#bob
Today, 11 April 2026
It feels as though
we have only just stepped out of Christmas,
barely set down Easter,
and already the year leans forward
a quarter spent,
as if time has been slipping quietly past us
while we were looking elsewhere.
There was a time
when a day felt wide,
long
when its hours opened like fields,
and I could walk through them slowly,
touching everything.
Now it folds in on itself.
Life is like a roll of toilet paper.
The closer you get to the end,
The faster it seems to go.
Apr 10
Apr 10, 2026 at 8:10 PM UTC
Bob who quite his job
Had no job since early morning
He sighed with a frown
It always got bob down and
He's just bummin in town and
No job Bob now finds his way
Towards a brighter and brand new day.
Aug 4, 2025
Aug 4, 2025 at 1:37 PM UTC
Two cars, separate, the people inside would never meet outside of this,
A young woman, her name will not be spoken here.
She was reckless, but she didn’t intend cruelty.
She was trying to get home
Now in the second car, the girl and her mother were headed to a funeral, out of province
They never made it, and their family are now planning another.
You will not know the two who fell, but
An entire little town in Canada will remember where they once walked.
A sister, a daughter, at 21, now an orphan.
She will not recover.
The uninjured woman, her kids will not soon forget
What she was willing to do.
I am not saying to lock the woman away forever,
Maybe she wasn’t capable of ******
Maybe she’d never hurt a fly,
Maybe she loves her kids, but today, she did not.
Do we forgive, and forget something like this?
I know her name,
And the orphan will forever know her name
But I will swear, to whatever god, to whatever I can find,
She may be forgiven, she may run
But this is more than her.
With any say,
I will never be stained,
With another human’s life.
Mar 14, 2025
Mar 14, 2025 at 10:31 PM UTC
I failed all my poetry
by belching words
that isn't me
I bob and weave and stitch the
seams
adverting mental catastrophe
with one eye flush and one eye
shut
I spew the jargon that lights me up
I post it here I post it there
and hope it sticks and fills
the air
Oct 26, 2023
Oct 26, 2023 at 1:25 PM UTC
Steam ghost
The ghosts of leftover heat cling to the nets on her silk lined legs
She tries humility, but everything she’s wearing comes from Rags
And all the men in their cardboarded suits
Empty hands to her they impute
But she, on her Yellow Brick way
Won’t peek a blind she just looks away
Oh, how tall she stands amongst them all
Down her red carpet, how they wait for her to fall
Oh, Baby
‘Round her finger she has me
And she doesn’t even know it
Why won’t she submit
Down the howling streets where the light don’t sleep, restless, I try not to fight it
And a thousand faces they pass me by in the quick blink of an eye
You can see the night women dangle rabbits feet asking you to pay for their lies
But no, I’d rather pass them by
Not loveless love I‘d idle my time
And it all just makes me realize, so dear
That my baby’s not here
Her card, the Queen of hearts
Howls throughout the night in spades
Her poker face, carved so deep
Oh, she slowly abates
Perched on my stoop, she gets so close, sings beautifully
But when reaching my hand out, she flys away mysteriously
And when bringing his name up
She leaves without an apology
She’s afraid to begin
And she’s still thinking of him
Hiding in a place we’ve all been
Oh, how can I win?
Still I hypothesize
About moving it on
Just like Louis, oh the Sun King
But there’s a hole in my wings
Inside of Hell’s Kitchen, she gins for me a glass of ***
I offered her some, she looked at me and told me “no,” I said “how come?”
“I don’t drink, and nor should you,” she preaches to me as if she really knows
Oh, the “wisdom” of a young crow
She leaves for me a silver heart shaped lock
With no picture, it’s her reminder, there’s no fee for the finder
Like the cars that pass the alley
She’s always there, and always gone
But these visions of that girl
They make them all seem so wrong
Miss Understood has died, they found her all alone by the riverside
A note crumpled in her hand had read, it said no one could hope to understand
The sound of the silent night, it just left me feeling kind of crucified and I’m not too sure why
And, oh, how the way the pavement rolls
Leaves a dozen cracks in my fragile bones
And I prayed to God to please have them sewn
Without her I’m not sure where I’ll go
Just a brown dirt cowboy on a stone cold road
Watching them dig graves in the town of Sodam and Gemorra
And these visions of my baby who’s now long gone
And these visions of my girl
It’s always been for her
Nov 27, 2021
Nov 27, 2021 at 12:20 PM UTC
Far be it from me
To complexify the issue
By propulgating wrongery
Less I subterfuge
My untentions
Toward wittery
And ashoe
Refudiation
Oct 26, 2020
Oct 26, 2020 at 8:56 AM UTC
Skipping class, ****** off his ***
Never showed and never passed
Teacher was teachin' it
But Dylan never needed it,
Writ to his own beat
And now he's free wheelin' it
On down the road
A heavy moss laden load
Sixty-one routes
And that stone keeps a-rollin',
The times keep a-changin'
The river keeps flowin'
Rainy day women
And legalized growin'
Bob cantcha spare,
A nickle or rhyme?
