There's a tendon in my calf rhymes with my surname
I call it my a- Gillies
Most would know it's common name
connecting to the ankle the achilles
Two months have been unable to do a daily run
an hour so of fun
This right tendon has been torn I am forced to limp
Finding alternative exercise no desire to be a wimp
Each day the injury receives some heat
my leg upon a stool my bum upon a seat
With hot water I fill a water bottle
Most unusual for me to have to hobble
Scales interspersed my skin, enrobed my flesh, hardened it, within a mesh. I come close to kiss you, but it binds me still, and you walk away, and I hobble up the hill. One foot follows the other=feigns, I must catch you before it wanes. The fog between us has grown so dense, and my body with it all so tense, my steps slow down yours speeding=out of my sight, now. What immense fright...
I falter on my knees, near to naught, nigh to my knife, and I cut me, and the blood runs so rife, a gate opens but I don't recall I have its keys, but it doesn't end my life.
I clenched my teeth and pulled each foul flake from underneath, and freed myself but now I seek=her until she's meek, until she's weak...
I walk with my chest up, then I see her clear, I walk toward her, and her voice I hear, “I've come for you my precious dear”, I said as I smiled from ear to ear. I held her mere but she flailed from fear. Then she froze in fear. And I sank my fangs in her,
as I dropped a single tear.
Perpetual moments
the key
to existence
Memory
your biggest
foe
Blocking
the path
to future promise
Lapsing
forgetfulness
grows
Time an illusion
a crutch
for the weak
To hobble
and stumble
in constant retreat
This instant
recurring
when chosen at will
Where Poets
and Prophets
— forever instill
(Villanova University: July, 2025)
In our maniacal world madness cosplay nativity.
When sanctuary is cynical take cyanide outside in
a synchronized social suicide.
Life at your disposal realize life is disposable.
Lacking eye warble, below-zero countertop marble.
Stumble over the five o'clock Hobble.
Humble, Crumpled up macro-cookie crumble.
Spade shovel buried down transient mumble.
Blood musk parfume; false whale entrails.
Innards inward into inferior interior design.
Set fire to the nativity scene, in our maniacal world
It'll still continue in laughing, surround sound loud.
It'll still narcissistically orbit around me.
Outstanding flavour; some forever ever-lasting long.
Ever-after ended up ending fantastic. God dammit.
Gob-smacker, toe tapper, boot-smacker.
Folded laundry lay on the nighttime pavement.
It'll still go.
In the Age of Spin.
It just happen.
No way, It just happen?
It just happen.
It go like it just happen.
It go how it just happen.
What happen?
It just happen.
If I could cut off my feet, would it get any worse?
Yesterday a thief stole my favorite purse
It had my I.D., everything but my keys
Arthritis in my ankles and in my knees
I stumble and hobble as I try to walk
My deranged parrot has an annoying squawk
my husband has left me and taken the keys
I curse my sore ankle and arthritic knees.
Tho' they may display legs to best advantage,
observing the constraints, begs the question, 'What's afoot?'
Seems to me I had a bee in my bonnet
about women's proclivities and passion
when compelled to write this pseudo-sonnet
about their footwear fashion.
Some are bonkers barmy as bedbugs, daft, dippy, daffy,
(with) bats in the belfry too,
it's far beyond my reckoning, as I can't fathom,
why they choose to wear the pairs of shoes they do.
And as for a clue, I haven't any, why they own so very many.
With their platforms, pumps, stilettos, wedges, they're tottering on
the edges of insanity, an exercise in futility,
an accident about to happen, one stumble, a tumble then... a calamity.
Seeing them hobble, while their dogs are barking,
these are the words they'd speak, if their feet could talk,
'Cinderella had the right idea, losing her glass slipper,
as oh the pains you put us through when you are wont to walk.
It's no more than torture, a total imposition,
somewhat akin to boots of the Spanish Inquisition.'
Darn dogs bark, disturbing my thought
Two canucks in a truck never give up,
With a wide turning radius they hobble the curb,
Parking in stalls, for small cars,
One stops next to you, to block the view,
The senior’s scooter pushes through
The traffic, at the shopping mall
All with conflicting purposes
Trying to buy food ~psp
dr. (pi)
.
As my limbs grow feeble and now wobble,
My old wish every new year, a manna,
Easily reached by my legs that hobble.
