Best Hobbling Poems
We gathered for our thirtieth class reunion at Lydia's Smorgasbord.
I'd avoided such past events since in school I was largely ignored!
But my spouse proclaimed we would attend, thus ending that debate!
The dreaded encounter is expressed in verse below that I will now relate!
A social hour preceded the buffet where the booze freely flowed!
I looked about the room to see if I could spot anyone that I knowed.
I hardly recognized the campus queen - she had acquired a heap of weight!
That once haughty snob now tipped the scales, I judged, at one ninety-eight!
I saw the big-man-on-campus who was named most apt to score success.
He had a dearth of hair, an ample gut and an astonishing lack of finesse!
Some gal with purple hair staggered up to me and planted a slobbering kiss!
Must've been one of my old flames as I mused, "Now, who in hell is this!"
Guys gravitated my way boasting about this and that bending my ear.
They bored me with nasty jokes and trivia that I really didn't want to hear!
Of course I told all how great they looked, staring them dead in the eye,
And asking the Lord's forgiveness and crossed my fingers for telling such a lie!
The jocks were trying to impress one and all with their waning capabilities.
Most were hobbling about with canes discreetly masking their disabilities!
'Twas an interesting eve and the grub was great, of that there is no doubt,
But for our fortieth, fiftieth and sixtieth reunions, please include me out!
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
© All Rights Reserved
Categories:
hobbling, funny, school, me, me,
Form:
Rhyme
I came as an unaffected statue
Halloween depiction depicting everything
vaguely-leaving margins for misinterpretations
like hieroglyphics deciphered by illiterates
scawling crayon scratch book reports
Walk in these shoes
Feel the pavement scrape through openings worn through souls
and feel the contours of the Earth ravaging
~merciless~
Take the reigns of this chariot
rambling around on undiscernable tracks often
backwards-hobbling humbly
numbly picking up pieces from a patchwork jigsaw
picture possesing voids in the most beautiful places
Climb this tree and know the shaky footfall limbs
sprawl like weeping willow tendrils on my fathers branch
bare and abandoned like locusts came, fed, and fled
watch the forest flourish and realize
this tree is flawed yet resilient
rooted in the strength of adversity
Stethoscope this heart and enjoy the offbeat beat
thumping in uneven peak and valley arrythmia
loving deeply and loved shallow, coldly
berating every executioner who killed
my adoration quotient with dull unfeeling axes
Leaving tides turned, churning me to hurt
Vengefully....Senselessly
Leaving no paths passing me passively
~~passion is my blessing and curse
Categories:
hobbling, introspectiontree, me, tree,
Form:
Free verse
Starry skies over Damascus
Like a star chart for the
bomber pilots eating
Milky Ways and lives
Chocolate in the desert
for desert in consumption
The poem could stop here
its pretty clear not pretty
Petty lives perambulating
hiding hobbling around
on what was their feet
foundations souls and
is their ruin's wreckage now
The planes feature logos
“Just do it”
“Whiter than white”
“Put the tiger in the tank”
“Eat confectionary be happy”
What an advertising space
for the daily news rounded
up like the refugees
refusing to be refuse
“Powered by democracy”
“Fuelled by share holdings”
“Rocket launches for a better world”
in the weeping nights and days
lactating for another holiday
of some on sunny beaches
oozing oil wells wealth
and inequality
Milk where it needs not be
in luxury not infant powder
hungry breasts run dry by hunger
sapped empty in the face
of some lives counting
more than others where
camouflage is but
a distant varnish
in the pursuit of power
Soon their will be billboards
“Baghdad was not built
in a moment” “Invest in
Kabul” “Concrete for Allepo”
“Live the dream”
“Life liberty and the
pursuit of happy-mess”
“Constructing globality”
Munching away in my
cushioned arm chair
built from greedy land mines
I collude
“You can have your milky ways”
if the bomber pilots did not
eat them all
Whose wives implant their chests
with silicone from
the valley of evil
that forgot
Instead the artificial brain
the heart transplant
Mindful disposition
of humanity
Looking
instead at the stars
spangled banners
of Damascus
Milky ways
Categories:
