If I wandered through the room
With lazy-lidded eyes
And a half-cocked smile, barely there
Would you see through my disguise?
My aura’s calm and steady
I’ve filled my head with songs
I’m channelling the tranquil spirit
Of someone who belongs
Relax my shoulders, slow down my pace
And say
less than
I could
I keep my speech cool and composed
Feigning ‘everything is good’
Fabricated serenity
Is wrapped all over me
(I’m wicked-nervous to the core)
I'm giving off ‘carefree’
As cock of the walk and feeling cocky
I cocked a snook or two
derisive snorts more than cheeky
with a cock-a-doodle-doo
at her cock-a-leekie
and when she cocked an eye at me
on the moment's spur
I first cocked my hat
then cocked an eye at her
on a slippery slope downhill slide
absurd it was because
we were now both cockeyed
Had some strange meals in my time
ostrich alligator bat and snake
all went down well it seems
but make no mistake
altho' not going off half-cocked
and yet unsure what signs it may bode
of all the just desserts
I like my ice cream à la mode
All England, blinking nervously, is out!
A little mild spell, much to our surprise,
has brightened frowsy February skies.
We sniff the air with nostrils schooled in doubt.
Baffled by balm, the fruit trees have misfired.
Like foolish virgins, hurrying on their scarves,
They've pushed out blooms half-petaled and half-starved.
The coming frosts will slice them like cheese-wire.
And I have loved you far too eagerly.
My half-cocked hopes have withered on the bough.
I should have doled my sweets more meagerly -
then, had I granted space, and time, and light,
your hobbled feelings might have taken flight,
in any time or place - but England. Now.
Slow down cowboy and reload she mocked
and next time try not to go off half-cocked.
Then she said with a snig-ger
you’re too fast on the trigger
but who fu-ckin cares, my world was rocked!
Written: April 2015
I wish there was a way you could feel what I feel when you're lying in front of me skin on skin
I wish we could lose ourselves in a single kiss again
I wish you knew how much I want to make you proud
How much I want to feel loved wanted and needed
I wish your eyes lit up when I walked into a room like before
I miss how you could make me feel like I was the only one in a room full of ppl
I miss catching you looking at me with that lil half cocked smile and your eyes saying they've never seen a prettier girl in the world
I wish I could make you feel the way I used to
by Bob Moore © 2018
For man to live he has the need, for coal and oil and gas
and if the Greens don’t understand, they can stick it up their a**
They’ve buggered South Australia, with their solar and windmills
and now their blaming others, as they swallow bitter pills
Jay says it is the Feds to blame, and coal fired stations, so
he will do it all alone, and off half cocked he will go
He’ll build a brand new station, for the one he had closed down
cost taxpayers half a billion, ‘cause he has played the clown
He’ll fix the problem pretty quick, and a hero he will be
the silly bugger cannot grasp, the biggest problem here, is he
Sometimes folks get notions,
'Bout certain people, places, things,
And get the wrong impression,
From the feelings that they bring.
Without finding out for certain,
The impression that they got,
Was correct in the beginning,
They go off half cocked.
They hold forever grudges,
Make enemies, lose friends,
And clinging to false sense of pride,
Don't try to make amends.
It's the mind of the human being,
In this case that's to blame,
What goes on in your own mind,
Oft leads to pain and shame.
Some folks are so wrapped up in self,
That they see nothing else.
They never learn from their mistakes;
For they're caused by someone else.
This I've learned from watching,
Taking notes and keeping log.
The more I see of people,
The better I like my dogs.
I crawl into a cave called myself.
It’s dry and dusty, cobwebbed.
So afraid to be, alone in the dark,
“Who am I,” is my cry.
Then Trixie’s best friend comes along,*
like a cowgirl set out on a romantic adventure.
This changeling becomes a pirate or
a faerie tale...mingling with the deer and frogs.
but not too sweet, ‘cause she’s a spark plug.
She squeezes out a saturated rag of tears and snot,
for this cowgirl spots the forgotten one -
a little child who needs a hug,
and she has a way of embracing the child in me.
