Best Hobo Poems
Hobo Walking Past Our House
He looked like man walking with rocks in his shoes,
a bit edgy, with shadows flitting about.
Dark clouds about him, sending the lonesome blues,
smiling alligator with a toothless snout.
Stopping to look back, time waving its hello's,
angry at not having what he left behind;
an old man, one of those ***** little fellows
with nothing about him speaking as refined.
A frown formed upon his dark, withering face,
as his ragged, torn hat hung on him quite low.
Started again, he walked at a limp pace,
leaving questions, answers nobody can know.
Disappearing from our sight, one of his goals.
Like an ancient furnace, with no burning coals.
R.J. Lindley
SEPT.22ND 1976
Note: Edited recently to meet the eleven syllable verse uniformly.
Syllables Per Line:
11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11 11 11 0 11 11
Total # Syllables: 154
Total # Lines: 17 (Including empty lines)
Words with (syllables) counted programmatically:
Total # Words: 111
Train whistles still call me
in the dead of night
recalling wanderlust
days of youth, tugging
something
inside me tight
Vacant curiosity of what
might have been
another place
another lifetime
remembering when
I was free, with
nothing to lose but
The Sadness
I carried overseas
(and back again)
like a bulky bag of
dirty laundry grown large
Older now, I thought I'd
done my washing
dried, pressed, folded
put away... And yet-
suddenly I feel that
familiar weight
on my back
gunnysack of Sadness
fraught with longing
daring me to break away
for destinations unknown
leave today- this
temporary madness
of suburban ways
____
Even though I'm pretty "settled" at this stage of life, train whistles always stir that restless part of me that refuses to accept that I'm too old to jump up & take off for 'regions unbounded' like I once did...
Walking along the road
Pushing the metal cart
Having to be in a useless life mode
I am a hobo with a broken heart
Finding new things everywhere
Picking up random things and putting them in my cart
I even found a new pair of underwear
I told my wife that we would never be apart
I am an uncleaned man
I remember the times when I took a shower
And going to the living room to sit in front of the fan
I sat there for an hour
Thinking about the old times
And the new times too
Fighting all this nasty, stinky grime
Makes me feel blue
I think I should have stayed in school
Probably wouldn't be a hobo in this situation
Maybe I thought I was too cool
I should have filled out that application
Step right up
come down below
welcome
to the side show
See rodeo clowns
spiral down
tendrils
twine around
Hobo
give us thrills
break our hearts
Star attraction there’s
no sadder show revealed
Sure...
to tear you apart
I’d love to be a hobo
To tramp the country mile
To be at one with nature
To face life with a smile
The countryside will feed me
With the hedgerow for my bed
The green grass for my pillow
When I need to rest my head
Oh I’d love to be a hobo
Watching seasons passing through
To wake up with the dawning
And the early morning dew
I’d miss my comfy bed I know
And three square meals a day
Fresh clothes every morning
Somewhere clean and warm to stay
Yes, I’d love to be a hobo
It would make me feel alive
But should it ever happen
Could it just be nine till five
Hobo Butterfly
Rest here
Weary Monarch
Though Monterey calls you
No flight for broken wings that seek
Healing
Born in this arbor - this hospice -
Begging release to fly
The wind express
Again!
4/28/20
Based on an injured butterfly, in our garden, that hitched a ride on the grill of our car. We think he finally made it to Monterey and we have had butterflies in our garden ever since that summer.
In an unfolding poetic hymn of yours,
I will be the poet, with zealous zeal,
A Sky, unwrapped the horizon of yours,
while, I was a lonely, soaring seagull
Running brook of yours had a murmuring sound,
though, tranquil water touched mine
Within the rainy season,and your riverine landscape,
I will be the estuary, rushing to a shrine.
The mountainous high of your beauty
will be ever, an epic greenery of mine
In a pacing mayhem, in your controlling high,
I will be thy resurrection.
Be a forest in the deep, I will be the chirping bird,
in the camouflaging nature.
Salty tears of yours will be an anecdote
in these eyes, too, of mine, in pairing venture.
Wider outskirt of life and love of mine,
may it rush to yours, in prime time..
In an embroidered quilted story of yours,
I may be found, often in a silence of chime.
Na re na.. na.. na..
On a night, as dense as a silence, I will be thy color
On a moment of unfolding nature and bliss,
I will bring a surging silent uproar.
In a poem, singing bold and loud, I will be thy poet.
Wider outskirt of life and love of mine, may it rush to yours ,
in prime time..
In an embroidered quilted story of yours,
I may be found, often in a silence of chime.
Na re na.. na.. na..
May 26, 2023
He wallowed in the dirt
With the sand and the muck
Saying brother can you spare a buck?
He say I ain't got the time
Well how 'bout a dime?
Denied
Beggars sigh
As the cars passed by
My oh my
Please help
I'm down on my luck
I lack even a buck
And I don't know why
And then.suddenly,
It was beggars dream
And I got me a $20
Man say spend it wisely
And so I bought me a beer
Then I bought me a forty
And by the end of the night
could not walk upright
Left to stumble around
On flat ground
Incapacitated, world spinng round me
Unrolled my pack
Fell asleep,
On the side of the street
Let it rain on me
Woke up
Where the F$$K is the rest of my money?