Brought to me like in the sacks of Santa.
Though, no work deserves no pay as they say,
But my muscles are just too weak to toil,
Many more years, I wish my mind to stay.
Let not hunger turn my soul to its spoil.
So, destiny helpers from north and south,
Also, from west to east, my house they find,
So that just songs of praise will fill my mouth.
To all my weakness, let their eyes be blind.
If my needs, again you can still provide,
Then my special thanks will be to your name,
In your ways, my legs shall always abide,
Your holiness I shall ever acclaim.
I’m not strong enough
I can’t carry this load today
My ego is weighing me down
It’s hard not to reach for a crutch
The littlest of things weighs a ton
I can’t lift them on my own
Dope me up with adrenaline
Pump my ego up with iron
I’m not strong enough
I failed at resistance training
My strength has departed
It’s fled from me with my will
Give me back my crutch
I’ll hobble into a phone booth
I’ll hide my weakness from you
I’ll emerge in my Superman outfit
I’m not strong enough
Resistance is nature’s law
Trees need gravity to grow
They do not lie in despair
They pump fists to the sky
Not spineless me under a log
Resistance to growth is futile
Seeds aren’t trees overnight
I’m not strong enough
Muscles take time to grow
Small failings make skin tough
Turn crutches into wings
Stop these anabolic steroids
Feel my weight naturally
Learn to crawl to the door
Rise on my own strength
But, I’m not strong enough
Eyes of deep and tender brown
Looking in them I just drown
Arms so tight they do not wobble
Holding me up as I hobble
On weak knees about to bend
From the feelings you can send
With just one spoken word you
Can make all my insides curdle
Into one big mushy mess
My love I want to confess
Every time you pull in close
I'm defenseless--I suppose
There is no need to back down
You are everywhere--I've found
I can't escape these images
Of you and the damages
You are causing, I'm a wreck
I can't explain it- what the heck
How did I become entrapped
In a love that is wrapped
In a present that you give
Me everyday so I can live
With surprises every day
I promise not to give away
This precious gift that you have brought
All my life that I have sought
We’ve all been crippled
in different ways
To hobble or stumble
alone in our pain
No one is reprieved
as years take their toll
Till that day we return
one body — one soul
(1st Book Of Prayers: March, 2024)
Overwhelmingly fragile life is,
It often knocked us down on our knees.
Facing the daybreak has been exceedingly petrifying
where to rise where to set?
Do I even belong here?
A loner I've always been.
From million miles, I shot the star yet fall on lion’s mouth
there's scarcity of rooms to procure all that's hurting,
All that's maiming.
then what's left is all bogus,
A goal of its own to attain
winning or losing I am on the race.
Even so, as I set about to stretch my wings and waggle
No longer could I hobble around.
while all I own is learning to recline on Jesus,
the Master of all the masters
supersede the unfathomable vagueness,
rose brighter when all I comprehend is a grey of tilted shades
He truly is my superhero for life.
Waiting in discomfort, though I am
not alone
Others waiting with me for reasons of their own
Still we wait through choice
An answer in our sight
Our suffering increasing throughout our common plight
No turning back now for we have come too far
Waiting for directions, our Google guiding star
In line to online we do a little dance,
In the venue of the broken many in a trance
Some read the room without any shame while
Others go before you to be replaced with more of the same
The waiting game continues
Waiting for your name
Books and magazines, distract and entertain
Screens nestled in hand's take some of the strain
Everyone is a victim all connected through pain
Mobility in various forms
A hobble and a crutch
Some with wheels of misfortune
For others
DO NOT TOUCH.
Have you no shame my conscience cried
Mocking the resilience of my waywardness,
Trying to hobble my innately selfish pride
A streak of ego said it’s clearly my business.
I felt no pain for my lack of sympathy
Have you no shame my conscience cried,
Though I was taught the value of empathy
Somehow to care seemed to break my stride.
From time to time, I must admit, I tried
To reconcile my behavior with inner voices
Have you no shame my conscience cried,
When I made the worst of proffered choices.
Came the time before my conscience seared
I sought to make my conscience be my guide,
Then when I could sense a disaster neared
Have you no shame my conscience cried.
Written July 12, 2022
Trump and Rudy were watching an oater
Thinking up ways to find one more voter
"Hobble on Cassidy
Drives herd mentality
Let's misquote her and find a promoter!"
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