Bobble Poems

Waiting at the bus stop

a bobble hat fellow rumbles along
sharp turns behind me - hello -
but reaches up to the wall
grabs an apple 80 percent intact
and hobbles away again

a few seconds later he's back again
turns behind me, bends low
and picks up the soggy, abandoned
box of donuts
two inside remaining

successful mission
he wobbles away

What Stones in Rivers Remember

Stones remember,
the first cold plunge 
in ice-melt currents
hurling the sense of fear.

They remember
each bump, each grind,
each sudden collision,
that carved their surface
to soft compliance,
yielding to the drag.

They remember
the murmuring bobble,
as gentler waters
tumbled them together,
stone on stone mumbling
in the cobbled bed.

They remember
the drought years -
sun cracking their dried backs,
leaving flakes and crack lines,
on once-smooth sides.

They remember
the roaring flood -
how it tore them loose,
spun them helpless downstream,
to settle again
in some strange, swirling eddy.

They remember 
this when lifted,
when held in the warmth of hand,
that their surface, shape and feel,
reveals the legacy,
of every touch, gentle or jarring,
of every bruise, bash and bump,
the river has used to shape them thus.

How to make love to a didgeridoo VI

Antiquated pipeline geysers ravage starry nebulae, blast ash. The hurricane bankrupts reed origami masts. It splits overripe pomegranates. Wild animal guitar buzzes, echoing through shattered valleys.

Electrified abdomen dowels bobble and quiver. Balloons, gemstones, hot coals ululate. Feral cello cherries frost and educate potholes. They mold cracked roads into jagged mosaics of fire and ice.

Fractured aqueduct sprays liquid yogurt galaxies across the void. The tempest collapses bamboo paper cranes. It bursts ripe garnet figs. Savage harp lion roars. Untamed lyre berries chant anthems.

Middling Mild

Ducks are up in the air,
it is early - too much
a middling.
Nature lures,
leads us on,
the weather is wrong.

Icy licked stems
are surprised.

Defrosting ants and marmots
patch and mend,
loggers lean on buzz saws.

People take pause,
store bobble hats
and puffer jackets.

Today, to the contrary
the snow is heavy,

any hint of avian romance
is indefinitely delayed.
© 48 mins ago

New Clothing

 I got a bra
It is quite uplifting
Can't see my feet
Now I am tripping

Walking down the street
Men do really stare
I also dyed my 
Hair a purple shade.

My husband did not
Notice, nor my grandson
Whoa!! All those whistles
I got walking home

They don't know I'm
Eighty, humped and old
They just see the boobs
Bobble as I walk alone

bobble heads

heavy heads bowing 
seeds ripened enough to eat 
head bobbles when picked

shaky ground

  i’m a poet not a prophet ~ to believe otherwise would be odd

  i blur visions of rhyme with latent reason ~ exactly like a god 

  so many times I’ve felt abandoned ~ desperate for a tiny nod 

  to see it in my rearview mirror ~ mr bobble head is overawed 

                                     #footnote#

  i’ve had unexplained interventions in this life ~ agnostic i trod

By
David Kavanagh

The Ballad of the Plastic Freak

I’ve been sitting here so long,
My butts getting numb,
So I jump right up
And stick out my thumb.

He comes rolling down the street,
With the only smell of mention,
The noxious fumes; olfactory tension.

Now I’m not trying to make excuses.
But I Really needed to get to,
Lower Catoosas.

This dude with odiferous outlet
Was a goin’ my way.

If you think that was dumb,
Just listen to this:
It was a super-charged Edsel 
With slicks on the rear,

It had the characteristic stench of,
Cheap, stinkin’ beer.

When I jumped in the car
He shot me the Bird,
And laid on me 

These immortal words,
“Far in man…
Like what’s going off?”

I was stunned awhile
Had to catch my breath,
He looked at me with
A grin like death.

The smell was real,
The driver was not.
Like a bobble-head doll
On the dash installed.

I regained my feet,
Away from the freak,
“Thanks, but I’d rather  walk”.

Unseasonal

Ducks are flying,
mild weather in February
has lured them,
to find and build nests.

