"hobble" poems
Squeeze your feet into synthetic fins.
See the world in big rubbery lenses.
Don’t forget the snorkel, of course! Bite tight.
Hobble to the shore,
Where the two worlds meet.
The sea splashes gently on the sand.
It hurls itself forward
And then recedes back.
Its motions are like gestures,
Telling you to draw close
And closer.
Its peaceful surface is an invitation itself,
Painted blue and glittered with sunshine.
Accept the invitation with gladness.
Don't be afraid!
Let the briny waters embrace you.
Let the cold tickle your skin.
Let the waves rock you back and forth.
You have entered a grand ballroom
Illuminated with a majestic chandelier of refracting sunlight.
The colorful corals with shapes of mounds, disks, and crowns,
Sway with the rhythm of the current.
The fishes dance around and about,
Each beaded with scales of various vibrant colors.
And then the reef ends.
The colors abruptly plunge into a black abyss.
Look down and allow yourself to be
Filled with fear, terror,
Or maybe
Insatiable curiosity.
Now let that curiosity stir discontentment in you:
Discontentment with snorkeling.
Let it ignite a craving for
More thrill, more wonder.
It's time to go deep sea diving.
Oct 30, 2013
Oct 30, 2013 at 10:28 AM UTC
You like to party, I am a partier
You like to wander, I am a wanderer
Your thighs are the closet to Narnia
Is it cool if I go and get lost in that?
I'm the lion, the witch in the wardrobe
Massage my lap, I have a sore bone
Of course cold on the dance floor
Like an Eskimo's toes in the North Pole
With both toes poking out of two holes
In the Eskimo socks, I'm hot
Like a cauldron from a warlock
Wearing sweatpants in a sauna
Who's your father? I'm not
I'm motherfuckin' Raven Bowie and here's my ****
Rooster, Cock-a-doodle-doo sir
Take a hit of the hooka, now make it drop
Girl's ***** was bigger than the stomach of Rick Ross
Holy mother mountain of tender tendon to get lost in
Bounce, bounce, that castle ***** that bottom
Make it wobble, wobbly-waddle 'til my third leg has to hobble
You don't want to look back on this night
And think I should have been freaking on a *****
Freak-freaking on a *****
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 7:13 AM UTC
Harried, Harassed, Hassled and Hounded-
These are the H-words I work by.
Harpies and Henchmen, Harridans and Heathens-
These are the H-folk I work with.
Hubbub and Hokum and Hurly-burly-
These are the places I do it.
Hoodlums and Hooligans, loaded with Hubris-
These are the clients I deal with.
Heartless and Horrible, Hateful and Hurtful
These are the attitudes around me.
Hopeless and Hapless, Haggard and Helpless-
This is the way I usually feel.
What happened to Happy, and Hopeful and Harmony-
These are the H-words I search for.
Hinder and Hobble, Heckle and Hamper-
These are the Hamstrings that trip me.
Heaven and Harmony, Humor and Honor-
These are the things that I strive for.
Havoc and Hades, Hurt, Hate and Hauteur-
These are the H’s that I have to conquer.
Hope, Help, and Herculean effort-
Is How I will finally get myself Home.
ljm
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 12:30 AM UTC
Everything that once was so simple, now all seems so lost to me.
Lost to the world that fought me.
I feel my words blurring together with a broken jaw type of numbness.
It feels like my thoughts were beaten from my lips from the inside out.
I can still feel the burns of thoughts unsaid. I miss when times were tangible and things were nailed down.
But now my life feels like water.
Violent like the tides, dragging me out into a place where I don’t know how to swim.
It’s the words that I don’t know how to place that fill my lungs with every choking breath.
I’m in life too deep to get out now.
I’m imbedded, addicted.
Fastened to this current.
Like the van der waals force of my heart beating.
My lips tragically crave the taste of air and my heart painfully keeps the rhythm.
Step Step Step Step.
“Let’s go on,” my feet say in agreement with my heart.
The tears drag down and even they demand to be felt.
No parts of me want to go, but they all beat down on me demanding that I supply them with more energy to live.
I grow weak and hobble at my knees and wonder, “When will this addiction end?
