Best Mobs Poems
F l y i n g
a sailing tailwind
through cerulean streams
and creamsicle colored beams—
are wings reflective
of the turquoise truth
and white purity
of Autumn’s ether
he aviates
a clear troposphere
riding an unbridled
capricious and combative
boreas
on the cusp
of a new season
with a plumage infusion
of shifting Cape Cod skies
the blue jay mixes hues
with the Northern azure
that fades to shades
of turmoil
to the South and East—
becoming lost
in its milky breadth
its lilting light
its dimming depths
where the edge of rustic rural
meets the sandy ridge of conifers—crooked
twisted and back-bent
from gales
of salt-sprayed sorcery
Canadian bluster-gusts
leading the charge
of a cold sapphire crest
is bedeviled
offshore
by the raw
tongue-lashing spin
of a brooding onshore flow
twirling
a brewing brawl
whirling
in slate pearlescent space
s w i r l i n g
with the dusky feistiness
of stormy petrels…
mobs of darkening fog
growing fatter
on summer’s fainty surrender—
leftover tints of tender cornflower
and hints of dainty dove
there’s a sparkle
in the eye of the storm…
his mischievous black gaze
mirrors
the harsh harbinger
of commotion
clash and change—
his piercing “jay-jay” jabs
the maddening mayhem
of menacing air
with an emerald-needled sharpness
of wind-weary pitch pines
anchoring
the beige of coastal dunes
where his refractive blues
take cover
in colorful contrast
ahead
of the bruising
October nor’easter
We all seem to think of flowers, only in the sun.
Did you realize at night, it is time they dance in floral fun?
After the busy insects, got their tasty food for the day,
The flowers can relax in the most unique, enchanting way.
They recall with nostalgia, how the baby roses grew so tall!
And how quickly the young, dark, green ivy, crawled up the garden wall.
With glee, they relax, as no person will uproot them from family or friends.
And are so very grateful when the sun does set, the day finally does end!
The sounds of car horns, motorcycles, lawn-mowers are finally at rest.
Dont you know, it’s cooler for them, as they get a well-deserved rest?
They thank God for this precious day, having done so very well their jobs.
Free now, to flower-talk, free of the jabber and loud talk of the human mobs.
They chatter with one another, about today’s sunny, busy, happenings.
Studying the stars, and grateful that no noise from any backgate swings!
4/14/2024
Well....since you asked...
I'll tell you now, no run around,
my letter is found
right in the middle,
in fact it starts
the "middle" word,
so it's no riddle...
if you can spell!
It has two humps,
and they are round
They form a well...
It comes just past
the "H", the "I", the "J", and "L" ...
"M" stands for ME!
"M" is the one that fits me best
It makes me munch on little things...
I'm known for liking M' and M's!
And mistletoe, and midnight strolls
And M's are known for loving food (mmmm!)
I'm also known to multi-task!
And bask in all my memories!
I'm Mrs. Mom, and love the madness...
(the mobs who make this place a mess! )
I'm a mental case...just ask my man!
Not meddlesome, and rarely mute
When I get mushy, he thinks it's cute!
I'm moody too...and sometimes mad!
But mostly mellow is my mantra !
Morning is my time of day...
But moonlight, too, can make me swoon
I'm filled with mirth, and mischief too
I've meandered with misfortune's moods
But I'm mindful of the miracles
I love good movies, and music too!!
Will marvel at a magic view
I can mend a fence, and mentor you
And hope to keep my muse in tune
I'll share my M' and M's with you
So,... won't you share your Q's ?!!!
