silly goof,
Look at her Driver's License and figure it out".
Bobby followed his friend's simple words,
got the info, and ran into the kitchen by leaps and bounds.
Smirkingly he said, "I know how old you are...you're 27,
and you weigh 116 pounds."
"That's right, how do you know"? her face quizzical
"I looked at your Driver's License and just did the math".
His mother had to give him some credit,
after all, it was an unusual path.
"And I know why Dad doesn't live here anymore".
"Now that wasn't on my" Driver's Licence", she said rather vexed.
"Oh yes it was, it was right there...
I saw that you got an 'F' in SEX"!
Note:
this is an old joke I heard somewhere, and
decided to try to put it to rhyme.
""""*,, ,,*"""" .... ~ *.* ~
!!
Bobby Brown threatened to knock me down
but Billy Blues took off his shoes
and with a barefoot blocked his fist
just as it brandished my wrist,
and even though they fought desperately in the rain,
neither bothered to complain.
They boxed and kicked and blew smoke
but neither even spoke.
Finally I cried, "Stop!"
"Belinda is calling a cop!"
So bloody and bruised, Billy put on his shoes.
Bobby was so muddy he looked really cruddy.
And though I felt bad because Billy was bloody,
I was bound to boast to my friends
how Billy had come to my defense.
And now Billy and me and baby makes three
and Bobby is history!
By: Carole O'Terry Duet
Copyright: Oct., 2016
"All Rights Reserved"
They did the mash—they did the monster mash
In a field—in a field of trash
Republicans ain’t cool
Stink like a graveyard ghoul
One sick group—that we need to smash
Author's note: The limerick above can be recited to the rhythm of the Pickett hit song. I am supporting Bernie Sanders and hope he picks Elizabeth Warren for a running mate. The rest are fiends and zombies! This is not a joke.
I once knew a poet named Bobby
Writing trash was his only hobby
But, he thought he was great
"Fame is just matter of fate"
When not placed, said,"There must be lobby"
27.02.16
My nickname is Bobby and this write is purely fictional.
Inspired by Real Life Brother Billy, My Halloween Candy Thief
Every year when it is sweet Halloween time,
my selfish big brother commits the same crime -
he quick gobbles his candy and then steals mine!
I can't tell cause my parents will say I whine
so, this Halloween my mean brother, Bobby,
will feel regret and correct his theft hobby.
Tonight, this sis is a sinister zombie
who will see Bro turn squatty, potty sorry!
I foil wrapped sweets he favs as delicious –
he will soon steal Exlax-styled Hershey kisses.
By the time naughty Bobby grows suspicious
his guts will have already turned most vicious!
BOBBY MCGEE - THE POLICE REPORT VERSION
Unemployed and destitute in Baton Rouge
Intending to steal an illegal ride on a train
Feeling tired from too much drink
Bobby sexually allured a truck driver to stop
He took us to New Orleans in the rain
I withdrew my harmonica from my filthy scarf
And played some chords while Bobby sang
For the entire duration of the journey
We lived like hobos from coast to coast
As close croneys and illicit lovers
But she decided (wisely)
To abandon me at Salinas
And try for a more meaningful life
I would (foolishly) exchange my entire future
To return to that past hand-to-mouth existence
And especially the illicit sex with her
Freedom simply means all is lost
“Nothing” itself is valueless, therefore free
Feeling good was an easy option, and that
Seemed sufficient to us both then
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Just a fun piece, written by a devoted fan of
Kristofferson, writer of many great songs.
I have tried to paraphrase the story as closely as possible.