Best Hobbles Poems
The End of Love
A secret grief rips apart all that was
Slaves to the sexual caresses of time
Stallions in black gallop gallantly in fields
Of spring full wishes
Thou seeith the birth of love
Naked hopes surrounded by sweet perfumes
Seduced by the gods or by demon fools
Dancing, towards our own charades we sing
Funerals consume autumn’s dead poets
The gravestone cold and gray
We hug it like a long lost friend
One may see a battle lost
The other a battle won
In November we reminisce the soldier and singers too
Didst you know I was a prostitute?
Selling my soul to the hourglass of eternity
Foolishly hoping to sleep upon her breast
Shivering as others seem to fall right at deaths door
Brimstone, black and rose
The underbelly of St Laurent
Youthful boasts as the old man in cane hobbles
Generations sailed down the main
Some seeking solace others finding fame
Vaguely the recollections appear
Visions inside dreams inside the darkest fears
The end of love is near
For the hand above is reaching
As I float to the end of time
Enchantment in the crypts
Ravens dancing as they consume our mortal
Hearts
No smiles, no sleep
Thou did knowest I’m surely certain
The dance of death
Only to be followed
By a piper
And angels violins
Rags and shrouds, kiss them all goodbye
Hallelujah
In Memory of Leonard Cohen, a fellow Montrealer, 21 September 1934 – 10 November 2016.
Categories:
hobbles, death, dedication, memory, november,
Form:
Free verse
The death of winter carries varied sights.
In April, when dandelions roar, “It’s Spring!”
green yards transform by magic overnight.
Gramps had sprayed his lawn, but in ours weeds bring
an old game for kids as they dance and swing.
Small windmills in disguise, children spread seeds
giving Grandpa a cause for some dismay.
He is no grouch, fence conversation leads
to friendly talk of butterflies at play -
riddles about what nature does in May.
The kids amazed, watch squirrels building nests,
questions evolve about the birds and bees.
Gramps calls them varmints - Mother's Nature’s pests.
“Ask your folks”, he replies with cough and wheeze.
In naptime dreams, he aims a gun at trees.
Gramps takes a walk, golf umbrella hovers
for spring rains do not announce their coming.
A neighbor lady hobbles to cover.
Listen, his cane on her sidewalk - drumming,
sweet songs of spring love, two voices humming.
written May 7, 2014, edited on May 25, 2014
Categories:
hobbles, spring,
Form:
Quintain (English)
The humid Hawaiian heat hobbles my head and heart too,
Hitting as the Humvee high-tails past on the highway,
Sweat seeps steadily south from scalp to shoes
Convection current cooking, keep pedaling, pores crying.
Howling Haleakala Headwinds hammer hard,
Freezing face, fingers, and forehead.
Wistfully watching the warm water Westward;
Blasting breeze’s blows batter my body backward.
Soft saline sea spray spritzes the sunbathers
As the surges' steady smashing against the shore
Rhythmically rocks the run-down revelers
to a sweet, sun-kissed, seaside sleep once more.
For Elements Part 2—Wind Contest (First Place)
Sponsored by Brian Davey
Judged 3/29/16
Categories:
hobbles, beach, mountains, nature, ocean,
Form:
Rhyme
The old year hobbles out - his path an aftermath of blunders.
Glowingly expectant, the new year readies for a grand entrance -
wearing nothing but fresh unstained diapers of naiveté.
For the Sijo Poetry Contest of Rick Parise
Categories:
hobbles, seasons, new year,
Form:
Sijo
Cattle Drive
Roll over a bit in me swag
Get some bones clear of the ground
Dew is on us swag cover is wet
Dingo is howling around
The cattle are camped in the corner
The frogs are croaking, smile creeps
Old horse has the nose bag on
Oats n the chaff for his keep
Fox has his nose in the camp oven
Cattle dog snarls n he freaks
Fox has blurted and gone now
Cattle dog goes back to sleep
At daylight we are catching the horses
Hobbles come off as they squeak
Saddle and mount a grumpy horse
be unloaded, you’re bloody weak :)
Old horse drops his head again smartly
Pigroots around the flat
Stay with him mate it’s only
oats causing springing like that.
Cattle move on down the Stockroute
15 mile a day cross water n creeks
40 mile to the railhead Darby
The Shielas are waiting so sweet.
Don Johnson
Hey Babe
I know the feeling Im a whiz at computers been using since 1990 .
My little laptop has inbuilt webcam i record from.
I was using a usb type video camera ...which worked well.
Do make an effort to put you on you tube ...
there is lots of crappity crap there so you will be welcomed there ..
i have 190 poems n talking too...just good fun its what i do...love
Don
Categories:
hobbles, adventuredog, dog, horse,
Form:
Rhyme
She takes in strays that no one wants;
the house is overrun with cats;
she feeds them scraps - it's all she has -
but some will hunt and feast on rats.
Her husband left, she lost her job -
she coped. So many years alone,
the cats her only friends (although,
you never hear Old Ester moan).
They say she's crazy, or a witch;
the children run, the locals hide.