______________________________________________
Inspired By Nancy's Alphabet Soup Contest
My favorite President is yet to be
He may well not go down in history
For he'll do what really needs to be done
Antagonizing almost everyone under the sun
First he'll fix Social Security; it's running short of cash
Upping retirement age to 68, a move the 'swamp' will call rash
Then he'll crack down on Medicare/Medicaid fraud and crime
Infuriating the clout-heavy cheaters in America's medicinal slime
Next he'll free up school choice for the poor, not just the rich
More vouchers and charter schools: teachers unions will yell and beech
He'll clean up the ghettos, bust up the gangs, and load up the jails
Violent felons and their Park Avenue backers will want him impaled
He'll break the stranglehold on free speech and inquiry in universities
Big-tech CEO's will squirm, when he ends their totalitarian strip-tease
He'll repair the military, building the strongest defense ever
Daring China and Russia to come get us -- They won't; they're too clever
He'll veto delusionary pork projects which taxpayers can't afford
Boosting old-fashioned 'capitalism' -- for that he will not be adored
As for climate change, he'll pressure China, India and the other slackers
To reign in their CO2 abuse, while the world calls him a bully and hacker
Truth is, my favorite President-to-be will probably never get elected
And if somehow he does, I hope from angry mobs he'll be protected
~ Inspired by, but not an entry in L. Milton Hankins'
'Your Favorite President Contest' ~
Autumn unreeled
Forests shaken hollow
settling
like shipwrecked beauty
Tree masts of moss
Colourful mobs of decay
unspooling
Last strands of conceit
Rag tag laurels
capsized
casual drift of sacrifice
Diced leaves of October,
change
that drains potency
Resplendent wreckage
An unraveling season
faint
in slim, silvered light
Outcomes unavoidable
with fertility plundered
Gold leaf patches
fallen
treasures washed overboard
a trail of flotsam
in the lost ego of summer
Ragged contortion
in sea-water cold
in a quiet that marks
transition
Poem composed: Spring 2020
(Revised September 29th, 2022)
We gave Johnny a gun and a uniform
Trained him to kill, in a regiment conform
Sent him deep into Vietnam jungles warm
With little regard to how we did him harm
So certain we knew what we joined to fight for
We were shipped off to fight an unwinnable war
A war of "containment," unlike those before
Mothers screamed, fathers wept, siblings ached to the core
By parachute dropped to a ghastly death scene
Johnny ached for the life left behind, so serene
His family, fiance did not know what war means
Especially the haunting of lost children's screams
Those of us who survived thought we'd just done our jobs
We returned and were shamed by violent gobs
Of silver-spoon white kids in hate-spewing mobs
Spat-on and welcomed as baby-killer slobs
No heroes welcome would await these young men
No ticker-tape parades were staged for them
Just jeers from crowds, uncaring government
Greeted the lonely Vietnam Veteran
Too classy and noble to demand our fair share
We lay in that shabby old hospital there
In a closet-sized room with no visitors' chair
Understaffed, underfunded, with short-handed care
The "benefits" they found would astound all now
And it leaves one to wonder how our hallowed ground
Would be filled with unnamed graves of men once proud
Before the rows of white crosses we should bow
Our Wailing-Wall stands now in Washington, D.C.
So shiny but black, a telling-tale of the fee
We have paid for our nation, our land of the free
Will you come pay respects? Will you not at last see?
Some veterans still suffer disgraceful neglect
So please explain who more deserves our respect
Let us pause with angelic choirs and genuflect
To show gratitude as on this Wall we reflect
Friends, Dane Ann is among those who served in the army during the Vietnam war and is
now recovering from long-overdue hip surgery performed at an old VA hospital in
Gainesville, Florida. Thank you for your prayers on her behalf. Many thanks
to Tim Ryerson, another Vietnam veteran, for joining me in this write.
(To the tune of Silver Bells)
Wooden sidewalks, and the shop fronts,
Dressed in wild western style
In the jail there’s a feeling of Christmas
Cattle mooing, cowboys shooting
Riding mile after mile
And down at the Long Branch you hear
Silver spurs, silver spurs
It’s Christmas time in Dodge City
Jing-a-ling, saloon girls sing
Soon it will be Christmas day.
Mobs in street fights try to stay polite
While they bleed red and scream
As the towns folk rush home
To take cover
Hear the jaws crunch
See the kids bunch
It’s Matt Dillon’s big scene
As he catches the rustlers you’ll hear
Silver spurs, silver spurs
It’s Christmas time in Dodge City
Jing-a-ling, saloon girls sing
Soon it will be Christmas day.
Silver spurs, silver spurs
Soon it will be Christmas day.
Soon it will be Christmas day.
When we travel in the car we sing to the radio. The other night, Silver Bells came on and I sang Dodge City to make my wife laugh.
Lincoln never imagined
today’s white victim zeitgeist,
pouting persecuted supremacists,
their clenched jaws and fists.
Civil war rages in limbic memory.
Encoded somewhere,
the panic attacks and mirages.
Nobody is qualified because everybody is responsible.
So many whites have graduated from the struggle,
showcasing their diploma from the mill.
Lincoln never imagined
modern virtual vitriol,
merciless memes lashing out at specters,
infusing, inciting depravity among the sleep deprived.
These words are battleships aimed at the reviled.
The unshielded summon civility.
They beckon familiar principles.
But rabid cougars wait in hiding, eager to pounce.
All the feeble markets for platitudes have failed,
as subliminal cavities endure each generation.
Mental lynch mobs, rebel flags, supremacy’s utopia.
Lincoln never imagined
a 21st century cartoon president,
a white nationalist clicking social network epithets,
a whining overgrown tormenter
with a cult of Stalinist believers.
