Best Mobiles Poems
Hello there, do please come inside- no need to wipe your feet
excuse the mess, I fear you'll find it isn't very neat.
This place is always untidy, victim of my disorder
from old hang-ups to memories, I'll admit I am a hoarder.
In here hanging like mobiles, noisy, at odds with my feelings
are life's little distractions, niggling, swinging from the ceiling.
Careful with your torch, don't shine it underneath the bed
beneath it there is lurking a dark sprouting creeping dread.
Most people couldn't live with it, a disturbing thing to some,
as it cowers in the corner from the things still yet to come.
Tread lightly in the corridor, just mind out where you walk
you'll trip on my anxiety that bobs up like a cork.
The fire is stoked, the hearth is swept and logs stacked in a heap
my warmth to all well tended (well, except when I'm asleep).
Cardboard tubes in disarray, and more you cannot see-
plans I drew up in the past, none ever meant to be.
Mannequin in veil of black, arms raised as if to dance
with all my past relationships that never stood a chance.
This rocking chair, my temper, that sometimes I must sit in
and you'll notice that the varnish of my patience has worn thin.
My sense of humour's in the loft, protected by my hats
seemed like the right place for it, since my friends all think I'm bats.
That one small window by the beam lets my faith's light shine in
I'm sorry it's not brighter, window dirty from past sin.
Still, I can climb and open it to aim my telescope
for somewhere in the darkness lies the faintest glimpse of hope
that keeps me living here in peace and shelters me from sad;
you wonder why I live in here? Well, out there-
its just mad!
September16th 2015
For contest 'Inside my head'- sponsor John Lawless
Is it
simply a case of precipitation,
moist warm air condensation
or are they God’s tears showering us with love,
as rain washes away our sorrows,
in the hope of brighter tomorrows.
Gloomy grey skies conceal a shy sun
with murky dull clouds lingering.
A cornucopia of soggy brown leaves
slither and slide under our feet.
A plethora of rain drops fall capriciously
with no concern for those they disturb.
Ladies shelter under umbrellas appearing morose,
whilst school children splatter in puddles,
laughing and giggling in sheer delight.
The rain is never cold when one is young.
Pollutant auto mobiles drive by monotonously
their passengers are safe as
windscreen wipers clear their way.
Stores are lit with commercialised displays
as the air fills with excitement for fun that awaits.
In hope the October rain does not dampen their spirits.
Squirrels gather up supplies ready to hibernate.
High above birds fly south for warmer temperatures.
A fragile old leaf falls upon me through the blustery wind,
leading to a philosophical thought about turning over a new leaf.
Lost within the season of change and contemplation,
one thing will never change though –
the October rain.
The Silent One
originally written 29 October 2015
re-posted 18 October 2017
Two poetic hydrangea mobiles ~ happy or sad, take your pick
~
Weeping hydrangeas spill
sapphire tears falling,
drenching grey scale gardens
suspended, free flowing
a mobile of distractions
on tiny threads scattered
above clouded daydreams
Worded floating silent streams,
spinning slowly, creating phrases
on whirlwind petals,
browned edges frame
whispered wonderings
sans answers
upon somber breezes
of yesterday’s questions
or
A cappella Hydrangeas
send harmonic petals floating
upon melodic wind chime breezes,
suspended soft concerto clouds
on love sonnet strings
tuned to a spring day,
as flowering symphonies,
acoustic mobiles of emotion
bloom within a garden
of daffodils dreams
in unison with lyrical
compositions of nature’s
enchanting song
~
BEFORE THE TECHNOLOGY TOOK OVER.
How beautiful were those days
When tech had not touched us
To spoil our minds and hearts
When life was simple and plain
And ambitions too were not very rosy.
When poetry music and art
Use to inspire us to touch the sky
On the wings of our imagination
As then our dreams too were simple
And love use to empower our hearts
To swim across any deep ocean
While singing the songs of love.
When television had not snatched
Our leisure hours from everyone of us
And we use to dance and sing
On the call of heart touching tunes.
When mobiles had not spoiled our minds
While snatching from us,
Our peace of mind
When computers were a remote cry
And internet had not ruined the purity of minds.
When as children we use to enjoy the life
While playing the Gend Tadi* (throw balls)
Or even the Gilli Danda*
As they all use to fill us with a serene joy
Which the new technology has snatched
From our kids and younger generations.