She doesn't speak and hobbles by:
a sad old lady, misty-eyed...
for Line's Crazy Cat Lady contest
Categories:
hobbles, loneliness,
Form:
Rhyme
Thence they come, these thoughts again
As I brood, on mind thus dimmed
Fraught with doubt, crossed by light
Naught but rout, mine sublime such night
Shall I muse on love or war
Fall on fuse or seek Paramour
Laugh or cower in shadows of mire
Caraf or bower or madness my sire...
First is love, that Venus sin venal
That gloves us, that makes great what might be menial
Ye Gods that strike us and make us wonder
What askance could discover, instead we blunder
Next is war, to which we hasten, alight
Vex't too far, we hurry, eyes red bright
For what do we stand, for what reason we fall
For lauds or bands, or glory for all
Last is madness, that indefinable mount
Fast it abandons, leaves a cur, a lout
Yet while in this life it hobbles, in-famy arraigns
In eternity recorded is all but fame
William* knew love, was a master unmatched
In his words our nature unmasked, unlatched
Lee* was a genius, in a cause infamous
The perfect warrior, strong-gentle-just
Poe* was a daemon, Pandora, of dark
Yet lauded after, today our 'Goth' art
Which embodiment was true, was pure?
Which could you most admire, follow, ENDURE?
Could you follow if combin'd in all
As Dumas* once quipped, one for all?
What human could be them, combine in power
Would he be tyrant, belov'd?-Sought?-cowered?
Was he Alexander, of whom knowledge bereft
Was he then Caesar, Cleo*-love, General, Epilept*?
I know not who embodied - genii* of three
Yet at some point existed this man, tri-breed
I know which of these I am, maybe
Yet which one are ye, God damned though may be
if needs must decree ye must be
choose from these distinct sep-equal* three.
* Notes
William - William Shakespeare
Lee - Robert E. Lee
Poe - Edgar Allan Poe
Dumas - Alexandre Dumas
Cleo - Cleopatra
Epilept - Epileptic
Genii - distinctive character or spirit, as of a nation,
period, or language (plural)
*Sep-equal - Separate but equal
Categories:
hobbles, introspection, on writing and
Form:
Rhyme
My old gran had an ice cream van
And a bright green cape and a madcap plan
She’s out to save her fellow man
And with her walking frame, she can
Each night she prowls the felon’s range
Disturbing owls and foxes
She takes the van so she can change
For there are no phone boxes
She parks up at the end of night
And hobbles home by day’s first light
Today she caught a mugger’s sight
Who mocked my Gran’s heroic fight
‘Fighting crime is not a game
You’re just some soppy, daft old, dame
You’re leaning on that walking frame
To get some place or other.
‘Without your cape you’ve no disguise
Without your mask over your eyes
It might be wise to realise
You’re just some kid’s grandmother.’
Grandma raised her walking frame
Toward from where the voice had came
She asked the thug, ‘Have you no shame?’
And with her walking frame, took aim
One leg sprayed out chocolate sauce
Another leg sprayed sprinkles
Then Grandma pressed a button
And her van played tuneful tinkles
She gave the thug a wily grin
‘You’ll get the slammer some day
But today I’ve turned you in…
to an ice cream sundae.’
Categories:
hobbles, grandmother, hero,
Form:
Rhyme
In my home
There is a child bursting with potential
Who's mind lays softly on a pretty face
Plays games whilst conversing with friends
Who's elegant eyes exude excellent taste
In my home
Their is a cat mostly sleeping
Who bothers for food once a day
Who slips off the armchair whilst dreaming
Distant are the claws which once played
In my home
Their sighs a dog with just three legs
In his basket he dreams of the chase
Whilst awake he hobbles, looks on adoring
As gentleness enriches his face
In my home
Are many odd fractions
Which have gently learnt how to mould
And we all stay together for a reason
Only leaving when we are too old
(in memory of Maisy my 18 yr old tabby december 2012 and Tyson my most noble decent staff cross Jan 21st 2012) miss you both terribly....
Categories:
hobbles, devotion, love, nature,
Form:
Free verse
Mystery Pies
Every day the thin old lady comes crying from the bakery
“Hot pies!” ‘Hot fresh pies!”
With a young wide smile on the cobble stone streets
Her wagon filled with savory treats of saffron pumpkin pies
Assorted aromas rise to the horizon as she hobbles down the road
There is always a surprise, a mystery or two
Children throw their pennies and beg for clues
The old woman bakes a different kind of pie each day
To add to her selections on the cart
Today is Sunday so she baked a special prayer like pie
It has a sinful cinnamon chocolate crust with cherries inside
This reminds the town folk to be pure, to think about virginity.
