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I bought a Joker bobblehead at an antique store
it bobbled it's head as I went out the door
it bobbled and turned  
and with a laugh it said
get me out of this box *****
or I'll slice off your head
I turned right around
went back in the store
and asked for a refund
of $11.54 - including tax
I'm sorry she said
no refunds given here
now you're stuck with that *****
may God help you my dear
he's carved and beheaded
every Woody in my collection
he set fire to Buzz Lightyear
and gave Barbie a c-section
he's the devil himself
inside that bobbin' head
you'd better unload him
or soon you'll be dead
before she could put the closed sign on the door
I heard the feet of the Joker as they hit the floor
now you've done it she moaned
we've lost his *** now
I'm taking lunch
so find him somehow
before I could think of what my game plan would be
a voice, and a bob, bob, bob  from behind laughed at me
'10.99 for the Joker plus tax!?'
and I turned just in time to catch Daniel Boone's ax
between the eyes!
re-post
Wk kortas Feb 2018
Once (not that long ago, perhaps, though we likely know better)
The summers were languid, liquid things without end
Each day fully equipped with a high sky,
The blue so all-encompassing, so all consuming,
That lazy fly ***** seemed to disappear
As if God had scooped them up like so many routine grounders.
We played, in a field long since abandoned
To crownvetch and scrub grass,
Twenty one--five points for those *****
The celestial powers had bobbled
And we were able to catch on the fly,
Three points if we took it on the hop,
One if we safely trapped it before it rolled stone dead,
And so our Julys and Augusts fluttered by,
Every bit lazy and aimless as butterflies or knuckleballs,
With the exception of the de riguer tribunals
In which the assembled debated and determined
Where bounce ended and roll began,
Where shoestring catch was reduced to single-point trap.

It all came to an end, of course;
At some point, we crossed a line
(Undelineated but firmly established nonetheless)
Where it was no longer advisable to attempt this at home,
Mere joy no longer an acceptable substitute for proficiency.
Find something else to do, kid, we were told,
And the bats went to the back of the closet,
The gloves and ***** consigned to a spot
(Where we would surely remember to find them)
Behind some canned tuna and Christmas lights,
The fastball blurring by us now,
The field a warren of subdevelopments and cul-de-sacs.

And so you’d forgotten,
Or perhaps just suppressed, the whole notion;
There were, after all, a gaggle of coupon books
With return addresses from an ever-changing confusion of banks,
Sales on pasta and milk, other fees and foundations
Politely requesting ones attention,
So you couldn’t be sure
That it was really the crack of an old thick-handled Adirondack,
Or the comforting thwick of the ball landing squarely
In the pocket of a Wilson A-2000,
Yet when you wandered to the window and peered out,
There they were, looking straight up at you,
Waving their hands like childlike Prosperos
Gesturing to reveal some fairytale glen.  
Come on back, they are saying, and you go down,
Powerless to resist, even if you had wanted to,
Returned instantly, seamlessly to a time and place
Where a shout of I got it! I got it!
Was all the prerequisite or vitae that was required,
And you are unable to bring even mock-edginess to your voice
When you insist I got that cleanly on the hop.  That’s three points.
The Great American Game is back in Florida and Arizona--not that it ever actually left.
Shemika C Feb 2016
My deepest fear isn't marriage, but the fear of marrying the wrong one. Hopes are high, heart beats a 100mph. Do I forget the lies, the cheating and all the betrayal? Do I pretend like the hurt never existed? Do I start over? Mind bobbled by so much. Please God show me a sign, or did I miss the sign? Have I been blinded all along? Questions are racing through my mind. Would it change after marriage? Would I have to go through the heartaches and pain? The lying and cheating? I'm supposed to be happy! I can't go into marriage like this. I need to clear mind, I need to get away. Let me think... is this what I really want?
Viji Suresh May 2016
Another shore,  another age
I walked those sands, searching...
Some shells,  some foliage,
I ran at the waves rushing.

Beyond the third white wave,
Curled against the fourth...
The brittle crab shell swayed,
Bobbled,  speeding forth...

My heel firm and grounded
The waves raised with a crisp honk..
The catamaran,  I spotted,
On the wall, seated a white conch...

Staring at the conch, I dreamed,
My fingers traced the tiny lines...
The lines circled edging for release,
I placed it near my ear,  it whined...

The song of another shore,  another age
I hear you now,  calling me
I hear clearly,  my voice interlaced
I stand here,  it's you I feel...

Looked up at the sky,
Looked at the sand,
Looked side ways,
Looked beyond...

