Short Hobbled Poems

Angelic creature
Imprisoned by your beauty
In chains I hobbled
Spewing darkness from the soul
Cleansing myself to be yours...

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Shortsightedness
8-10-2016

Many times, after thinking my adversary
Was another entity or individual
	
I have discovered that it was
The horse I had hobbled in my barn.
Tom
...

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We'll have a freeze overnight
even a few may flower flurries..
could this be a blessing in disguise
will this tiny devil virus ever die
or become a mocking snowflake rider
diving deeper into hobbled minds~...

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Horseless Carriage

We have reined the mind
“blindered” sight
hobbled with restraints
a voiceless choir
led the thirst-less
to un-quenching waters
muted the joyous roar
of truth’s waterfall


9/29/2016...

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Outside an inn ..tap,tap,tap
In hobbled Bind Pugh with his map
A story of intrigue did then ensue
On a remote island which comes into view-
A classic novel,still reads good as new

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson...

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Arabesques of reflecting rainbows journeyed out from the shadow mosques. Smells of burning and screaming hobbled amongst the crowd as I trod the earth upon my steel stallion, dreaming and living, lost between the echo of the gummy worlds....

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the war was well 

on its way
mottled and coddled
 battled  and  bottled
before the

            front was modeled
      the frontline was hobbled
the forefront was cobbled

dark hearts be doubled
light hearts be troubled

the war is well
on its way...

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mountain ridges of clouds
  o'er my windshield spread
interspersed, baby-blue patches
  brilliant spaces, like threads
stitching skies' stories together
  a hobbled glance ahead of
cars tethered to a 
  snarled, honking freeway,
blustery rage moving in, I dread...

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When churches of honor decay

                    Mired in cynicism's wet glue

                    She splints the feet of hobbled faith

                    To believe as the unbroken do.


          
9/27/20

For 'Writing Challenge - Decay' contest
Sponsor: Constance La France...

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Tim. Your latest poems stirred the memory of this one I recently penned. 

I stumble down a street, cobbled with broken dreams,
hobbled by those memories chained around my heart.
Tears glisten as they're captured by silver moonbeams
tossed from Luna's fair hand as mine are gently caught....

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A pack of leaves at the end of a dead-end street.
Whirling without warning, surrounding invisible things.
Like a pack of wolves chasing a hobbled elk 
Suddenly they are perfectly still...feasting.

If they had teeth, I think they would bite me.
A pack of leaves at the end of a dead-end street...
is a lot like grief....

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What malevolent thing
with intrinsic sting
attacked me
a few short days ago
whose coming and going
a mystery?
Doctor says it's a bite
but it stings alright
I was laid low

Tablets, gel and a pack of ice
"keep it up" was the advice
I hobbled about the place
my leg on show
an inconvenient episode
and painful?
Very...
The perpetrator never showed!...

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I hobbled to the river
Which was worth each step of pain.
My bench and sunshine beckoned
So my walk was not in vain.

The early hour guaranteed
No crowds would block my views;
The sparkle of the water 
Would be something sad to lose.

There’s not a single thing right now,
While sitting, that I lack
But a better knee would help
When I begin my hobble back....

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The lunchroom fart
of turbo pasta
scatters garlic teargas
laced with meaty mystery
without mercy to
flatten cubicles.

Chain-reactions
of Tupperware battles
erupt to devastate
once discerning pallets
until hobbled by stabs
of shrapnel to the gut,

prompting an exodus
of mournful bodies
propelled along that cloud
of processed misery
to wander, ashen-faced
along the concrete void....

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Justified the social derelict
All hobbled by a fearsome clade
Life seemed so great in retrospect
Grieving future dreams all staid

Most compelled to park awhile
One chance to hear the wind again
Vanished quick that life of style
Another truth emerged within

Souls all built to signal truth
Not one restrains the will of wind
Now for a time simplicity
Over earth will reign again...

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Being brought up wrong,
in the gray, twisted light
of a damp town.

Growing up knotted,
turning my hands to the bad,
scrounging my body
from its hard baked earth.

Casting shade everywhere,
risking all and nothing -
I fell.