How beautiful were those days
When we use to enjoy the company
Of human minds and hearts
Unlike the numerous appliances
Which we keep close to our hearts
instead of love, music and friendship.
The new generation would never know
The beauty of those precious joyous moments
Which used to embrace our hearts
And were the result of love and affection
Which always come from non tech things.
Ravindra K Kapoor
Kanpir India 29th Oct. 2016
Inspired poem from a Photo published by Julia Ward on face book.
* Indian village simple games which are played with the help of a rubber ball and two wooden made Gilli two side conical small rod and Danda ( a little bigger rod).
I don’t know about you but I think it right
That kids should eat at the table, most every night.
Sit down with mum, sit down with dad
For these are the best memories you’ll ever have.
There will come a time and it creeps up fast,
When past days are gone, for they never last
When you will wish those days were back
When there is something in your life, you will forever lack.
It had been tradition, it had always been
But today at mealtimes children are never seen
They sit with their takeaways on their lap
Whilst the video games will, their attention sap!
And these days parents are forced to compete
With mobiles phones as their offspring tweet
For conversation at mealtimes may well be lost
And the lack of table manners will be the cost!!
Hey children! Listen, I miss your zeal.
The world inside your mobile is surreal.
Look up!
See, I have fixed stronger glasses on my windows,
Get hold of your cricket kit, come back on the street,
I miss watching your games.
I won’t mind, smash all my window panes.
Hackneyed messages,
Dollops of unalloyed twaddle
Tides of trifling emotions!
Baby! You are locked inside your mobile.
Look up!
See, the stadium looks so barren!
Without your mischiefs and fun,
Your irritating jibber- jabber and nonstop run.
I won’t mind, come on burst my eardrum.
Your friends, your pictures, games, tweets and stories
You live in a fantasy world, that’s absolutely unsavoury.
Step back into this beautiful life, create beautiful memories.
Look up!
Don’t waste your time and energy.
Live for a cause, get up and push back your lethargy.
Open the notebook of your life,
Fill it with love, fame and prosperity.
No matter what! You shall thrive.
Don’t be a slave to mobile,
Life isn’t a game!
Dear! You have to survive, mobiles exists just to give a little respite!
11/04/2019
American Bandstand, Aqua Velva Ads, Aretha Franklin, and, the Andy Griffith Show
Black lights, Bewitched, bean bag chairs, beads, Batman and the Beatles
Cleopatra, Corvairs, Corvettes, Chevelles, Captain Kangaroo, Civil Rights Movement
Dionne Warwick, Derek and the Dominoes, Dennis the Menace, and Dodge Dart.
Ed Sullivan’s Amateur Hour, Elvis Presley, the Edsel, and new expressions emerge.
Fiddler on the Roof , Flower Power painted vans, Free love, Fiber optic lights,
Giget, Green Acres, Glen Campbell, Gun Smoke, Go-Go Boots, “Go with the flow!”
Hello Dolly, Have Gun Will Travel,and the Hippie Movement begin...“Hang Ten”
Imperial (the car), I dream of Jeanie, and new phrases “In your face” crop up.
JFK youngest U.S. President, and Jackie Kennedy stylish First Lady,
Kennedy was assassinated and the nation mourned the loss of their young leader.
Lamborghini 350 GT, Lava Lamps, Lady and the Tramp, Lost in Space, Lassie
Mousekateers, mini-skirts, mobiles, macramé plant hangars, Mash, The Monkeys,
Nissan Skyline GT-R, Nash Metropolitan, and Nestles’ Nestle were signs of the times.
Ordinary people seek peace during the years of war and social change of the 60s.
Pillsbury Doughboy, Petticoat Junction,and Peter, Paul, and Mary, placate.
Queen for the Day TV show, bring a fantasy escape during radically changing times.
Rabbit ear antennas for TV shows: Route 66, and Rowan and Martin’s Laugh- In.
Sherri Lewis and Lamb Chop, Shake and Bake, and the sexual revolution start.
Twist to The Four Tops, The Flintstones,The Adam’s Family, The Twilight Zone.
“Up your nose with a rubber hose” and similar expressions are the times’ lingo.
