"hobnobs" poems
trying to find the meaning of life,
when this is what i realized.
i was finding my purpose outside,
possessing all the worldly pleasures i eyed.
missed in the scavenger hunt,
the longing of my loved ones.
trotted the earth to find happiness,
a ride away was a friend fighting loneliness.
in the desperation to hear 'Good Job',
i got used to the late night hobnobs.
miles away, waiting for a call, was my mother,
wanting to know if i had my supper.
life was perfect with no trouble,
guess i was living in my own bubble.
came the time of a long lasting intrusion,
and suddenly, all desires felt like an illusion.
jolted by this surprise,
wondering if we'd survive.
i started to face the reality,
only to find that my existence was a fallacy.
all that matters in life,
is for us to recognize
that
we're nothing without the support of our dear ones,
and it's time to appreciate and cherish everyone.
ghanghor andhera chaya hai,
bas aapki yaadon ne
umeed ka diya jalaya hai
baki toh sab bas moh maya hai.
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 2:26 AM UTC
authors note
Hey Everyone! This is a little peom I made with one line from each of my peoms fused together. It's a little strange but I wanted to represent all of my work. I hope you like it!!! Crandall
I feel safe with your power
You chomped me and swallowed me whole
you're pitch dark eyelashes, like pitch dark strings
your kindness, happiness, gorgeousity
corporations are evil
crandall's art was super great
our wurld is a mess
you whispered it in my ear as soft as a pillow that i have just fluffled by beating it
i hear your screeches as you sing along to katy perry's "swish swish"
towers of grape, rolling bouncing
my fingers would slide down it like a sheet of paper on a river of melted butter
paper-thin beetle wings,
fear
i love the little *****
eggs remind me of you
the next day i saw you your eye was the size of a glob of clove powder
Or an ant on a log
peoms
That was your licky number,
Don't be ashamed of your hobnobs.
I pear down and see its little legs trembing, shaking in death
the repriduction of the universe
howdy doo
darknes.
my princess, my darling, my murderer
the ocean, salty like my tears
My thoughts were running wild like snip snip
i g u e s s t h i s i s j u s t a c r u e l w o r l d
i smell you
take the nuts
Your kneecaps
Oct 30, 2017
Oct 30, 2017 at 12:53 AM UTC
Gourds. Their ugly little bumps and hobnobs. The ugly stepsister of Cinderella's pumpkin.
But they still try and that's what counts. And so should you.
Don't be ashamed of your hobnobs. Embrace them like the gourds and someday you will be delicious and nutritious just like them.
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 10:54 PM UTC
i still preferred Prokofiev's Lieutenant Kije Romance piece.
i get those nights, drink and write very little,
make it all haiku, enjoy songs and recite
the shrinking of ice cubes in a glass akin to bergs,
and i'm innocent once more
peering into your eyes not bothering to note
something down, and that's when i get my life
back, as i'd like to have imagined it,
i mean it, i get my life back,
i'm not reduced to these caterpillar
and cockroach quirks
readied for a blank stare
of the random passer-by,
i'm there, in the bed, with you,
staring right into you,
not some random on the pavement
watching for fame as if looking
for a photo-booth opportunity
with that inverse leash and dog-collar
of the selfie stick - i.e. walk the dog
spot a celebrity, sounds about the same,
and then there's me in a drunk tag-along tango
prancing past pedestrians on the millennium bridge
from tate modern to st. paul's
with a can of beer in public...
ashen hive and the honey just drips from the eyes
of strangers for the lost chance of a fifteen minute
interlude of shared coffee and
hobnobs, then past the east end and
into taboo territory of essex lasses:
ménage à trois oranges.
Mar 17, 2016
Mar 17, 2016 at 7:17 PM UTC