Without a clue,  where to move,
I followed your voice from inside,
Another year,  another month,  or forever,
But,  one day we will meet,  soon enough

This day we will recite those lines,
For another shore,  another age,
Your words will still beckon,
I will follow your words,  till there is no return.
topaz oreilly Nov 2012
The spindle was polished, very brightly
to set the embankment's observations
of London a swirling,
- son et lumiere
because this French glass bottomed vessel
bobbled and flustered
in beseech
of the Isle of Meander.
James M Vines May 2016
Riding high on a selected blend. A potent herb from Afghanistan. Smiling at the acoustic sounds from an island band, while you partake of something from your Jamaican friends. Letting your imagination run wild, you see a sparkling blade. You just look in awe as it glistens and sways. You pick it up and it feels lighter than air, you swing it wildly with little care. Then you get it a little too close, and suddenly your missing the tip of your nose. You go awesome as your brain attempts to register the pain, fighting to get you the message, through a stoner's haze. Then it begins to hurt and you fumble the sword with a jittery ****. The blade is bobbled and tossed about, then it becomes quite clear, as it clangs to the floor, dude did I cut off my ear?
You found me clinging to the edge
of an old and broken bridge.
My hands grasped the concrete so tightly
that my knuckles had turned white
and my palms were stinging from all the cuts.
My arms burned from the strain of hanging on
as gravity tugged relentlessly at my feet.

Your black converse stomped into place
just between my tired fingers.
You stared down at me with piercing green eyes
and eyebrows tightly knit together in a frown.
There was silence.

Then your arm slowly stretched out
and I dangerously lifted a hand to meet it.
You came closer and closer and closer…
I could almost feel the strong grip of gravity releasing me.
I could almost hear the sigh of relief from my exhausted muscles.
The tips of our fingers touched.

And then you pulled back.
I stared up at you with wide eyes
as you slowly began to walk away.
Fear and desperation sank deep into my chest
as your legs,
then your waist,
then your neck disappeared from sight.
A small whimper escaped from my throat
as your head bobbled on the horizon of my vision,
and then just like that,
you were gone.

You found me clinging to the edge
of an old and broken bridge.
And you left me there.
You left my hands to bleed
and my knuckles to ache.
You left my arms to go numb
and my tired body to be swept away
by the strong clutches of gravity.

You left me there
you left me there
you left me there.
And when you watched me fall,
spiraling towards the ground
like a rag doll,
you thought you saw my skull crack,
or my ribs break first.
But you were wrong.
The first thing to break was my heart.
Today I watched the world
Rolling along like an applecart
Every apple that fell to the floor
Resembled a part of me
Many were ripe and full of life
While some were small and colourless
And as the cart bobbled along
Its wheels seemed to lift
Then fall to the ground
Like my soul frequently does
When I think of my existence
But then the cart gets faster
And the apples seem sturdier
They don’t fall down as much
Seeming to acceptance the rocky road
Till finally they’re settled
Nicely snuggled together
Making me smile and believe
That the world isn’t as bad as it seems
Wk kortas Feb 2021
The fifteen-seater bounced and bobbled on the landing strip
(The arrival delayed a touch, as the single runway
Required one more scrape by the snow plow)
Coming to a more-or-less steady stop
For the brief but brisk and uncovered walk
To the crackerjack-box terminal,
Then, after the requisite tears and hugs,
Tumbling into the back seat of the ancient family truckster,
Driving in the dark past those houses and convenience stores
You assumed were still there,
Those changes to the lay of the land
(Subtle to those still around, downright abrupt
To folks who’d cast their lot elsewhere)
A thing resigned to the light of day,
And after the catching-up small talk
Devolved into the realm of the awkward,
You’d ducked out to head for the Cow Palace,
(The entrance to the bar still festooned with the sign
You must be this tall to drink at the bar,
Probably in its third generation of half-kidding)
For the just-a-couple-but-several-times-over,
Catching up on the particulars
As to who’d hooked up,
Who was no longer a couple
The general goings on in their circle
(But something lost in the translation,
Certain names not coming to immediate mind,
Certain nuances which now escaped him)
And come closing time they’d settled up
Then piled into Cully Scott’s ancient Lincoln
Eight of them all told,
Drunk as lords and high as kites,
Beyond legal or spiritual redemption,
Somehow not barging through some guard rail
And straight into the Kinzua Creek,
Pulling up to his front door just shy of four A-M.
He’d navigated to his room,
Which was spinning more than just a touch,
And when Sunday morning came,
His parents were unable to rouse him
(They’d half-jokingly checked for a pulse)
So they buttoned, zippered and scarfed themselves
In a manner befitting a bright but brisk January morning,
One of those days which moved you to opine
That it looked lovely from the warmth of the couch,
And as his parents departed for a warmed-over sermon
(Preacher’s handiwork endlessly re-cycled, after all;
Likely all involved able to repeat it word-for-word)
He’d remained under mounds of covers,
(Fast asleep, though he’d later remember
Beingly vaguely cognizant of the bells
Calling the faithful to services)
Sleeping the sleep of those
Resigned to lesser, somewhat intermittent epiphanies.
Lennox Trim Jan 19
Why must I sleep upside down just to wake up right,
At dusk I see sounds just as ghouls come at night,
I'm trying to be immortalized.
And remain with immune from immoral mortal lies,
Ans see the divine with my own 3 mortal eyes,
I just hope all my bonds are covalent,
And my health's in good stock,
I just hope all my thoughts are coherent,
Why I start to feel like the new Tupac
Or like the son of Odin,
Washed clean in frank's ocean,
I walk like thunder but every night ***** every day up.
Everyday I think about the things I gave up.
I think like yo -
What if all my heavy sighs i had to weigh up?
What if I got lost and time forgot to wait up?
Took a hiatus in Hades, what if I never found a way up?
Every night I think like "yo, what if I gave up?"
We wishin on the same stars - just on different nights,
I'm on a mission, same start - we just on different plights.
A lab rat stuck in an elaborate labyrinth,
A wunderkind stuck in his own wonderland,
Wade Wilson with no blades to wander with,
Majin Buu meandering in his mental maze,
Thor with no Mjolnor, no cats to thunder with,
I'm more Marth than Icarus and I made it out the pit.