Valley of the Dolls, Volkswagon Karmann Ghia, and Vanilla Fudge, gain popularity.
Wonderful World of Disney, Vietnam War, protests, and “Groovy” words crop up.
Xenoglossia emerges; “Make love, not war,” “Far out,” “Catch you on the flip-side.”
Yonderly Vietnam Veterans return home to social unrest without a hero’s honor.
Zanadu dances around in the minds of the partakers; religion is legal, not marijuana.
Copyright March 7, 2015
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: The Decades
Sponsor: Kelly Deschler
What could I really know of the breaks
in the land
huge canyons bleeding red cut by the wind
with the snow swirling around our tires
barns upright
and fallen to a tumble like icebergs
windshield riming over with a crust of ice
we scrape madly inside
trying to keep cold out
speed slowing
slowing to a crawl
always on the lookout
outside line appearing and gone,
no worries about
cattle led inside to safety to be watered and fed
but what of us?
Will we be trapped clutching a candle
wanting a chocolate bar,
waiting for a tractor?
and all the flat seeming land seems to have ditches
and roof pitches and rushing trees, and a swirl
of slumbering snow
to lumber down in drifts and piles
no fire would ever warm us
temperature dropping
dropping
until finally we see it shining in the dark
a lantern at a farm
a fleet of snow mobiles to greet us
scurry is off
before our ears turn blue,
would they fall off?
Luckily, not tonight, not in this blizzard,
we have home.
Coast to Coast
The sun ascends over the Great Lakes
Settles back into the indigo depths
Flight of a copper swan shore to shore
With her sweeping wing tips skimming
Commanding
The azure locks of eternity to open
Gather her iron-ore souls from the cliffs
That lift along the turquoise bays
Arise
Our northern Holy Ghost.
These drinkable oceans are graves to glaciers
Tombs for freighters
Limestone crypts
Where condemned sailors still dance and drink
A thousand clicks amidst the ancient glow
Below
Moon boulders like mobiles of suspended fish.
It’s as if Michigan’s peninsulas
Was its own sliding green continents
Fitting together pieces of a new planet
Waves bellow a dare to all the apocalyptic surfers
Come sail these giant breaking swells.
Though you’re a dipped hand
Waving to outer space
It’s your down-to-Earth bare cold caress
That we count on for dousing the summer steam
From our steely brow.
Michiganians
Plant your bare feet into the hot tops
Of the Sand Dunes of Sleeping Bear
Prepare an avalanche slide
From the side of your hand
A child pushing away the world’s troubles
Throw out your hard chest
Reveal your beautiful breasts
Like the goddesses and gods that you are.
Gaze out from these colossal pink shores
To the horizon that bends like a violin
Under the chin of a setting sun.
Michiganians
You are the everlasting Keepers
Of the Mighty Mighty Great Lakes.
Bridge cards aren't for everyone
just those who have real need
Not meant for all those college "kids"
that party and smoke "weed"
Not meant for all those shacking up
with a "daddy" in the house
His room and board? It's on our dime
he's a government sponsored louse
Not meant for all those gambling addicts
ponies, cards and slots
Nor tires and wheels for pimp mobiles
making haves, out of (have nots)
Not meant for big screen TV sets
oops that's right, they are
X-box set with all the games
you're treated like a star
It's all measured, by the masses
and how we live, (I guess)
Even cars just ten years old
are causing too much stress
Not knocking those that really need
just those that "win and play"
making us, taxpayer fools
while they enjoy their day
When the wage, hits fifteen plus
they won't give up their checks
That "nagging injury" that they have
has made their life complex.....
If the pathways and parklands
of my childhood could talk
they would speak of time crawling
before it could walk.
and when clouds hung like mobiles
on strings from the sky
I would run with my arms out
pretending to fly.
I would 'land' near the steep bank
that looked down on the track
to watch trains pass there daily
before then heading back.
in that long, lost, hot summer
when I never knew time
I would scan the horizon
through the haze on the line.
the dots that grew bigger
would soon thunder past
- they were moments I lived for
that flew by so fast.
but as clouds clouded over
that magic had gone
and as the last train rolled past me
I sensed time had moved on.