The hunters are all taken by surprise,
The beavers are hard at work,
patching and mending rickety dams,
loggers are leaning on their buzz saws.

People are storing bobble hats,
and puffer jackets.

Today it is snowing heavy,
the ducks are heading to Florida.
Bird romance
indefinitely delayed.

birthday balloon bonanza

Birthday balloon bonanza with a bubble bobble bee
Turquoise, orange and peach spraying off thee
Purple yellow and periwinkle giving a wee wee wee
I love Birthday balloon bonanza when she comes to me.

Winter Hawks

An advent of raptors loiters over mall roofs.
hooded eyes scope the neon-lit spaces,
the concreted waste lands.

We wake to their screams as if this were High Sierra,
not Ohio where parent’s try-out or manage children,
open party stores, hunker through the coming
and going of baby Jesus; de-ice puffer jackets.

Gloom is plowed behind snow dunes.
The red-tails roam in loose federations,
their young, mob-handed and loutish,
the mature work alone,
scything through small birds,
the weakened and walking.

The hawks wing-dance proclaiming their time,
a time of frost-bitten electric barricades,
of bobble hats and mittens,

while unseen, a wind-rattled thorny brier,
recites its litany of seasonal prayers.

Joy To My Ears

Jingling bells bring joy to my ears
Trees are covered with bobble spheres
This quiet night, peace fills the air
A bright white star, blinks with a flare

I follow colored lights in snow
Guided on path of moonlight glow
Sparkling thoughts float within my mind
Hope becomes choice, not hard to find

So I walk within light, in the dark
The angels sing, yes I hark
Joy to my ears, with every song
With love to give, I can't go wrong

Heidi Sands

12/16/23

3 Am, Devil, Again

Eclipse begs beasts bays: Chaos and Havoc
as the scheming plots a clock, e'er so close.
Ill sprites hover and bobble ... spasmatic
entities let loose their suffering throes.

Screams and wails are a precursor outbreak
of the cavernous peel that the master--
is nigh--and that the hellish host bewake,
yond slithered pets whip, for the taskmaster.

Becalm, bestilled, beware forevermore,
whilst the knell toils its toll and the uncoiled
hast sprung a boy no more behind the door,
third strike's out a poise shadows earth, turmoiled.

Minute passage as minutes flash a fear,
fourth nil toil nexus whence hell domineer.

Used Politicians For Sale

They have used us enough
We’re so done with their stuff
We will trade them for dust
Some old snails, or just rust
We’ll exchange them for rocks
They ship well in a box
And to save on some freight
We’ll ship two to a crate
Or between some stale bread
Like a putrefied spread

And once you post their bail
We will pluck them from jail
Then grab hold of their rings
At the end of their strings
Glued to bobble-head brains
That no longer contain
One full thought of their own
That’s why they need a home
But if their head pops loose
It’s just due to misuse

And when their strings are tugged
From both sides of their mug
You’ll hear recorded sounds
That expound and confound
So while it’s in mid-pitch
Just toss it in a ditch
Get the heck out of there
Pinky promise and swear
You’ll chuck mail in trash bins
For used politicians

Smart Stuff

I got a smart phone
And bought some Smart food
Smart razor, smart comb
Got my wife a smart boob
Whenever it’s squeezed
Coz we’re in the mood
Ten minutes later
The coffee’s fresh brewed

I have smart TVs
Plus two smart RVs
Smart this, and smart that
Dumb dog, but smart cat
When it mews and purrs
And is in my way
I see cat food ads
Nearly every day

I bought a smart car
And a smarter truck
That brings me new things
Though it calls me Chuck
I found a smart shelf
At the local dump
That displays smart stuff
And a bobble-head Trump

But to cap it off
In my world of smart
I purchased a spanking
New snazzy Smart-Fart
That can change odors
From unpleasant eww
To either a lemon
Or citrusy stew

It can switch noises
To downplay my crime
As long as I’m able
To change it on time
A Smart-Fart is handy
For cutting through line
And can’t be detected
By a trained canine

If you’ve grown tired
Of the old rotten
A Smart-Fart will make
Smelly days forgotten
So if you want one
Put it in your cart
The next time you’re at
An online Fart Mart

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