Don’t ask me why
I’m not from this vicinity
Created on 10/08/14 for Plentitude Of Pies – Poetry Contest
Categories:
hobbles, care, celebration, children, chocolate,
Form:
Free verse
Meanwhile, Mrs. Pappadopoulos
has circled back and plops down
on Fred's front porch, all tuckered out
So Fred cheerfully pulls up a chair
and together they sit and stare
openly ogling, gawking, gaping
because, as everyone knows-
it's not considered staring
if you're in a group of more than one
Miss Luby doesn't care about this rule
as she is inside, and thus it doesn't apply
she perches in a strategically placed
armchair, cat on lap, and munches
popcorn like she is at a movie
relishing the mystery of new neighbors
as well as the passing parade
“Welcome to the neighborhood!”
old Mr. Nicholson says
sidling across the lawn
toward the unsuspecting couple
unlike the other neighbors
who manage to maintain some sense
of pretense, the incorrigibly nosy
Mr. Nicholson comes right out
and interrogates the new neighbors
asking all the terribly inappropriate questions
everyone wants to know
but would never dare to ask
And as the new neighbors
stammer and stutter
taken aback, bewildered, bumfuzzled
by this brazen barrage
of curious queries
little fish-eyes blink behind
the little round spectacles
on his curiously boyish face
matter-of-fact, he is
utterly unfazed and unaware
of the discomfort he is creating
eventually, quota filled
he hobbles home
to share the wealth
As night begins to fall
the new neighbors finally finish unloading
and head back toward the house
In a last ditch effort at a closer look
Jake, the middle-aged man from next door
brings over his heartfelt housewarming gift
rich display of bachelor hospitality-
half a lukewarm pizza
in a greasy box
and a liter of cola
Categories:
hobbles, community, humanity, humor, humorous,
Form:
Free verse
My hubby let the dogs out and sprained his ankle on the step.
Then for days he hobbled around on that foot, stubborn yet.
Definitely not getting better I got him a crutch at the store.
For twelve hours it sat there not doing much, after being procured.
But then he picked it up with grumbles, of that you can be sure.
Now it’s become fun to make up stories to keep his friends adrift.
Would you believe he stepped into an interdimensional rift?
Or how about I got mad and kicked him in the shins, ouch!
Or the dogs bit his leg as he took my sons homework from their mouth.
It must have been a great paper or tasted like meat sauce.
Or it happened in the basement while he was wrestling with the Trolls.
Perhaps he followed a group of Lemmings to a place he shouldn’t go.
Yes, he’s my hobble hubby and I love him oh so much.
With his imagination life is never dull as my heart he does touch.
And occasionally he balances on one foot and tells coworkers…
He’s practicing his Karate Kid flamingo move or such…
And he’s warned me he’d be safer if he could only find reverse.
Yep, he’s on his way to recovery with just the right amount of smiles.
Heaven help us as he continues to entertain us with his wiles.
Believe me, his imagination will bloom as time continues on.
Now if you’ll excuse me…I have to go catch up…for like he says…
He hobbles like the wind and it’s really hard to keep up.
Written 4-24-2011
Categories:
hobbles, family, funny, husband,
Form:
Free verse
Verily,here,is awaited fate.
I,artificer of that which immures me,
am befuddled by such hands that abate
and augment 'mid its trice mellifluously.
There is no such animal as time
thrashing at one's mind
with its keen ungual;
ravishing ponder to despondent wonder.
Hobbles and fetters of sullen hue
embellish the aura of my silhouette.
Verily,here,there is penance due
for the catharsis of my soul's etiquette.
Amongst miserable ululation
from pederasts and recalcitrant knaves,
I hearken my own lamentation,
And to my heart's resound I am but a slave.
There is no such animal as fate,
laden on one's pate
with heft of loathsome beast;
ravaging blunder to a roseate ponder.
Categories:
hobbles, inspirationalanimal, animal,
Form:
Rhyme
It's too late in the day to tell you of asps;
it's time for an afternoon nap.
The taxes are all filed, and on their way
by certified post from the c.p.a.
The afternoon is lazy;
the sun is just beginning to feel its dottage
as it leans on the wind for a crutch
weary as it hobbles through sky,
much the same way some say Ra
wandered through Egyptian dunes,
senile and babbling words of power
his spittle potent with secret sounds
and dropping on the sand.
How careful, clever Isis crept,
swadled in her lotus linen,
memorizing all his magic,
and taking up the dampened sand
rolled them into asps.
May 4th, '18
Categories:
hobbles, art,
Form:
Free verse
Marching Boots
Tight marching boots
Like those of a ghost
Or eerie Owl that hoots
Yet he met the cost!
He hobbles oversized
Left is like on the right-
Like a ship capsized
Or Lilliputian at flight!
Smell is hereby brewed
No wonder a poor Frog
Lured by the tang rude
Mistook it for fetid bog!
What then is like wet rot
Emitted from the foot
Is it or is it not
Flesh in a rotting boot?
How would one wear
Cauldron of a plastic
Easily submitting to tear
Yet vaunted synthetic?
Have they been polished
Or simply hastily shod
Would it be admonished
By hygiene’s strict rod?
When boots we abuse,
Putting on the wrong size,
Corns we loudly accuse
Forgetting tight device!
JM
27th Nov’ 2013
Categories:
hobbles,
Form:
Quatrain