I read somewhere your dreams don't give a **** about your fears,
Cause sometimes they the same thing,
And that schemes come about from peers,
Cause sometimes they after the same things.
This the type of **** that don't get no hook,
I was filling my lane but life had hit me with the no look,
highly unprepared - I bobbled and fumbled it,
Had to remember my affirmations - I uttered and mumbled it,
It go like:
What happens to the words that you never say?
What happens to the games that people decide not to play?
What happens to the moon in the middle of the day?
What happened to the other 49 shades of Grey?
What happens if Captain Jack never got to parlay?
What if Barbosa never found the 9 pieces of 8?
Or better yet like,
What if Peter Pan never landed?
What if I squeezed the lemons that life had handed?
What if I realized I'm at a disadvantage?
What if I finally admit that I'm damaged?
If you don't heal what hurt you - you bleed on those who didn't cut you.
This important content.
This is a message from my impaired cortex.
This is the imported fears complete with a weird flex.
This the pectoral on my body of work.
This train will depart
leave behind your worries
and your broken heart
this train will depart
in two minutes.

It was two minutes
years ago
and I should know
I was there
without a care
just being me.

Friday  
hip hip...
no replacement
necessary,

commuters

Indian man wearing
an 'England' shirt
his lady friend
in a very short
skirt,

a bobbled hat infant
sleeps like an innocent
is anyone getting my
drift?

Pink is the predominant
colour
making the journey
much brighter.

Young girl
with candy floss hair
looks like all the fun
of the fair,

Mr hi tech
nearly broke his neck
looking at her.

He's got a
Borstal crop,
sitting holding a
laptop
I wonder if it's
nicked.

Is that a bit naughty?
he looks 'a bit tasty'
like he could
'sort me out'
I'd better keep my thoughts
to myself

Sad Ida?
but that's a reflection
when she turns around
I see it's Adidas,

be sad if her name
was ida.

A man bag
with a name tag
tells me his name
is Cecil
which sounds
reasonable.

Nearing Bond Street
and got to alight
I might catch you
later.
A man isn’t really fussy
He’s generally just care free
A pair of jeans and a bobbled shirt
That usually does it for me
But some men are being taken over
Their creating dilemmas of their own
Trying on various eye piercing shirts
Then do nothing but tut and moan
Trying on a hundred pairs of shoes
Which seems pointless in my view
Because unless your born near Chernobyl
There’s only enough room for two
And then there’s the endless brylcream
All foaming and slightly wet crap
Slapping it down and shaping it up
I prefer water from out of a tap
Where’s the casual look gone
The look that’s says you just don’t care
That age old practice of the male species
Now replaced by what to wear
I was ten weeks
And a day
You were two years eleven weeks
And a day

My mother said
"Just shove the spoon in her mouth!"

"Safety first!"
Wasn't really a mantra for
Our moms

Our lives are a Venn diagram
Like an eclipse

Of plastic play ice cubes
Bobbled from hand to hand
To stave off imaginary frostbite
And tap shoes tied with elastic
To aid in afterschool
In-the-car quick-changes

Of consonant digraphs and isolated syllables
Freed from the missalette
And our expelation
Expelled with elation
From the pew
To the loo
For giggling during the sermon

Of listening to the phone ring
Ten times
Twenty times
Two hundred times
Waiting for an answer
Or the invention
And acquisition
Of an answering machine

And they are Euler circles

Of mothers swapping strollers
Like Garanimal parenting
Matching blue elephants to abandonment and estrangement

Of a career plan spanning decades and
Of decades of unplanned careers
Careening into a pile-up of
"This one time, at this one job . . . ."

Of husbands and babies on one side
And solitude and seeking on the other

But we have always had
Our intersection

Through my scholastic continental pinball of a life
And your need for small spaces
Like a guru on a mountain top
Sought but secure
Our Reuleaux triangle
Is a magnet pulling us
To overlapping searches
For intelligent life and enlightenment
Our radical center
A pile of curling Instamatic photographs
Grainy and greening
Awesomeness and awkwardness and 80's hairstyles
Attempted in spite of our curls

Our intersection where
224-3628 and 226-6202
Meshed and became a difference of two

The sameness of experience
The polarization of exploration
And the return to

Ravioli
Malfatti
French bread
And family we build on a foundation of

Fifty-one years four months two weeks
And a day

— The End —