I had to discover,
that love casts no shadows,

it was then,
that my inward silhouette,
erased its own a dark recalling,

and a long-hobbled past
disappeared.
...

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Walls of flesh
 
Separate us
 
Serrating our love
 
Lost in glances
 
Wandering in time
 
I escape
 
Again and again
 
Returning without
 
Mind
 
Like a child
 
Losing scope
 
Always struck
 
Brand new
 
 
 
We reach
 
In lyrical tombs
 
To crawl out
 
Of frozen rooms
 
My shuttle
 
Is destiny
 
But delayed
 
Like poison arrows
 
Still
 
Resurrected hobbled
 
God and sleep
 
Bumping heads
 
Making swollen
 
Beds...

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Young and dumb, heart still growing.
Felt the flicker, still not knowing.

Bashful winks was all it took.
Fell prey to her fickle hook.

Flowers, candies, things that bobbled;
Broke the bank and left me hobbled.

Took out loans to keep her smiling.
Wore a frown when debit filing.

Just as I had had enough,
Called her father, stout and tough.

Now my world is in despair.
Explains why I've lost my hair....

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I see the leaf flutter to the floor
The feather battle the wind
The hobbled pigeon ignorant of my stare
The young man shiver as he gifts his jacket to his girlfriend
as a shower shows its hand
I see shadow reflections as they bounce of cars
whispering by
Shape the clouds that hesitate above my head
Angers turned to apathy
And rest became a chore
Dying in the sounds
and rest within the silence
Feeling nothing more...

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A bird house attracts the beautiful and divine.
Who offer the soul both a charm and a chime.
Blessing hearts with palette and song.

Along come the rippers and nibblers. 
Gleaners of peace they're born to be.
Leaving the heart to hobbled dream. 
In skies of robin egg quiet.

Now blistering in twisting silence.
Battling the harshest of seasons.
Amidst winter acorns and peace thieves.
Bird houses filled with dead and dying things....

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Josiah conquers revisionists
by stating an old-world axiom:

     “When seeking structure,
     one must be mindful of decay.”

He taps a rusted column with
an ordinary wooden cane,

releasing decades of oxidation
in particulate dust.

As his nephew secures the wire
on the final shape-charge

a tear wells with nostalgia
and sympathy for the hobbled

until the flurry of blasts
at zero....

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Mama Mable made music mellow with mood
But baby boy Bradley bellowed and booed
So sensitively she started singing sweetly
Yet the youngster yowled yearningly

Poor perplexed papa peered and pleaded
“No nocturnal nuisances are needed,”
He hurried through the house, his hefty frame hobbled
Baby boy Bradley basked blissfully with his bedtime bottle


*For Constance’s Forms of Poetry 101 contest.  Never tried alliteration before.
 by Carolyn Devonshire...

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In my mind I revel in the fantasies that were our dreams. Those places sensual and mysterious, and the steamy adventures that fueled our nights with passion.

Oh how our lives ruled by the softness of love and our time sizzled with desires that filled us both with fire and those tender moments of romance.

But the burning flames fizzled and with it our love, and yet I find myself unable to move on because I'm still crippled by desire of she who hobbled my heart....

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I’m so sore
Up off the floor
Tripped over the dog gate
Fell against the crate
Reached to stop my fall
Slammed my thumb in the door
Stubbed my toe on the gate
Shooting pains, oh just great
My shoulder sore to the touch
And my toe went crunch
Watched the blood pool up 
All around my thumb
I hobbled over
To get some water
As the sink turned red
I thought with dread
Would my nail fall off?
Then how to apply polish?
But now thinking this over
Yeah ow, my shoulder!...

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It went wrong,
two days to visit my former life
as a Londoner.

Old men in East End pubs
knew my past
but the tour bus
did not pass that way.

Trips around Buckingham Palace,
the Tower of London,
no time to visit the grey hovels
of a hobbled childhood.

London forgot to be me.
My childhood buried too deep
to find word of itself.

After the sight-seeing
we drove to the high moors
and green hills,
places where my footprints
could still be traced on local maps....

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