When will I get some rest?” and just like that I’m gone.
Not fighting the current, just floating.
Not swimming, just floating.
Not quite drowning,
but still,
only floating.
Nov 29, 2014
Nov 29, 2014 at 11:38 PM UTC
Sitting there yesterday at the football game,
Watching my son tackling the quarterback,
Feeling the warm sun and watching him earn respect,
From his teammates, made my heart proud.
Looking around, I saw the cheerleaders, 11 yrs old, too.
Yelling and flipping and shouting.
Then from nowhere, "My glitter is sweating off!"
Makes me laugh outloud.
Little kids running everywhere,
Parents watching their kids, visiting,
It was a great scene!
Until I looked down in this sneezing little boys face,
And watched him scoop up some boogers
and have a snack.
Looking back I suppose it is only to be expected
as part of the scenery, and I can laugh now.
Just as watching the cheerleaders commenting,
And the poor kid who pulled a groin muscle,
Hobble off the field, is part of the scene.
All in all, a beautiful day, fun, family, and reality all at once.
Oct 11, 2010
Oct 11, 2010 at 3:56 AM UTC
Sometimes it feels like you're walking around on tiptoe as not to disturb the glass beneath your feet
Broken edges, sharp shards of memories and the life that once was
Shoes mask the familiar feel of the ground, confuse your feet, and throw them off path
Barefoot and
Not so free
Hobble around, try to regain your balance whilst staying upright
Don't look down, feel around for the soft areas
A blind man, navigating through a minefield
What are the chances of getting through safely?
When it rains more glass you grab at your threadbare sweatshirt that is trying so hard to protect you
Your innocent, now scarred white flesh glistens against the storm of needles that ***** your skin
At what point do you decide to stop caring?
At what point do you take off the jacket that's not been doing much for you anyways and just give yourself to the battle?
Sacrificial living or
Sacrificial dying
Sacrificial being
At what point do you blow up?
I'm trying to understand this way of walking
But I stomp around on heavy feet
My feet are calloused and sore
I'm barefoot and free
I've blown off my limbs but what's a little blood to stop the war?
My scars have faded
I gave myself to the storm
Yet I'm still breathing
I've not died though I've walked many a mile on
Tiptoe back when I thought it was wise
To walk on shattered glass
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 3:26 AM UTC
I'm trapped.
Trapped like a rat.
And he is the house cat.
We live in New York,
which is to say,
we live in chaos.
We like to dream big,
but we don't follow through.
Afterall, a cat will attack a rat because it's a rat.
The way of our world.
A beautiful hurricane of a vicious cycle.
When it rains,
it pours.
You and I are a perfect example of no pain, no gain
but the gain is really so miniscule that this game,
Mr. Cat,
seems like there is truly no glory in winning.
A rat can try to run from a cat, and very few escape.
If I could evade the cat and leave New York...
I have the time to contemplate...
Could there be a better existence in which I am a) not being chased, attacked, or trapped by a cat, and b) free of the noise and chaos of New York?
I have been in this corner for awhile now.
His patience is everlasting.
He guards the safest escape route.
Cat's are smart.
There is, however, a crack in the wall.
But it would be a tremendous fall.
A chance, perhaps, this rat could scale the brick wall of the apartment building,
down 10 floors to the alley and scurry scurry scurry far far far away.
Wait.
He is...retreating?
Is this a trick?
No, it seems I've bored this tired, old house cat!
This is my chance to leave, lickety-split
out through the hole behind the welcome mat,
that rests against the south wall.
I peak my head out of the crevice -
there seems to be no cat.
I run. Scurry scurry scurry.
Hurry hurry hurry.
Too late. It was a smarter trap.
Retreat! Retreat!
His teeth sink into my hind leg.
I squeak, I thrash. I poke him in the eyes with my sharp nails.
He releases me and I hobble scurry to the crack.
The cat is attacking the wall.
Furious.
Next time, he won't allow me to fight back.
There is no point in staying here, afterall.
I will take my chances on the wall.
Out the hole, brick edge by brick edge I cling and claw my way down.
....
I made it.
...this is a free rat.
There is no cat.
There is still noise, anger, people everywhere;
shouting.