A solid gold medal,
Nobel poet sublime?
Sing us a song
Jingle jangle along
The Luckiest Wilbury
In the Wilbury throng
Singin' so right
It must be wrong
Keep doin' your thang
You'll never get gonged
May 22, 2021
May 22, 2021 at 11:34 PM UTC
Roses are red
The skies are all grey
It's been 8 years
And I'm STILL not okay.
(I promise)
Feb 11, 2021
Feb 11, 2021 at 11:21 AM UTC
There was once a spot,
some would say he was charcoal
others would say it's got to be coal.
then you would have the, no its dark grey.
But we'll let you decide that for now.
The spot was on the page all alone,
he filled up quite a portion of the page.
But it's not fun being alone, so he thought
instead of a spot ill become many dots.
So slowly what was one became two, three
smaller and smaller did spot become.
After quite a time, the spot was no more but
dots sprinkled over the page, they all looked
at each other the many but still alone.
So they decided to connect slowly the large dots
shrank as they lined from one to 100.
It took a while but now they were connected.
still their individual selves but now not alone.
But the funny thing is, that when we connect
things, we see more than before.
They didn't realize that from a spot to a dot
then united. They Painted a picture, you
may ask of what could a giant spot becomes.
Well ill tell you, it had a waggy tail, four legs,
and one of the cutest barks. He ran around
the page, some dots shock loose.
landing in the middle spread out but
close enough not to be alone.
They wondered for a while what they were till
they went "Woof, Oh my gosh were a dog,
a puppy to be exact. And with that they came
up with a name, they did a vote that was only fair.
All wanted one, but you have one always
wanting something esle.
Well the vote was in the many had thought and
pondered, now they knew who they were going to be.
Drum roll please....
Rat-a-tat rat-a-tat ratta-tatta-tat-tat.
And there name was to be Spot the dog,
except the one on our ear.
He shall be known as bob.
After he had a zoomy, scuffing the edges of the
page, he settled down, ok after he'd chased his
tail just this once more.
So the story goes from one to the many,
to be more than they'd ever wished before.
We have Spot the dog and Bob the spot.
And if your careful and don't make a sound.
You can peek through the door and see spot
running around the page, chasing his tail
and barking in the excitement that he's now more.
Nov 5, 2020
Nov 5, 2020 at 7:07 AM UTC
Old friends two bookends
Catching fish and memories
On a river bank
Sep 7, 2020
Sep 7, 2020 at 3:36 PM UTC
Jack Sparrow had some fun
he
made
SpongeBob
sit in the sun
Bikini bottom
was filled with cotton
and
Patrick
flossed
his
***
Feb 28, 2020
Feb 28, 2020 at 4:50 AM UTC
speaking for millions of
people who were and who have been suffering from addiction:
i do have to thank the two of you.
the tradition of the twelve steps had not existed before you created and established them.
you have a shelter in my
mind and in my soul.
God bless you.
R.I.P. Bill and Bob
Dec 20, 2019
Dec 20, 2019 at 4:20 AM UTC
Bob Dylan.
A mystic creature.
Punching out holes in norms.
Eating the questions then vomiting them back up.
Leaving them worn.
Poet minded.
Speaking the real.
And creating anything kicking till it’s sore.
Garrett Johnson.
Oct 24, 2019
Oct 24, 2019 at 2:15 PM UTC
How long shall they
**** our prophets,
While we stand aside
In hopelessness and look?
Silah., oh sihah oh Silah?
Oh Allah, said the Muslim.
Why lord, asked the Christian,
Shallom said the Jew!
A few of whom knows
What's wrong with the truth.
Wisdom is better than silver
And gold but the jew chooses gold.
This is not antisemitism,
This is the brainchild of capitalism
and the Occidental colonization
Of our minds lands and cultures.
Bob said prophetic things and he
sang revolutionary songs that
resonates to this very day.
We see the zion train every day
but it delivers nothing to us.
It comes empty but leaves
With tons of our resources.
But we ain't got much to say.