Where are the intelligible?
How is all this animated fury converted?
What is the lesson plan?
Who will bury the code?
How long this agonizing journey into normality?
Lincoln never imagined.
Published Tuck Magazine 04/ 2019
The see-saw backsides of obesity traverse across the promenade
Led by bustling torpedo breasts thrusting through the hustling throng;
Past tarnished chromium espresso bars, burger vans with frying lard,
Ice cream parlours, sagging deckchairs and the sunlight blazing on.
Splayed upon the greying sands with butts of cigarettes in shallow graves,
Bikini babes in thin floss thongs, sun oil basted, lie and fry,
The effluence of sewage farms foams ochre crests upon the waves,
Cheap sunglasses and tinted shades warp vision as the seagulls cry.
Or are they coughing in the choking rise of hotdog onion smoke,
Or searing blast of diesel oil drove upwards from the fairground sprawl,
And do they dive for fish and chips discarded by the glutted folk
Until cholesterol weighs them down and they no longer fly but crawl?
Oh, I did like to be beside the seaside in the golden memories of my youth,
Before the tattooed mobs and greedy slobs and moguls came to town,
And though rose-tinted, real dreams of childhood wonder sing of truth,
But now I’d much prefer it if they torched and burned the whole place down.
I s’pose you've heard of Tamworth and the shindig there each year,
where country music reigns supreme and all its stars appear.
They’re in the pubs and all the clubs and arcades 'round the town
and Peel Street is just full of pics all strumming up and down.
In years of late another breed of artists have appeared;
Bush Poets with their rhyming verse, who are now quite revered.
The Longyard and Imperial pubs and Leagues Club host a few,
while golf and bowls clubs house more mobs and Peel street has them too.
It happens that I'm one of them and have for six straight years
performed to folk my style of verse - The Laughter and the Tears.
You make them cry, you make them laugh, you keep your tales true blue,
for that is what the folk demand: be Aussie through and through.
Most folk they see us poets as the ocker type of bloke
and know we see line dancing as some kind of flamin' joke.
They stream to Tamworth each year and stretch out along Peel street.
These hordes of blokes and sheilas with their fancy prancin' feet.
They’re shapes and sizes are diverese, no two frames look the same,
with fancy shirts embroidered with the place from hence they came.
They tuck their thumbs behind their belts then line up in a row
and when the music kicks on in they boot scoot to and fro.
Each year they have this ritual, that really is a bore;
They try to break the record they procured the year before.
Like locusts they assemble and I watch them with disdain
'cause surely they've got Buckley's chance of doing it again.
[CONTINUED]
Overcrowded prisons,
brings joy to early released criminals.
Taxpayers may be happy,
but there's predators at playgrounds,
rapists at bars,
stalkers, stalking,
violent hooligans back at matches,
abusers contacting their exes,
jealous lovers beating new spouses.
Mobs on the streets,
will only bring mayhem,
unless vigilantes rise,
whilst the police hide.
Who will protect the traumatised victims?
Who are you, my Lord?
And what am I standing here as a weather-beaten tombstone,
O Lord, reveal yourself to me on the tombstone standing here alone.
Long, long ago
Cain averted his face from the light,
the condemned river, surrounded by a dead
Cain laid atop of his own brother, flows into the valley
carrying the curse.
And the condemned river flows to the dark side of the sun
since the time Abel’s blood cried out.
My eyes grew so accustomed to the darkness
and, thus, though I am no longer able to stand in light,
I face you, the Lord of the origin of light,
standing here as a tombstone.
O Lord, are you the very person whose voice I hear?
are you the man who is rolling and tossing on the ground
under the out-pouring lashes who moans:
“forgive them,” each time I call for aid of my destiny?
O Lord, are you the one who crawl on the path
that leads to the Place of the Skull
in the mixed air of cries as the fools shout,
mockeries of the evil ones affront,
and the useless tears the women shed?
Are you the one who mutters: “forgive them,”
while falling under a rootless tree
for the weight of the tree is too great to bear?
For the good nature of humankind is numbed
by the weight of sins too deep to break loose.
The emotion of human kind becomes cold and cruel
and, therefore, O my Lord,
do you groan with pain unbearable:
“forgive them,” when those stone-hearted drive spikes
pierce your hands with no compunctions?
Are you the one who stands as a decaying wooden pillar
on atop of Golgotha with a darkening sun on your back
to close the shamefully-mistreated hard life,
the miserably-humiliated painful life?
Are you the benevolent kind-hearted one who looks up at heaven,
and at mobs who accused you, appealing with tearful eyes:
“Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing.”