This is not where this rat wants to be, either.
Out of New York.
That's what is desired.
The cat has left me with wounds,
and memories of torture.
I will go, and heal, over many of moons,
and find peace in my future.
Run and run and free free free.
So it wants, so it has done, so it will be.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 7:45 PM UTC
Snowflakes adorn my skin, i’ve never been partial to the cold. The sky is
Red and i wonder briefly is blood could be reflected upon the sky. My
Nailpolish is chipped and i remember how you once said you liked it that way during that
Ice storm that kept us trapped in your cabin. The
Crunch of the snow under my feet sooth me for some reason. You’d freak out if you saw how
***** i was.
Leaves dance around me. Its getting
Darker, I wish you were here with me. I finally reach the
Gravel and i’m sure i stepped into glass. It sliced into my skin like
Screwdrivers drilling into the earth.You’d kiss the boo boo with your soft lips and caramel eyes.
Tongue pressed against my teeth i hobble farther away from the forest
Blood trailing behind me. It was just
Yesterday you were chasing me around this very forest stealing kisses every now and then.
Sorry i sent you away. Im sorry you let me.
Feb 15, 2014
Feb 15, 2014 at 10:05 PM UTC
I hobble around when once I could run. I am disregarded but I still salute the flag. I gave some and some gave all, yet I went forward and would do so again if called. I am weary of battle, but few will take up the cause. Sacrifice and love of country to me, even over the screams of burn it all down. I kneel before God not in protest. I stand as best I can when my anthem is played. I pledge my allegiance to the flag and observe a quiet moment for those who cannot. I watch as people spit on my way of life and a tear fills my eye. I want to march on, but it is hard as I sometimes hurt. I am a broken soldier, fix me and I will sacrifice in your place while you sleep comfortably as I face the cold and dangerous night.
Aug 15, 2018
Aug 15, 2018 at 6:07 PM UTC
the door swivels
and you hobble in.
what's the matter?
you're fro-zen.
come in and sit by the fire.
oh no --
your fingers are white
like the lace on your waistband.
who did this to you?
tell me as I make you some coffee
no sugar, no cream.
your voice is scared
and I try not to turn red, turn over in my skin.
I tried to slow my heartbeat for you.
I am not the dominant figure here.
I am the helper, the healer, the envelope
sealer, the stone.
you are the flame
and I am the wood.
you are always welcome to burn me up.
Dec 10, 2014
Dec 10, 2014 at 9:15 PM UTC
Exceptional grins of jagged pearly whites
adorn skeletal masks
suffocating your mangled breath
as curled fingertips scrape against dirt.
Flesh, charred and soiled
hangs brilliantly from serrated bark.
Bleached bone barbed at the spine
where charcoal dragons dig infected beaks to feast.
A single mountain of shadow stands
before lacerated skies
a portal of inviting mayhem and madness
concrete pathways twist to its starving mouth.
Horned beasts hobble on disfigured limbs
dragging their sins across heated ground.
Hungry for souls dipped in blood
the scent of rot disperses like fog.
Rickety witches stir boiling cauldrons
with ossified tendrils,
saliva oozes from cracked lips
as you're watched from a distance.
No escape from the blackened sludge
as it wraps on the nape of your neck,
gurgle out pitiful screams of fright,
welcome to halloween.
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 12:29 AM UTC
She slumps in sleep
Paws clasped prayer-like
Dream-dozing eyelids a-simmer
A spasm-triggered flesh flick
An ear-alert to a tremorous tick
Crisp-dry nose with involuntary sniff
Old dog breath brewing brown toothed whiff
With pain weary grunt
She heaves her lumpy bulk
Onto shaky splayed legs
That hobble and limp
Catches my eye
With a puppy-pleased glint
Wags
.... and pees
Mar 21, 2011
Mar 21, 2011 at 3:16 AM UTC
I seem to have aged twenty years over the last two
especially since turning seventy - a personal view.
From the outbreak of the ****** virus two years ago
there's been a gradual decline in health for this I know.
Although testing negative in the last week of November
other health issues have been cropping up in December.
I somehow think that my time may be coming around
for where the body is to be laid to rest in the ground.