hobbling, war,
Form:
Free verse
Harrowing shifts placating Palestinian patients
Awkwardly healing bones, injuries war caused
Comfort we gave seemed severely insufficient
Soul mates meeting among pain, implausible
Crutch hobbling boy with copious haphazard grin
Caught both our hearts, we smuggled him chocolate
You took every free chance to sit and joke with him
Your easy demeanor is medicine, patients responded
Images of rubble sifting shadow-faced citizens
Inescapable magnitude replayed, dream tethered
Impact we made upon fractured limbs and spirits
Told us each smile gained was worthy endeavour
I've speculated our distance pronounced our parallels
A far, foreign land artificially grew our new love found
Strongest logic shows me your benevolence plentiful
Desire stunned us, despite draped shapeless gowns
A year improvising in Gaza's limping hospice system
Threatened to take my buoyancy amongst its tragedy
Compassion you dealt exposed a myriad of wisdom
Guardians of burden bandaged turmoil's inched recovery
Excitement of moving in together, calm logic forgotten
Several short weeks after Gaza, shared goals discussed
A jubilant wedding, white gown without tie backed cotton
Box pile totems, future unpacked together, a time for us
17th August 2020
JCB Burl, Sponsor
Contest, 'A Time For Us'
Categories:
hobbling, best friend, boyfriend, conflict,
Form:
Rhyme
Twilight downs the sun as dreams appear on the screen of sleep
Slips into the subconscious realm and trips a few fuses in slumber
Adapts and clears clutter and narrates and alters the story in kind
Strips and clips a mind full of sentience like an ad-blocking app
When dreams slip into a magical edition it proofreads my soul
In magic Morpheus tenders to soft renditions and rehearses
A new dawn for sanity’s sake and rearranges bedlam in silence
Ties new meaning to fake news and spins alignments afresh
Compounds and rearranges while the curtain slowly descends
A dress rehearsal in night gown patiently waits for the curtain
A sacred orange globe dances with ripples dissected by clouds
Ultramarine parades on the fading horizon of tangerine canvas
As the gatekeeper confers with clairvoyants and hobbling goblins
The mermaids charter the voyage with sea gulls and dolphin as they
Tie holy knots onto the tapestry of fabrication and spirited truths
Sometimes my aspirations and recollections call for clean slates
When charcoal rules anthracite waves draped in sombre veils
Or polychrome splashes beg to hold on to the palette forever
Sleep brushes over karma and vagaries and tames with a stroke
Of restful fortune in infinite renditions of what the future might hold
A life line appears on the horizon anchoring a courageous flare
Regardless of whether my journey explores a secret underworld
Or ships critique onto the blatantly obvious faults in the vessel
Poseidon pumps up the raft as tears and regrets rock the boat
Blows caution to the wind and advises to hold on for dear life
Neptune challenges his counterpart and weighs for good measure
Yet Atlantis refuses to sink and Nirvana sweeps the ocean’s floor
Phoenix gathers soaked ashes while jetsam jumps into the current
When the night parades its blessing the sun resets a new dawn
The moon watches over assorted memories baggage and hope
19th April 2020
Categories:
hobbling, appreciation,
Form:
Free verse
A few wet, wind scorched leaves,
are pressed like Victorian mementos
upon the wooden walkway
The trees in this forested park are tattered,
or stand like blackened forked skewers
piercing the stark air.
Autumn fell too far, too soon.
Winter grabbed the sky and quickly froze it.
Now the odd leaf upon the ground
seems abandoned, homeless,
unable now to be anything
but the litter of yesterday.
A good day for wading through
the history of this changing season,
to watch those prematurely gray ghosts
hobbling along a pathway
seeking threadbare sparks of life.
Categories:
hobbling, poetry,
Form:
Free verse
Poor old farmer Giles started hobbling
As his painful piles were a wobbling
When he sat down on ice
The relief was so nice
His tush is in need of remodelling
Farmer Giles is Cockney rhyming slang for Piles or haemorrhoids.
31st May 2015
Categories:
hobbling, humorous,
Form:
Limerick
An old man takes his daily walk, his old dog limping after
hobbling down the city streets, to where it does not matter
familiar faces they do meet, some nod, some at times greeting.