Got outta that city
Repeat
I once had a buddy named Bob
He was an unbearable slob
I pressed him a suit
And dressed him up cute
He dirtied it quickly, the knob.
He’s usually there – at the intersection
Disheveled and dirty
With blistered lips
Beaten mercilessly by the blazing sun
Day after day
I can’t look him in the eye
But nonetheless he approaches
I raise my hand to deny him a rand
Unmoved it seems – rich bastard
Do you know how it feels?
Without a word he speaks!
His presence is stark and powerful
And he begs of me
A multitude of questions
Which only he
Can answer
Play that Oboe Hobo,
far across the field.
Like a Gypsy dancin'...
never yet to yield.
Play that piper viper,
play it all in song.
Tambourine and magic...
as we dance along.
Sing the mystery of life,
beat the drum and play the fife.
Play that Oboe Hobo...
onward as we go.
See that Gypsy dancin',
all around the camp.
In a trance that she may stray...
just for another day.
See the smoke, it rises,
swirling through the air...
Play that Oboe Hobo,
ing without a care...
Play that Oboe Hobo,
play it all in tune.
Bend an ear that we may hear...
the echo of a loon!
Stretch that note and dance it...
all about the town.
Wayward from the brush we hear...
there's beauty all around.
Play that Oboe Hobo...
down the railroad track.
Like a Gypsy dancin'...
never to come back!
Gypsy of the Railways
I march to a different drummer
My life it is my own
I'm an explorer of experience
That is how I'm known
I've seen snow in South Dakota
I've been on the Vegas strip
Had barbeque in Kansas
My life has been a trip
I'm a gypsy of the railways
I'm a legend in my time
I move on in a boxcar
Brother... spare a dime?
I've been through all the landlocked states
Five provinces as well
I've seen Niagara Falls all frozen
I've seen it flowing fast as well
I've had margaritas in Key West
And Bourbon in Kentucky
Craft beers out in Oregon
In my life I have been lucky
I travel on my stories
Feed myself with all my tales
I'm an explorer of experience
I'm a gypsy of the rails
I never stick around too long
I don't wear my welcome out
I come and see just what I want
That's what life is all about
I've railroad friends in Texas
Some up in BC too
We've shared drinks in San Diego
And had a great Alaskan brew
I'm not one to live by your rules
I find my rules suit me fine
I'm an explorer of experience
And I'm riding on the lines
You can find me down in Georgia
Or eating spuds in Idaho
I never know just where I'll be
Until my ride begins to go
I'm a gypsy of the railways
I'm a legend in my time
I move on in a boxcar
Brother...spare a dime?
Well I think I finally figured it out
The answer I've wanted to know
What makes her mother act like that
And her five o'clock shadow grow
You see, I have always wondered
Why she takes her bath in the yard
The bird bath is her bathtub
While my wife is standing guard
She drinks her meals on a bench outside
From a plain brown paper bag
Her clothes are always tattered and torn
And she looks like a crazy old hag
She always wears those army boots
And her car is a shopping cart
She talks of all the places she's been
And she calls Graffiti, art
Did I mention she plays harmonica?
Like that Boxcar Willie guy
She plays, "Nobody knows the troubles"
As a tear leaks from her eye
And when she goes on her vacations
She'll never take a plane
She says she's just more comfortable
In the boxcar of a train
So, I finally know all the answers
And I'll share them with you all
I want you to know that my wife's mom
Is the Hobo mother-in-law
Time's moments takes it's toll
adding gravitational pull
To a body, so weighed down
His chin can touch the ground
With pain visible on his face
He lives sans his wit, and grace
A life of selfishness, his crime
now sentenced, to a duel with time
And time's blatent tenacity
plus it's control over eternity
Reminds the man how much it's cost
for him to realize what he's lost
So he wears time's final wrath
As he walks life's thorny path
All alone without a friend
He walks the path to journey's end
You use sex to live as a means to pay
Attention not to mention evade escape
Any responsibility in bills mortgage or rent
Pretending to love like you are heaven sent
You’re good at what you do making lovers a fool
Only thing you own between your legs a tool
Like butter your words melt like moth to flame
You sleep earn your keep playing mind games
Often attractive at least in their ebony eyes
But what if wisdom strikes they denim decide
To face teal truth look within them within you
find what is worthy of being used blue truth
You say you watch the kids instead of work
Not to say homemaker’s job isn’t God’s work
But you’re not an asset rather a dependent
You’re healthy not wealthy without even tent
Too lazy to work you don’t even panhandle
The nerve to be a jerk feelings manhandled
You’re like a lime leech sucking money green
And resources you eat don’t provide anything
You must grow inside pull your own weight
Have you ever tried to be an adult any day
Mental health issues are no excuse to fake
If I see you others do too make honest way