Morbid thoughts such as the above are dominant today
and with some people they don't easily just go away.
In my particular case my right side has been affected
and hobble around like some disabled person detected.
I wonder how long it'll be before I won't be able to cope
with doing all of those various things that range in scope
from washing and cleaning to the other domestic chores
which need to be done on a regular basis and time scores.
Unless I can afford to pay for someone to help with it all
if circumstances don't improve and my back's to the wall
I may have to consider going into an old people's home
or in some place where you're restricted to freely roam.
Another possibility would be to invite someone else in
that's compatible to shack up with and share the 'load-in'
or even perhaps the other way around that is practical
without being negative and deemed unjustly skeptical.
Someone in whom similar interests and ideals are found
all those things that are decent, life enhancing and sound.
Already it's getting to the stage when I'll need to cut my hair
something I used to be able to do by myself in the past there
but now I can barely raise my right hand up to my head
and the whole thing is a procedure I'm beginning to dread.
-------------------
As everybody gets older and experiences the change
they may notice their movements are becoming restricted in range.
_____________________
Apr 7, 2023
Apr 7, 2023 at 5:52 AM UTC
Worry is a scurvy rat
It is a man's main bane
It chews on your self esteem
It nibbles at your brain
It will take your precious time
Your energies will claim
It will hobble your very life
It will make you lame
You may try to capture it
But that is all in vain
Doubt is like a cancer
It eats at your bones
It takes breath from your very lungs
It turns your mind to stone
It makes you feel incomplete
It makes you weep and moan
Under it's all-nagging pain
You will retch and groan
It is resistant to all cures
And you cannot atone
Fear is like a little death
It turns the heart to straw
It strikes like a rattlesnake
With poison in its maw
It's like a fascist dictator
Who makes the harshest laws
It can take your greatest strength
Make it pernicious flaw
Like a sadistic doctor
With a large chainsaw!
How can a person battle
Worry, Doubt and Fear?
How can our lives get better?
How can we have cheer?
Jack Daniels has no answer
It's not Budweiser beer...
It may be elusive
At first just like a wraith
But once you have a hold on it
*The answer is our FAITH.*
SoulSurvivor
(C) 5/27/2016
May 27, 2016
May 27, 2016 at 4:42 PM UTC
Slow milestones
kicked a tad further once in awhile
I stumble as I grasp and catch
a glimpse of my feeble walker days
Way up the desert road near the mountains
the pressing feeling;
I’m wasting too much time on the practical
And soon I’ll hobble my way to that high nest of the vultures;
an unnourishing drab soul
“He went to college and finally landed an okay job
No not teaching, not in humanities at all.
He had a living wage, then slowly managed to move out.
Then he tried dating and getting a better job for the rest of his days.”
“Amen.
Thanks for not making any waves, babe.”
Chomp!
I’d rather feel the raptor claw clutch now,
and, whenever I go,
I’d be a coveted delicacy
They’ll spend all day cooking me,
simmering low in a some big ***
They’d wear shiny ornaments
and put out fine ivory plates and utensils
Then, right before it’s time to dine,
these birds of prey will pray
in simple thanks I kept my flesh strong
May 7, 2014
May 7, 2014 at 2:01 PM UTC
Take all.
Leave me thin and bone,
Withdraw hope and home,
Shame me in every way,
Blind me, shun me
Punch me deaf and dumb,
Bleed out all of joy,
Fester *** and pleasure,
Blacken me a liar,
Circumcise my art,
Multiply a thousand times despair,
And present me death as a gift
Hobble my gait,
Drape me down in chains,
Rob me of all.
But leave me words.
Grant me poetry, one line, one spark
And the universe ignites again,
Let me roll syllables like dice
And I will chase passion to you,
Give me a sprinkle of syntax,
A magic dust,
Turns sound to shape and form.
Let me own letters,
And I will smuggle tears to you,
Crouch inside your dreams,
Spin the air into scent
Reflect in every mirror a lover,
Make clouds chant a monk’s choir,
Bend light and tie it like a shoestring,
Give me words, just words
And I will stand forever.