With heavy footsteps he goes on, gnarled hand on his cane, gripping
near church steps, they walk by at dawn, where homeless men are sprawling
ancient man and ancient dog, by trash cans, ants are crawling.
Through misty morning fog, the pair are viewed by God above
heaven watches them with care, covering man and beast with love
angels know the when and where, and guide their footsteps homeward.
Written on 2/1/2015
Categories:
hobbling, age, city, spiritual,
Form:
Rhyme
...for Virginia Woolf
Submerged 'neath the surface,
stones weighting her body,
gremlins and goblins
are hobbling her soul.
Images jar,
and memories jostle,
her compass is gone
but she's in full control.
Lungs overflowing,
her faculties failing,
she's one with the fishes,
at last she is whole.
Categories:
hobbling, death,
Form:
Quatrain
Cobbled traces ankle-turn the December night,
hobbling church goer's on sleet-covered streets.
Lines of warblers rise at the sides,
confined side walkers avoid the car play.
Wet headed wanderers, at large in the dark,
set chill chapped hands to their wind-burned cheeks.
Off key, they carol from the quay to the close
Three Kings rings out joyous from post to lamp post.
Through honeyed light and the nave’s open door
to hear the Domspatzen, the church sparrows, sing.
Boys and young men porcelain in candlelight,
rois without queens, one race, one sex, employed.
Brilliant as finger rubbed glasses, they trill;
we're silent: in sound wrapped, close-eyed, waylaid.
Each dulcet tone blends with organ and bow
teaching church doctrine with tenor and alto.
Published by Page & Spine Winter 2016
Categories:
hobbling, children, faith, music,
Form:
Verse
Just a short story of the joys of living with a cat, a kelpie, a labrador.
Sometimes they play in a peaceful house, sometimes it’s like a war.
Like this morning, the red dog played tug of war all over the yard out the back.
For an hour both dogs pushed and pulled, stopped, sort of retired but then they’d both attack.
This was fun and joyous and lively, entertaining playing in harmony, peace, love and bliss.
Nothing could go wrong, nothing, as long as the cat wasn’t there, nothing could go amiss.
Well, you see this is where it got tricky, tricky when the kelpie decided to go in the house.
Inside where the cat was sleeping beside her kittens, sleeping like a mouse.
The red dog made it as far as the kitchen, that’s when play war became something so real.
From nowhere, a once quiet cat became psycho, attacking the dog like he was a meal.
The dog had no idea the cat had learnt to fly so fast, using razor sharp talons as wings.
The cat held on using all four feet, clawing at his back, legs, belly and, well, other things.
Shocked and dismayed, I jumped, I flew to calm this crazy, insane, deranged situation.
I grabbed the cat with both hands saving the dog from imminent castration.
Talons once meant for the dog now bore down into each of my tender fingers.
I screamed a scream not heard since the battlefields screams on Flanders.
The cat, I taught her to fly again, fly straight, like a dart, across the room into a wall.
I stood there, hands and arms covered in blood, the aftermath after the brawl.
After I’d stemmed the flow, washed and bathed and patched my many wounds up.
I staggered outside, my back was buggered too, to see the kelpie playing again, like a pup.
Oh man, not a scratch on you, so I hobbled back inside, hobbling and holding my head.
There asleep, purring peacefully not sore at all, were the kittens and their mum, upon my bed.
Did they learn a lesson not to go near each other, to keep a look out, to always keep a distance?
Nope, not a thing, it’s me that learnt though, not to get involved for my own existence.
Categories:
hobbling, pets, soulmate, together,
Form:
Rhyme
THE LANCASHIRE LAD 1914-18
Hello Mother, a nurse is writing this for me,
I’ve lost my arm and a bit of my leg you see,
But I’m up on crutches and hobbling about,
So this afternoon, they’re shipping me out!
