Short Hobbles Poems

The old year hobbles out - his path an aftermath of blunders.

Glowingly expectant, the new year readies for a grand entrance -

wearing nothing but  fresh unstained diapers of naiveté.



For the Sijo Poetry Contest of Rick Parise...

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Excursions, picnics, get-togethers, ballgames
  An exhausted father slumps into his favorite armchair, leans back --
Ah, the pot of gold at the end of ‘his special day’
  
…Dad hobbles outside – bad knees and all – to set up
     the sprinklers and haul in the gear from the van...

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Once he ran, a younger man, now he hobbles
   Once he walked, cheerfully talked, now he wobbles

Once he laughed, a breezy updraft, now he cries
   Once he hoped, with the future eloped, now he sighs

Once he looked forward
   ~ Now he looks toward
         The day when he can die...

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A brown man with a full beard passes
I continue to read.

A young white man--handsome--
stops and sips at the fountain directly my left

An old women, wearing a winter coat with leopard print--wealthy looking--
hobbles by

A middle aged women--indeterminate--
walks slowly by

I catch a whiff of cigarette smoke

I say a quick prayer for her

I continue to read.
...

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Slate clouds stretch low
over urban rooftops,
sun’s hopeful warmth
vanquished:

	man with a limp
	pauses.
	his weary eyes,
	wary,
	survey that sky,
	grimy gangling
	fingers
	fidget
	buttons,
	wind biting through
	plaid jacket’s
	worn fabric;
	on, he hobbles
	behind
	shopping cart,
	cluttered and dull,
	left front wheel
	shimmying,

sere, dun leaves
and discarded wrappers
tumble, rustle
alongside
in the gutter....

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Toddler wanders
With unsteadiness,
Then darts and dashes
Tripping over less.
Skipping and hopping
Jumping on one foot,
Strutting,  parading
All to whom will look.
Pacing to and fro
Trekking on a hike
Going far in distance
Jogging-motion-fight
Sprinting, rushing race
Running for ones life,
Sore muscles shuffles
Hobbles awkward strife.
Here I've stopped and still
Body kinda beat though
Interesting yes to
Wonder walking feet....

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his face has deep crevices like the grand canyon
I wonder how many ideas dwell in their recesses
blue eyes are alert, I can see his youth in their shine
he turns the second he meets my eyes

perhaps I remind him of a daughter, as he reminds me ot things long gone
of my grandpa, of TV westerns, of what my face will be like someday
his hat is worn, his horse is slow, he hobbles toward the barn
I stay out of his way, wondering about his crevices...

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unfinished poems cramp me 
like a horse 
in his hobbles 
shaking from slumber 

they won't go away 
I hear them begging in the night 
like babies wanting more milk 
never satisfied 

like unpaid bills 
due upon receipt 
whipping me whipped 
stripping me stripped 

yearning to be hatched 
they scratch at my brain 
chasing dreams 
into dark closets 

they refuse my sleep 
I lay there in warm rhymes 
and fluffy phrases 
until morning...

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. for public domain

Her changes, swift as Bluebirds fly,
her ranges, lift notes low and high,
and yet she hobbles on the ground,
anchored low, like Prometheus bound.

The gods hold stealing no light task,
better without, than not to ask,
but she, not knowing wrong from right,
could only yearn, behold the Light.

She sought Love without a care,
and found she some, and some despair.
Looking back from her present state,
"Do it again. Don't hesitate."...

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She takes in strays that no one wants;
the house is overrun with cats;
she feeds them scraps - it's all she has -
but some will hunt and feast on rats.

Her husband left, she lost her job -
she coped. So many years alone,
the cats her only friends (although,
you never hear Old Ester moan).

They say she's crazy, or a witch;
the children run, the locals hide.
She doesn't speak and hobbles by:
a sad old lady, misty-eyed...

for Line's Crazy Cat Lady contest...

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