Oct 21, 2015
Oct 21, 2015 at 9:27 AM UTC
you are walking the streets
you do not walk the boards anymore
your trousers are frayed, your shoes dusty
and the hard walkways have worn them out
you are not presented in the glorious costumes
and the stage crowns anymore
the illusion is gone, it’s reality
that’s permanent now
you’re the beggar, the recluse, the plain and shadow
you walk down to the shops
and your speech raises eyebrows
where’d he learn to speak like that?
they ask, in whispers, like conspirators on stage
your actions are too lofty, your manner too distant
it threatens them, they must crush you –
so that’s why you’ve learned to blend in as well as you can
those were the days
when they heard your words, and they felt it resonate
when they noted your pronouncements
and there was acknowledgement
but those were the days, a long time back when they
looked at you, and they knew you, and they looked in awe
now the children sneer at the old man,
and when it’s too cold, your nose runs
and you need to **** more often
and the women notice you hobble,
you leave the art of significance
and you learn the art of the indistinct
and you’ve learned
which practice is more difficult:
acting the prominent, or acting the anonymous
*Go, old man, old actor, every dog has its day;
the new breed eats the bones today*
Oct 4, 2012
Oct 4, 2012 at 6:59 PM UTC
My heart physically aches with a raw, agonizing twinge so unlike any other I have felt before, when you show me how truly broken you are.
The intake of oxygen through your hollow frame gives you no ease, glass shards shred your windpipe each time you decide to breathe.
I wish I could take away your pain!
I would take it upon myself, although it sounds insane.
You are the sun poised in the sky above, covered by the clouds
You are the bluest sea whose expanse is limitless, yet only do what the winds allow.
Love,
It breaks my soul.
To watch your broken heart hobble home.
But one day,
I know you'll see love.
Perhaps even my own.
Dec 1, 2013
Dec 1, 2013 at 11:27 PM UTC
We hobble along with outrage fatigue
And watch as nothing ever exhausts
Our Machiavellian leaders' use
Of the media to win at all costs.
False story lines prevail.
To hell with accuracy and precision.
Sowing distrust of higher learning
Solidifies their paranoid vision.
Watch how their destructive disdain
For expertise gains vitality
As people's opinions and feelings stomp
On any form of objective reality.
Watch as they rewrite history;
Notice how data can be erased
As they become suspicious of much
Information that's science-based.
Language becomes weaponized:
Hyperbole, salacious lies,
And slippery superlatives
Celebrate truth's demise.
Party loyalty: that is key.
All that matters is the sale.
Hijacking democracy
Becomes the goal: the holy grail.
Mobilized by grievance, they
Inflame fear and anger. They hope
That we will find scapegoats to blame
When we are at the end of our rope.
A general illiteracy
On issues that affect our lives
Keeps us all in doubt while they
Create fake news and sharpen their knives.
Ah, how they want you to fear
Government, which is ironic,
For they themselves are government.
Look at their smiles, cold and sardonic.
Give equal weight to both
Sides of arguments, they say.
That's how they can justify
Bigotry and lead us astray.
While extremist views go mainstream,
Blurred lines make life hazy.
Keep watering narcissism,
And you will see it grow like crazy.
Their careful manipulation of language
Proves how much their rhetoric's swollen.
The people find it hard to accept
That basic freedoms are being stolen.
As we lament the death of truth
And wonder how it came to pass,
Before we cast blame we must
Peer into the looking glass.
-by Bob B (9-28-18)
°Inspired by "The Death of Truth" by Michiko Kakutani
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 11:37 AM UTC
*Out by the clean blue river
the pale full moon hums a song
Lily buds by the woods keep its vigil
forlorn and crestfallen, gaily sings.
The sky is drowsy with beaks and feathers of mist
Little nightingales chirp queerly on the sycamore trees.
Hibiscus petals doze soundly, the cackling birds hobble.
The white, epicene faces peep in riveting eyes
Dancing with milk-white limbs and garnet cheeks
Brown eyes with ample warm, precious as fairy gold.
The babyish little birdvoices,
who sing and pirouette out innocence;
Melodic rhythm of the flowing river
seething out the blithe without worries.