When the wooden pillar collapses from its own weight
and darkness falls onto earth to cover the unsightly world,
I, the tombstone with no name or epitaph,
see a sad image standing atop of the Place of the Skull
tightly holding the world’s anguish.
Stop! The violent protests and leave peaceful protesters out to make a difference strictly along. Whether you are in law enforcement or the national guard. You need to pray for peaceful solutions! But if all you want to do is assault police officers. Or if protesters burn down business and destroy personal and real property. If you want to incite rioting and violence! You need to be apprehended! I am sick and tired of racist police officers using African American males, Hispanic, and Native American males as "target practice" or unlawful harassment! Black Lives Matter! Today the city of Houston is holding memorial ceremonies for George Floyd. They firmly believe the time has come for closure and for our nation to move forward.
I am sorry about what happened to George Boyd and other minority groups! But letting your explosive anger erupted like a volcano! That Minnesota police officer committed nineteen years of similar acts of racism and violence. He just happened to get caught in the act! He never should have been admitted to the police academy in the first place! The other officers just stood there and watched! It was a national tragedy! In London England, Black Lives Matter are conducting peaceful protests in solidarity with the United States!
Some groups will use any excuse to riot! Some police officers will use any excuse to commit acts of violence! I firmly believe in peaceful protests! Unfortunately, they often end up in tragedy! One bad reaction by one or more groups leads to retaliation by the opposition! Resulting only escalating violence! The president wants to call out the United States military. And it will happen unless senseless acts of violence come to an abrupt ending! The Beatles once sang, "come together right now over me." "Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me."
Stop! The senseless acts of violence! Private citizens even in communities such as Snohomish Washington! Are arming themselves, and standing outside of the business to protect them. They are citizens vigilantes. They want to stop looters and vandals in their tracks! In the days of the old west, there used to lynch mobs! We do not want the bad old days back again!
Love as always,
Roxanne Lea Dubarry
Roxy Lea 1954
Roxy 1954/ October Country
June 02-03,2020
June 09, 2020 edited
I avoid florists, not the people,
who generally speaking,
are polite and quite unremarkable.
I write of those floral gangsters;
the vainglorious gladioli,
eugenically forced greenhouse geraniums
with their large shar-pei heads.
Garish claustrophobic hosts
pressing in.
My center inwardly trembles
when confronted with Pelargonium posses
all the heavy menacing smells
of the over-cultivated.
Charles Darwin, thought these latter-day
angiosperms as, “an abominable mystery.”
They are life-forms born of missing links,
genetically modified to eat oxygen
out of human brains.
Dogs and cows
are immune to their deleterious charms,
but we who are drawn to color and form,
sniff them out, as if they are the hard drugs
we were once cautioned
never to reach for.
O you Peony, you Day Lily, you seemingly
innocuous bunches of Mums,
I see you, you smug mobs,
and I cringe away
rather than buy my sweetheart
yet another monstrous spray.
There sneaked a micro organism into the lives of human kind from elsewhere,
Who made it intruded is still a mystery, yet it’s fate of the world
That life on earth is engulfed with thorns and bruises?
They say: It’s from bats, some say: it’s a shoot of ‘Bio-war’,
No doubt it’s a sinister game and human lives are the ball, hit and shot,
Thousands of goals have been dropped and there was no cry of joy,
But ‘cross the world there hath been flow of tears and fears.
The human lives, tainted with creepy killer organism, seek shields of defense,
And there around the Round Table Conference clicked a thought of ‘Social distancing’.
Provinces and states raised the alarm of crisis to avert throngs and mobs,
It hath been a portent for the imminent disaster on the face of earth,
A ‘day of shut’ hath been imposed on the lives as precaution –
No politics, no religion, no caste, no race and ego shall be the law,
For the blood is the same red with tissues and organs for all.
The day began with the legal menace ‘cross the country,
And the wheels and bags were restricted screech and rustle,
The rich and the poor entered their ‘house bags’,
And there seen empty roads and streets except faint travelers.
Round the clock people’s saviours were seen sweeping and spraying sterile medicine,
Life-saving doctors and nurses were seen in spring-up action,
And those infected folks were brought under the treatment of the life-savers.
Behind the legitimate bars of seclusion from the pandemic infection,
There was seen a life of silence for a noble cause,
It was not a total inactivity, but a self introspection of social distancing -
A pledge to chase the epidemic killer virus away from human kind!
Media of service ran thro’ hazards and perils brought into rooms the day’s tasks.
It was a joint fight against COVID -19 beyond human restrictions,
And each of us shall be a victor ‘gainst the epidemic violence.