We see the smogs from the
Burning coals from its exhaust,
We hear the tots of the soul train
as it comes our way. we see
nothing but gushes of blood as
It seeps into the soil the Dutchmen
Stood on to decapitate the sons
and daughters of Congo.
Courtesy of King Leopold of Belgium.
Bob was right, A thousand years
Of history will not be wiped away!
#IvanBrookspoetry © #Bassapoet
Aug 22, 2019
Aug 22, 2019 at 4:23 PM UTC
Men ain’t enough
Where’s my beloved
Been waiting and hoping
he comes too soon.
I’m 28.
Still waiting and praying.
I asked,
Does a patient dog still eat the fattest bone ?
I’m the one getting fatter and the patient getting slimmer
Who I’m I waiting for,
A perfect man? A boomerang ?
Gosh !
But I’m not born by mistake
Still wondering why the wait
He may be a womanizer,
yet to repent.
But yet am keeping and keeping.
Denying and still denying many.
Who am I waiting for!
When he comes,
Will I welcome his presence ?
What of if his bad side comes back,
Will I regret not flirting when I needed to?
What I resist, hope it won’t be what I can’t do without ?
Will he give me when I need it.
Jul 23, 2019
Jul 23, 2019 at 9:35 PM UTC
He works, in this harbor town
and watches Brandy, lay the whiskey down
as she pines for a man, that's not around
he drowns his sorrows with wine
Brandy, doesn't even know
over the years, how his love has grown
not something that he's ever shown
his love for her confined
"The sailors say: "Brandy, you're a fine girl" (you're a fine girl)
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)"
Yeah, even though this love, will never be
Yes, he understands
Brandy, loves another man
not as he would have planned
but her heart is all her own
So he sits there, almost every night
protecting her, yet out of sight
doing what, he thinks is right
and drinking all alone
"The sailors say: "Brandy, you're a fine girl" (you're a fine girl)
"What a good wife you would be" (such a fine girl)"
Yeah, even though his love can't be
Jul 11, 2019
Jul 11, 2019 at 5:24 PM UTC
Once there was a expressionless man
who had a strange notion and weird plan
asphyxiate on a noose made of cord
because of *** he was bored
next day, no words did he say, yet still he was quite deadpan
Dec 21, 2018
Dec 21, 2018 at 8:04 AM UTC
for Ali, Ali, Ali, a daughter by any other name
(April 2014)
Dear Nat,
your letter caught me up,
at the Village Vanguard bar,
so addressed and there saved,
knowing, believing it's a sign,
time to meet fleshed again,
my sometimes sub-let
neighborhood friend
doing a gig there
this weekend
finishing up the tour
where it all began,
nothing gonna change my mind,
in the city that's where I'm staying.
the road is calling out my name,
but I ain't walking out the door anytime soon,
they want too much body and soul,
but don't worry once or even twice,
got some cash, it's all right
early afternoon, bar empty,
got a few rainy minutes,
got me paper n' pen
and a beer, from the
bar man who also gets
me whatever else I need (haha)
sorry I missed you in Cleveland,
you, back in New York when
I'm finally out your way,
ain't just like fate,
to make us ache so all alone
read your lyrics,
made making some suggestions,
like a baby's new clothes,
lots of bows, a few lines fell
down onto the floor
can't be found
like broken pearls on a dance floor
J. sends regards,
told her what you wrote about
A Long Black Veil, she laughed,
promises she will wear one
when next we all three meet
touring was good and hard,
traveling time is writing time,
but sitting here thinking
how many years have passed and gone
since we first met,
so many roads different taken
by many a first friend,
each one I've never seen against,
let's not that happen to us
rail riding done for awhile,
see ya back on Bleecker Street,
if we're still "cool"
we'll have that fire burning!
Ok, we'll swap some lines, fine,
but I want, claiming dibs
on that ole easy chair
P.S. got the rent money covered till your return in the summer
Bobby
April 1968
~~~~~~~~~
Between 1968 and 1973,
split my time tween Cleveland and NYC,
before returning to ny full time in the summer of '71.
I lived at 352 Bleecker,
above the long gone
but now moved to Brooklyn,
Pink Teacup restaurant. The eyetalian bakery on the corner of Bleecker and Seventh Ave., long time gone...almost fifty freaking years ago...anyway...I think the stain glass window is still there, gonna have to check it out...shoot forgot about Google Earth!
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 2:51 AM UTC
I want you to be the paint that drips on my canvas
our bodies brush to create something beautiful
Aug 23, 2018
Aug 23, 2018 at 9:07 AM UTC