Best Hob Nob Poems
IS IT HOT IN HERE?
I`m a physical, mental wreck, waiting for a beard
I have no sense of time, I`m definitely weird.
I`m peri-menopausal, go from blazing hot to cold,
I have wrinkles, bags, am fat, and very very old.
I sometimes find my my car keys in obscure places
I often forget names, while remembering certain faces.
I`m 50 shades of madness, go from saint to sinner,
I eat chocolate for my breakfast, lunch, and sometimes dinner.
I often lie in bed with my heart and mind both racing
bang on red alert when it`s just my pillow I`m facing
I have a yen for change, I want a tie dye dress in blue.
I want to get naked in a field under a snuggly at midnight, true.
I`d rather have a hob nob than a quickie with a stranger
I`ve forgotten all the words to "Away in a manger".
I often google questions, that apparently nobody asks,
The naughtiest I get, is putting whites with colourfast.
I wander round my place with a million good intentions
to complete the jobs at hand, then start dreaming of inventions.
I get time warped, tongue tied, and prickly
I lose my direction and the plot quite quickly.
I`m managing not to pee when I sneeze
I`m doing pelvic exercises would you please.
My sex is definitely not "on fire"
I don`t even fancy Danny Dyer!
Is it Monday today? I`ve forgotten what I was saying..........
Form:
Stop being suggestive
With that choccy digestive
Just stick it in your gob
And pass me a hob nob
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: White Boys
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: August/1995
I want to do
just like
the white boys
do -
Wear
six hundred
dollar
shoes,
and
dress
in
the finest
of
suits -
I want
a
six figure
income,
to splurge
at
Fred Segal's,
on
Melrose
avenue -
I want to
jog
with
my dog,
while
pushing
my child
in a
stroller -
I want to
send
my children,
to
only
the best
of
schools -
I want a
pristine
neighbourhood
in a
gated
community -
And
style
in a
Bentley,
through
Hollywood -
Just like
the
white boys
do -
I want to
live
in
Beverly Hills,
and
hob nob
with
my
constituents-
I want to
have
A-1
credit,
to
charge
on
Rodeo Drive -
I want a
foyer
filled
with
roses -
and
a
Butler
passing
out
horsd'oeuvres,
champaign,
and
caviar -
And
I want to
travel,
in a
Lincoln
Town car -
What
I really want
is
equal rights,
regardless
of
colour -
Just like
the
white boys
do -
Who
wouldn't
want to
ride
a horse
under
the
golden
sun,
on
the
beach
in
Malibu -
Just like
the
white boys
do
I want to
explore
life
under
the sea
in a
submarine -
I want stocks,
bonds, CD's
and
Ira account's
too -
a
Yacht,
Lear Jet,
and
a
home
in
Peru -
Just like
the white boys
do -
I want to be
in
every
television
commercial,
every
movie,
and
smile for
the
camera,
when they
call
my name -
Just like
the
white boys
do -
I want it
all -
even a
star
on the
walk of fame -
I want to
expose
the
myth,
shown
around
the
world,
that
only
white boys
are
doing
everything -
I want to
Sky Dive,
Hang Glide,
and
fly
in a
Hot Air
balloon -
I want to
fall
from
the sky
in
a
parachute -
I want to
golf;
play
board games,
and
speed race
in
a boat -
I want to
drive
a
jacked-up
truck -
and
lasso
a horse
with
a
rope -
Just like
the
white boys
do -
I want to
Snowboard,
parasail,
ski,
and
wind surf -
And
I want to
dine with
Royalty,
like
Kings
and
Queens -
I want to
be
on the
cover
of every
magazine -
I want it
all -
Just like
the
white boys
do -
Carefree days and endless nights
Great surprises and delights
Dreaming of my future goals
And what story will told
Watching stars on favorite shows
Wishing that I had a role
Reading books on faraway lands
And envisioning my plans
What would my destiny entail
Will my fortune be derailed
Will I achieve enormous heights
Will my visions work out right
Will I live in exotic places
And hob-nob with the famous faces
Will I have a great career
And have loved ones that are near
In my mind I’ve painted stories
Of cherished dreams and splendid glory
Will my wishes then arise
And appear before my eyes
If I use my imagination
And dismiss my limitations
I’ll achieve my coveted goal
And my future will unfold
A soldier's tale about young Grover,
Though black, his duty called him over,
He survived the Front's futility,
Came home after 1918,
With his medals for bravery,
With valour, he beat the Hun,
Back here, society did him shun,
He came home, no man's slave,
Old comrades did not even wave,
As he marched in the Anzac Parade,
To them, he was an affront,
Though he battled on the Western Front,
He learnt that there was no change,
Their attitudes seemed very strange,
With him, they did not hob nob,
He had no hope of landing a job,
So, he sold his medals for grog from the pub,
Died alone, with his libation of love,
He had fought with such bravery,
But could not survive this bigotry,
Died under a bridge, his short life over,
Sad little tale, a soldier called Grover.
What‘s better than a biscuit?
Hard to debunk
Treasure trunk funk
Should you let
It get wetter
Would you dare risk it?
The trick a quick dunk
Or could flunk..flick..kerplunk..
Mushy chunk sunk..messy junk
Slushy slunk..in the tea you drunk
So at your leisure
Pleasure one’s self
Don’t regret your stealth
Forget your health
Wealth beset on the shelf
So feeling restive?
Yearn for a digestive?
Appealing…suggestive
No shock..dark choc
What else will cut the mustard
With a brew…for a few bob
Recurring theme..does seem
Will always dream
About a custard cream
Almost sob…as I Lob
A hob-nob in me gob
Ta pour more cha
In fine fettle
Be a slob
Turn on the kettle
Bickies in the jar
On the sofa settle
Sins within tins
Spurn concern
Ignore the racket
As
Hats do doff
Knew from the off
On a roll
The sole goal
Quaff another cuppa
Down your cake hole
Scoff the whole packet!
Her ability to be true to herself frightened teachers and snobs
She had a pet python named Tang, his nickname was Sobs.
Always be the real you was her motto, her mantra and her song.
She despised mean people; if they were around, she would not hob-nob.