Cold clouds and rabbits like fluff honey
Little stars tonight will be candies.*
Mar 24, 2014
Mar 24, 2014 at 12:02 AM UTC
I woke up to find my padded bed, upon a padded floor,
Walked outside to find myself between some padded walls
I stood in the pill line adjacent to the kitchen sink,
And took my daily dosage, so that I wouldn’t think.
I drove along the padded streets to meet someone who’d say,
That nothing here is padded, you simply think that way.
Along the padded sidewalks, I saw my protected peers
Hobble along in straight jackets, to protect them from their fears.
I took my third pill today, then lay in my padded gloom,
I thought not to inflict myself, for how would I in this room?
The only thought that met my mind was that tomorrow, like today,
Would protect me from my sadist acts, to which I am enslaved.
I decided that before I sleep, I’d take a little stroll,
But take dosage before such action, to keep me in control.
In the park I sat myself, upon a padded seat,
And watched my jacketed friends try to make their lives complete.
And before I left that painless park, I saw a man beside,
Who wore no such straight jacket, and stood not in the pill line.
I asked him “How have you such freedom? Do you not fear what you could do,
If you found something sadistic, although they come in few?”
He said to me “Now listen, I know that you can see,
All the pads and pills they give to keep us from our humanity.”
I looked at him and wondered, then asked “But what’s too do?
We’re all tight in our straight jackets, all of us, but you.”
He told me we must fight it, and I let release a grin,
And said, “If you cannot see the army, however will you win?”
He cleared his throat and smiled with me, then said with careless ease,
“There’ll be riots in the asylum, when we discover that we share the same disease.”
Sep 15, 2012
Sep 15, 2012 at 8:15 AM UTC
*The memory of him is black gravel peppered under the skin of my soul.
There is a burn and a sting that no amount of debriding will remove.
Twenty years of sliding down a dead end street,
And I am left raw and road weary at the end of it all.
And where do I go from here? Where do I go?
Do I pick up the scraps of my worn down soul
And hobble back the way I came?
It is travelling in reverse, and my soul ****** well knows it.
I wonder why I wore the leather armor, and not the metal, not the metal?
I was a strong woman, and he was a troubled man.
And in that moment of unselfish confusion,
He put on the maille, and I was pleased.
It was travelling in reverse,
And I ****** well knew it;
I ****** well knew.
The memory of him is black gravel peppered under the skin of my soul.*
Jan 28, 2013
Jan 28, 2013 at 8:29 PM UTC
Lap, lap, lap,
Of the tide brushing my drenched pale back.
Tidal flux pressing my sand drenched pores.
Mind races, parched throat screams,
blistered lips yearning for more.
Slowly I pull myself up from the ocean’s grime.
Baking under the hot sun’s lore.
Palm trees sway to nature’s hypnotic tune,
Lush green plants, vibrant to the core.
A moment of zen pours over my soul,
Such beauty! Here upon this shore!
Sweet air so crisp and soothing upon my chapped lips.
Tranquil reverence in my self did bore.
Tap, tap, tap,
Of a plastic bottle bumping upon my leg.
Debri floating on the tide like a open sore.
Rage boils at this blight upon such beauty.
Trash drifting aimlessly, finding no room to store.
Flashed memories of my ship assaulted by the sea,
Wave, upon wave striking an endless score.
My mates all washed overboard into the deep blue,
Leaving me alone on a ship destined for the ocean’s floor.
Survived I have, but to what expense?
My debri making this serene coast a moor!
Is this my effect upon this beautiful place?
Am I nothing but a corrupting bore?
Thwap, thwap, thwap,
Roars the helicopter blades as it circles for me.
My eyes water and hands are raised as debri begins to soar.
The once lovely palm trees are now bending to the blades.
Lush green plants are flattened to the earth’s core.
Pain sparks an endless rage. Enough of this!
I hurry out of sight with feet drenched and sore.
I hobble to the comforting shade of the large healthy trees,
Peeling through lush vegetation reverently, entering heaven’s vibrant door.
Into nature’s womb I did go,
The vivacity of life makes my heart soar.
Slowly the sound the helicopter fades away,
Leaving me to my new heart’s core.
Apr 12, 2012
Apr 12, 2012 at 8:05 PM UTC