...and her poetry like taffy pulls,
twists in a delicious way, half-cocked.
I’ve learned from her to grab the stars and fly
as if Tinkerbell dusted me with rare pastels.
In my mind we’re dressed in
kicka$$ gowns and fascinators
merrily sipping sherry in
the garden of Make-Believe.
And by the way, I love my souper friends. Don’t feel left out.
So many touch me in so many ways. God bless you all.
And one last shout out to Caren Krutsinger!
When you reach that certain age, the theme is WHATEVER
Things don't have the same importance as they once did however
We still must maintain
Decorum just the same
Can't go half-cocked, tripping lightly through the heather
You’re out to stroll or on a bike,
A lovely day, a sky of blue,
When suddenly, a terror strike
And sadly, that’s the end of you.
We hear the news; we’re stunned and shocked.
The TV shows the blurry tape.
The perpetrator’s plan, half-cocked,
Did not allow him to escape.
Investigations start, but still,
The wounded ache, the dead are gone.
We’re horrified, but know the drill –
We move along and carry on.
Both our brains hazy (and you may be crazy,)
But damned if I don’t seem to love you, dear friend,
Each of us “nutter” on other one’s clutter
But both can be true, with no need to offend.
Our kitchen’s well stocked, but arrangement’s half-cocked,
But a truce still survives for the world is our oyster.
What’s flaccid on grill can be spiced up with pill,
So no need for retirement to monk-dom or cloister!
We eat out a lot and prefer Queen to cot,
Where our snuggling makes time in the sack, time of giving,
Though thoughts of dream home can make both want to roam
Very best’s when your home is wherever she’s living.
Good friends come over, we’re rolling in clover
For friends, hers or mine, always magnify bliss.
Easy to measure, a feeling you treasure,
The rapture you felt when you got first French kiss!
Long Tooth
June 5, 2017
All England, blinking nervously, is out!
A little mild spell, much to our surprise,
has brightened frowsy February skies.
We sniff the air with nostrils schooled in doubt.
Baffled by balm, the fruit trees have misfired.
Like foolish virgins, hurrying on their scarves,
They've pushed out blooms half-petaled and half-starved.
The coming frosts will slice them like cheese-wire.
And I have loved you far too eagerly.
My half-cocked hopes have withered on the bough.
I should have doled my sweets more meagerly -
then, had I granted space, and time, and light,
your hobbled feelings might have taken flight,
in any time or place ... but England. Now.
Just Chris
Nothing very special here,
I’m young as old can be
Grey is just a state of mind
that’s come to set me free
Laughing at the future
as I’m tearing down the walls
Standing on a corner
with my cardboard sign and all
It reads, “I’ll work for poetry”
although that is a lie
Just a silly message sent
as you are driving by
Some insist a heart of gold
does beat inside my chest
I am merely but a man
who hopes to pass the test
Tapping on a keyboard
placing verses on this place
Wishing you to read them,
though some you may erase
I always try to wear a smile
yet often times I frown
Happiness is happiness
but sadness gets me down
Know that I am very rich
though I don’t have a dime
My fortune is the people here
that I call friends of mine
A worn out shirt is what you see,
a half cocked smirking smile
Fraying on the edges fast
and going out of style
I dream too much, I know it’s true
these visions that I see
Hope that when my life is through
you will remember me
But if you don’t, well that’s ok
my tombstone will dismiss
Carved in stone for all to see
the words will read “Just Chris”
Fair Apollo, may I borrow your golden lyre
So I might strum a heavenly chord full of fire
Else, let me pluck a laurel from your grove
Towards greatness, ever I strove
But alas my fingers are not nimble and quick
My wire sung words sting and stick
O Apollo were I as fair as the tree
Perhaps with second sight I could see
Fair Apollo lend me a voice as sweet and rich
A harpy in church, I rasp and –*****
I’ll drown in myself if I not throw it out soon
I’m hopelessly blocked
And Half cocked at noon
Fair Apollo, may I borrow your golden lyre
So I might strum a heavenly chord full of fire
Else, take me under your bright wing
With your guidance, let this Philomel sing
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