"hobs" poems
It must be nice not to eat dinner in silence (or alone),
not to see her crying as she adds honey to oats,
waiting for that spoon to be knocked out of her hands
then hear she butters bread on the wrong side.
Have conversation like stringed balloons, waving,
instead of wrists shaking on counter-tops, spite flaming
on black gas hobs, that clutch with their hot prongs.
Not to gargle sympathies while packing, catching the backwash
of that drink- it’s foul- choked, swallowed too quickly.
Ignore her strong, sombre hints of “stay, bear it with me”,
cradling her elbows. Say: not today, places to go.
And shudder on brass hinges. Grasping at the rail
to support my skidding feet at the ice rink one mild day.
But I’ve got my own life coming,
my own sorrows to plunder.
Oct 5, 2011
Oct 5, 2011 at 9:22 AM UTC
Guitars and Women
Slender neck, nice rounded bottom, and adjustable knobs,
musical sounds carress your ear, you can make this baby hum
take good care of her, lots of polish, not like unwanted hobs,
protect her from the elements, unless you are realy dumb
got to keep her happy, or the tune will be oh so sour,
the blues will roll right out of her, so sad it will make you weep
if she gets sweaty, from playing hard, rest for half an hour,
if she's screaming way too loud, you'll never be able to sleep
every night before you rest, of her praises you should sing,
this instruction is so important, a very important part
don't strum so very very hard, or you might break a string,
don't ever take her for granted, or you will break her heart
yes, guitars are like women, most beautiful in every way,
they'll be your friend for ever, if you treat them oh so kind
let every word you think, be touched by her hand each day,
and she will reward you, body, soul and mind
Gomer LePoet...
Jun 10, 2010
Jun 10, 2010 at 1:13 PM UTC
the chickens we are eating
are pumped with antibiotics and hormones
and those substances
will finally be absorbed into our stomachs and bones
due to us needing a feed
we're also obtaining
the odd few chemicals
in our grain seed
down the line
we'll be in for a few ailments
which have been bought on
by these nasty derailments
our food shouldn't be made unrecognizable
so steer well clear
of sprays and drugs
which are so sizable
the labeling on food packaging
oft doesn't tell the entire story
and if it did it maybe
quite a disturbing story
whence you sit down
for a feed to-day
ruminate for a while
on what the food producers say
we've fed the chickens
a hormone
which is safe
for human consumption
we've sprayed the wheat crops
with a non toxic solution
which is okay
for your stomach's constitution
the proof of the pudding
is yet to be tested
our food products
are so grossly infested
organic foods
offer an alternative
for they've not had any interference
and for our stomachs and bones
they have an uncontaminated clearance
the time has arrived
for us to be less like thoughtless hobs
and watch what we're spooning
into our gobs
on Christmas day
our turkey was fattened
a little too quick
for our tables
at the poultry farm
is his intake of hormones
going to do us some harm
Nov 23, 2013
Nov 23, 2013 at 4:41 AM UTC
Are you ready for the next rung?
Have you got what it takes?
If you want the game to pay its way,
You’ve gotta raise the stakes.
Those noisy hobs inside your head?
The ones clamoring for attention?
The ones you’d happily prefer
I, kindly, didn't mention?
They don’t subsist on magic.
Rare juice fuels their abuses.
Juice you could be putting to
Much more constructive uses.
The first step is to let 'em know
You’re on to their dog-earred tricks.
The second is to brace 'em
For a trip to the ol’ deep six.
Oh, they’ll put up a fuss, all right,
Don't worry, you'll end up winning.
But don't sit on your laurels, plebe.
The fight is just beginning.
Apr 14, 2014
Apr 14, 2014 at 5:29 PM UTC
Guitars and Women
Slender neck, nice rounded bottom, and adjustable knobs,
musical sounds caress your ear, you can make this baby hum
take good care of her, lots of polish, not like unwanted hobs,
protect her from the elements, unless you are really dumb
got to keep her happy, or the tune will be oh so sour,
the blues will roll right out of her, so sad it will make you weep
if she gets sweaty, from playing hard, rest for half an hour,
if she's screaming way too loud, you'll never be able to sleep
every night before you rest, of her praises you should sing,
this instruction is so important, a very important part
don't strum so very very hard, or you might break a string,
don't ever take her for granted, or you will break her heart
yes, guitars are like women, most beautiful in every way,
they'll be your friend for ever, if you treat them oh so kind
let every word you think, be touched by her hand each day,
and she will reward you, body, soul and mind
Gomer LePoet...
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 9:47 AM UTC
Home.
I never realized I could make a home in another country, Mum, but here I am.
I feel safe when I get up and go for a coffee in pajamas or a towel after a shower. The sound of the toilet no longer scares me and the dead spider in the upper left corner of the bathroom doesn't either.
I know exactly how to use the hobs, the quirks of the oven and the whereabouts of every utensil. I know I can knock on his door for a quick meaningful conversation, I can sit and go on about nothing with him.
Jokes are reserved for him and dutch food and general girlie conversation for her. I doubt they will miss me much, but you know what, I will. I will miss them. I will miss this, all of this.
When I come home here and there is talk in the kitchen I know I can easily join them and laugh and joke. Even if their friends are there, they won't mind if I walk in and make food in the same room. Because we all care, we all don't mind. And I know that. When I feel sad I know I could knock on his door. When I can't stop crying I know she would walk in and listen.
Well,
Just so you know, Mum.
I've found my home.
Apr 14, 2012
Apr 14, 2012 at 8:04 PM UTC
Dogs on cobbled hobs
warmed by early Sun,
their owners folded into news
of things in flux and things to come.
In sleepy hope the town awakes
its people’s heart beats anew,
though leaving slow my own does break
to be just passing through.
Jul 15, 2018
Jul 15, 2018 at 3:39 AM UTC