Please tell Maud next door ‘bout Tommy and Joe and the butcher’s lad Jack,
I’m very sorry but they’re not coming back;
Tommy died at my feet choking in trench, amongst all’ rats, an the stench,
And me an Joe went over the top, they told us to run an we hadn’t to stop,
When a bullet blew up his face, I didn’t stop mother, I still had to race;
Young Jack were frightened an shaking, an he wouldn’t go,
So a bloke told him to shoot off his toe
But the officer heard him when he let out a loud screaming moan
An they took him away mother, an they shot him at dawn.
I’m on the ship now mother, I can see the white cliffs of Dover
Eeeh, but I’m glad it’s all over.
Ay, this ship’s silent mother, it’s as quiet as the grave,
We’re all just looking at England, knowing we’ve been saved,
And now, I’m standing an looking at that green painted, cracked door
An I’m staring, trying to knock but it opens and there you are mother,
With your best paisley-pinny, over your frock.
An your cheeks have lines like trenches, that I’ve never seen before,
An your eyes are wet for every year and more
An my dads behind you with a big wet grin,
And then mother, my bloody wonderful mother grabbed me by shoulders and said,
Where av you bin, get in!”
Categories:
hobbling, conflict, courage, emotions, england,
Form:
Rhyme
From the brow of the hill
I could clearly see the panorama
Beneath me. Worried I saw
From afar a dark man,
Scythe in hand reaping…..God knew what.
In far off fields full of tall grass.
It was not the man who interested me.
It was my wife, a marriage of forty-seven years.
I saw her hobbling down an uneven path,
Her body bloated with disease.
She never looked back.
Strange I thought,
There were no birds around.
Only profound silence.
Arriving at a crossroad,
Without hesitation
She took the right narrow trail.
My heart thundered in pain.
I knew what was in her mind.
Incautiously she arrived at a bridge.
Thick fog covered the other side
An extension that led to unknown worlds.
Head straight but body limping
She dragged herself over.
Helpless I looked on till she disappeared.
Disconsolate I sat down on a stone.
She had suffered enough. She will now rest forever.
But I? Will I find some salutary rest?
I felt the pain of separation.
From afar a bell chimed an Ave Maria dirge.
Categories:
hobbling, anniversary, love,
Form:
Free verse
Floating under the surface,
stones weighting her body,
gremlins and goblins
were hobbling her soul;
she's full to o'erflowing,
her faculties failing,
she swam with the fishes
and found her way home.
Last Modified: July 28, 2015 at 11:57 pm
© bickerstaffe - all rights reserved
Author Notes
...an epilogue for Virginia Woolf
Categories:
hobbling, tribute,
Form:
Verse
With Crystal Ball I might have found
Some way to weave my way through time
Instead I played without the rules
Did it my way throughout the schools
Meandered free from guides or maps
Ate my meals from plates on laps
Camped and rambled, cycled too
My only aim - my love for you
Single till I sang your song
Wed while we were still so young
Cats and flats and tube train rides
Cinema trips and theatre asides
Walking miles down country lanes
Hobbling from the blisters pains
Now and then there'd be a tiff
Life's never perfect, oh what if
Pardon me while I reminisce
My poetic licence still exists
So work was just my hobby made
Into jobs for which I was paid
Until later I joined the retail trade
Years went by, I sold the shop
We bought a house with the cash I got
Acquired a dog who chased our cats
And still we ate from plates on laps
Houses changed, our lives did too
For a while you were lost to view
Back as one we multiplied
Two girls from us were derived
Another move nearer to school
A third child born who is no fool
Sadly you were soon unwell
At first the doctors couldn’t tell
Mighty was the blow that day
When they said no cure to allay
The failing heart within your breast
A transplant might be for the best
Some days after our son was two
While I was there, visiting you
The doctors said you had one last chance
And we took the news with a mutual glance
Harder still those several weeks
Intensive care, drug induced sleeps
Tubes, machines, alarms and more
Until you slipped through the final door
Goodbyes were hard for all who came
Many said it was a shame
But on with life we had to go
Three children had to deal with woe
Does time heal, or simply pass
Those old sayings might make you laugh
4000 days have been and gone
Will I join you before long?
©Rhumour
April 14th 2008
Categories:
hobbling, life, loss, love, drug,
Form:
Rhyme