Short Hobos Poems
Short Hobos Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Hobos by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Hobos by length and keyword.
I went where the wind blows,
Cool sod my last bed
Sweet blowin’ winds then laid down in the prairie-grass and the wide orange sky tucks me in.
Not far away a trains-a-howlin’
Singin’ me a last lullaby
Accompanied by the souls of 1,000 rail-road hobos
Crooning their dusty blues.
How can it be
That you don’t love me?
And where do the hobos pee?
Why can’t you see
I’m sitting in a tree
Wond’r’n where the hobos pee.
You’ve got a rep
For plenty of pep
But where do the hobos pee?
Do I love you? Yep!
But careful where you step
Cuz look where the hobos pee.
At eleven,
I have lived a longly short life
I have seen so much
I have experienced to much
I have seen the hobos on the corner of the streets
I have experienced the meaning of love
The meaning of life
The meaning of friendship
All within my short lonesome eleven years
All at eleven
Secrets sail
drifting, flying
hitching a ride
cushioned and cossetted
safely tucked
among clouds of innocence
longings float
hidden
and
unblessed
as lonely wind
The salve of time
gratefully pushes
his silent Hobos
tumbling bittersweet
toward the ecstacy of
nothingness.
Listen.
Do you hear a fading heartbeat on the breeze -
a bag of memories on a stick
time...just passing through
winks, bargains for a meal,
a bit of work, a song, a dance
a story - mostly fiction -
fashioned from fading sunsets
nostalgia's hobos
around a cold campfire
whispering tales
of long rusted rails
holding tightly
a crumpled ticket
awaiting
time's ======= caboose
John G. Lawless
7/6/2020
After one too many beers
in the wee hours of the night,
I whizzed around town on my
motorbike, feeling light.
I zoomed into dim sidestreets
and who or what did I meet?
Deep potholes, like drunk hobos,
recklessly crossing the street!
But nastier than potholes,
the pavement was a different case.
It leaped and stood bolt upright
and slammed hard against my face !!
Drunken Moon Haiku
smokeless tobacco
seeking light from another
mooching off the sun
loitering in dusk’s
drunken aura of darkness
last call at sunrise
a lone wolf’s farewell
song of life’s broken spirit
hobos serenade
round moon – square window
cold framing whiskey’s wisdom
red cheeked aftermath
John G. Lawless
7/3/2015
written for prompt of DRUNKEN MOON HAIKU
Goblins and scarecrows
Hobos and whores
Dress up as a playboy
Become the singer who tours
Make up fun riddles
you can recite at the door
Recieve money and candy
from both the rich and the poor
Carve jack-o-lanterns
Make pumpkin pie
Howl like a werewolf
at the night sky
This holiday comes but, once a year
allowing you some time to just escape
It empowers your imagination
"Halloween" I think it's great!"
Form:
I sit, think; catch a quick wink as the ship sinks.
My instinct is to lip sync till the slip’s pink.
Can’t win fights when my chin swipes reach only shin height.
And when kin likes taking Schwinn bikes to my wind pipe.
It’s useless. I’m an aloof spruce, I’m fruitless.
The looseness of nooses is becoming a nuisance.
Screw this. Hope has gone the way of the dodos.
I pack my bindle full of beans and hop a train with the hobos.
Gypsies garbed in colorful robes
fortune tellers on the seaside boardwalk
sneers they get from nonbelievers
“Vagrants,” they call tramps
hobos from Hoboken to Alcatraz
quietly passing the bottle to all in the boxcar
don’t confuse thieves with gypsies and tramps
we can say, “No,” to gypsies and refuse handouts to tramps
the desperate who steal find a new home in jail
*Entry for Lisa’s “Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves” contest