"hocks" poems
Although you now have past and your physical form no longer remains we know that your life and soul will go on in the Holly hocks that bloomed on that day.
We love you and always will and when we look upon the Holly Hocks all the memories we have will be of you.
Jul 19, 2015
Jul 19, 2015 at 3:58 PM UTC
by Sharon Olds
As soon as my sister and I got out of our
mother's house, all we wanted to
do was **** obliterate
her tiny sparrow body and narrow
grasshopper legs. The men's bodies
were like our father's body! The massive
hocks, flanks, thighs, elegant
knees, long tapered calves–
we could have him there, the steep forbidden
buttocks, backs of the knees, the ****
in our mouth, ah the **** in our mouth.
Like explorers who
discover a lost city, we went
nuts with joy, undressed the men
slowly and carefully, as if
uncovering buried artifacts that
proved our theory of the lost culture:
that if Mother said it wasn't there,
it was there.
Sep 5, 2015
Sep 5, 2015 at 2:24 PM UTC
Turkey, stuffing
Mac and cheese
Ziti, mussels
collard greens
Cran sauce, ham hocks
Candied yams
Brisket, corn bread
Sizzling lamb
Stuffed shells, Sausage
Yellow rice
Chicken, mash potatoes
Pumpkin pies
All the food I had on my plate
Blessed and thankful that I ate
Knowing others don't have the same
But we shared, the needy came
Ate with us as own our kin
There was where new friendships begin
Giving back makes all feel good
Serving to our neighborhood
In our home, you're invited in
We pass the plate with you as kin
Nov 28, 2014
Nov 28, 2014 at 11:25 AM UTC
I’ve got pockets full of Emptiness
A wallet full of Holes
A Million Dollar piece of Sky
And a Mouth full of GOLD
Trouble don’t belong 2 me
I just borrow it now & then
If I could have owned It
I would have hocked it way back when
The City Park is my Address
But I’ve stayed in some not so nice Jails
I’ve eat a lot of Hocks & Beans
But I’ve never made my own Bail
I’ve tried my hand at dis & dat
But nothing’ seemed 2 work
My hand got caught in dis & dat
My mouth’s never had the right words
When it’s Hot I don’t buy cloths
When it’s cold I jog a lot
So send my gas bill 2 the White House
And put my Mail in the Trouble Slot
Mar 10, 2010
Mar 10, 2010 at 6:47 AM UTC
Like the cross on the withering
donkey
She stabbed me in the back until I
could no longer stand
Calling me "beast" like she knew me
Yet still I carried on
As my hooves grew worn like her
beckoning sighs
It became clear she was a book
Full of lies
I treated her like a religion
Buckling hocks at her every command
That woman was almost domineering
A dictatorship on her behalf
Yet still I can't help but feel like
a total ***
Even though she is gone
I'm still her beast
of burden
Aug 11, 2015
Aug 11, 2015 at 7:16 AM UTC
Drunk on polluted farts of the left winds
pulled by long noses into witless pens spewing red ink
artificial energy from Columbia and caffeine powered husks
vacuous soldiers of Mao and Lenin re-drilling Winter Palace debacle
woke world of plastics damaged to plastic pollution by damagers fair
Narrow minded short sighted rabbles humming
Laissez-faire sanctioners regulating home-brewed hocks
equal distribution is hatching Gullivers limb by limp to feed giants
makes sense in the senseless vacuum of bacon slashers by Farm pigs
beasts of every land and clime this is the new world order by crimson
Pol *** psychologists are making the future
cancerous and caffeinated they read minds and pull strings
power is making my bad choices, frustration and inadequacies yours
two wrong makes right and dare see left as a wrong or you are goner
altra right come take lessons on how to mask and leave pointed hats behind......
Sep 9, 2019
Sep 9, 2019 at 6:09 AM UTC
many a lad
has sold his soul
for the chance to possess
a center console
he picks the T-top
and the color graphics
with an eye to how
it will look in traffic
for the rocket launchers
and numerous reels
he trades his children
and the rest he steals
gotta have the four-stroke
to drive him out yonder
so he hocks his wife
for a brand new Honda
to pull the whole lot
needs an F-150
so he cons a salesman
without looking too shifty
and drives away
in his cloud of glory
but that's not the end
of this sordid story
he's crossing the bridge
on the way to the ramp
and fails at the side
to see a sleeping *****
hobo wakes up
sees Apocalypse descending
yells like a banshee
and starts defending
his right to the road
and an open-air bed
that's when our lad's boat
hits him right in the head
blood's all over
the go-fast paint
and hobo yells
I WISH TO LODGE A COMPLAINT!
but the rig's long gone
uncontrolled weaving
driver's a-panic
and feels himself leaving
the road and the scene
his wits start to falter
as he crashes through barricades
into the water.
Now you could say
he got what he deserved
with a long prison sentence
justice was served
he sits in the slammer
regretting his role
but planning his next
BIGGER center console.
Sep 15, 2016
Sep 15, 2016 at 7:56 PM UTC
Step Into Starlight
by Michael R. Burch
Step into starlight,
lovely and wild,
lonely and longing,
a woman, a child . . .
Throw back drawn curtains,
enter the night,
dream of his kiss
as a comet ignites . . .
Then fall to your knees
in a wind-fumbled cloud
and shudder to hear
oak hocks groaning aloud.
Flee down the dark path
to where the snaking vine bends
and withers and writhes
as winter descends . . .
And learn that each season
ends one vanished day,
that each pregnant moon holds
no spent tides in its sway . . .
For, as suns seek horizons—
boys fall, men decline.
As the grape sags with longing,
remember—the wine!
Originally published by The Lyric. Keywords/Tags: step, starlight, woman, child, childhood, maturation, night, comet, moon, tides, winter, season, grape, longing, wine
Mar 29, 2020
Mar 29, 2020 at 12:10 AM UTC
If be by even candles dim light
you be compelled to write
and you are fully stocked
be someone baby, attack the block
If blank pages are all that you see
and think you are loosing clarity
say not on your holly hocks
and attack that writers block
Don't start to slouch in despondent shame
thinking you are at the end of your game
stand firm and proud like a ****
and with pen in hand attack the block
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 7:55 AM UTC