The last train to my destination
Sparsely crowded, seats unoccupied here and there
Its weariness is palpable, even the lights are blinking
A group of commuters remain huddled together
After the day’s hard work they prefer nodding upon each others’ shoulder
The train runs sleepily, now and again lights from outside
Flash upon the saint-like faces of the people inside
The train gradually slows down, presently it’s a stop
The platform receives some home bound bodies, someone
Jumps into the compartment carrying a group of young girls
They are perhaps returning from their school fest
They have revelled much, played and sang and danced
So rightfully they are tired, momentary rings on their mobiles
Are responded to, and then silence again
One of them suddenly opens up her eyes
The obscene nudge in her breast can not be mistaken
Can she protest? Would she…
Her meek eyes show helplessness
The lustful hand strikes again… she sobs…
All of a sudden a slap on the face of the rascal
Reverberates through the compartment, a woman in tattered clothes
Raises her finger to him, she’s one of them who go to the town
To earn their daily bread
Next halt, the girls get down
The blinking back light of the train disappears, leaving a trail of dust
*Tritina
As midnight comes, moon tiptoes in to wait,
to soothe her gently with a tender smile.
Expectation is haloed on the wall
Moon angles soft light, around every wall,
where mobiles dangle, and butterflies wait,
to charm baby's eyes, and wrangle her smiles
The clocks keep ticking, and the moon must wait.
Someone is kicking inside belly's wall.
She cringes in pain, ...but then bravely smiles.
Dawn waits to smile, ...until she climbs that wall
_____________________________________________
For the Tritina "Baby" Contest: Sponsored by Craig Cornish
7/23/14
Grace Harbour
First into Grace Harbour
Me in classic sailboat
At anchor alone
In Desolation Sound
Where silence reveals the place
And the world is bigger
Because I can hear its’ vastness
It’s Bioacoustic diversity
Seals surface, gulls dive, water ripples.
A breeze in a cedar whispers
The buzz of a bumblebee.
The distant whistle of an eagle trembles in air
And falling droplets of rain taste of spruce.
The very place sparkles in silent sound and my soul is still
No need to block out
The combat zone of flashing messages.
From CNN and Fox.
But stillness of silence
Is reflected in blue water
and framed by oyster encrusted rocks,
While green and orange algae talk
Tidal pools and purple sea stars walk
And I can hear the world as music.
--------------------------------------------
War, bombs and shrapnel.
Roaring yachts arrive like Hummers or tanks from Kandahar
Stacked high with gadgets, guns hanged,
Travelling as a pack of waking house-mobiles
To conquer wilderness with bars, showers, propane barbecues
Gas generators, deep freezers, and boom-boxes
All sorts of folks; models in bikinis with pedigree dogs.
Fashion ladies in silk that launch revving zodiacs
To carry standard poodles for an urgent pee.
Then ‘A Tea Cup Yorkshire terrier’ yelps
At a Jack Russell that barks at a Chihuahua
As a Dachshund and Afghan Hound take offense
In frenzied jealousy.
Big hipped humans scream ashore in tenders.
Acoustic awareness numbed
The get-away-from-it-allers that bring it all always, partied.
As night fell they turned the generators off
“I haven’t seen any wildlife”, said one,
“There was more to feed at the zoo”
Said the other boomer
“Yea, where’s the loon.”
Fixed ideas of progress consume.
Then our mother moon
In full dress exposed an array of limpets
Of many sizes and shapes all clinging to obvious rocks
Exchanging freedom for the security
Of a defensive shell of fixed ideas
And automated reflexes.
It is useless to talk kindly to a limpet
One must detach it by main force.
This is really an extraordinary place
Where displays are filled with magnificent vases
Sitting on beautiful french laces.
There are computers, movies, and books galore.
It's a place
Where children can explore.
They'll see mobiles hanging on the solar system
Which could spark an interest in outer space.
If not they can find great mystery cases,
And how to be a flying ace.
It teaches them to use their whispering voices.
The librarian greets you with a smile on her face.
The children learn about the Dewey decimal system
Done on the base
of ten, how to use the computer to find
Books that will enhance their mind,
And to use rulers to mark their place
So books go back with out being misplaced.
After the children have made their choices
They"re shown where to check out books,
And how the return bin
Is right around the corner from where they came in.
The tour of the library is free.
We as parents should give our children the key
Of learning how magical it is to read.