"hodge" poems
The Iron Horse can still saddle this Coach,
Whose Extract nourishes the Children he trains:
One the Golden Girl; The Other a Hodge,
Transpose to the Miracle-Boy remains
Two-Scores-and-Four his Dedication baits,
Like Tunes based to emasculate them both
Here in the Pillow-Jungle Success does wait
Bending limbs into Sport; Then promotes their Growth
What Circus! Said the Lame Artist envine
Yet in Prayer begs him to join the Fray
He looked at his Pearls; And saw that they Shine
Which, suspend, trained his Boon-Dogs to obey.
Hence, to Devotion his Shoes retire
Partner and Career; In Big Thanks suspire.
Mar 9, 2013
Mar 9, 2013 at 6:59 AM UTC
They throw in Drummer Hodge, to rest
Uncoffined—just as found:
His landmark is a kopje-crest
That breaks the veldt around:
And foreign constellations west
Each night above his mound.
Young Hodge the drummer never knew—
Fresh from his Wessex home—
The meaning of the broad Karoo,
The Bush, the dusty loam,
And why uprose to nightly view
Strange stars amid the gloam.
Yet portion of that unknown plain
Will Hodge for ever be;
His homely Northern breast and brain
Grow to some Southern tree,
And strange-eyed constellations reign
His stars eternally.
3.7k
I walked into a sunset that did not belong to me,
Its vivid colours burning across the Mediterranean Sea.
In a fragile, elusive moment of composure
I gazed at the choppy sea moving closer
To the rugged, pebbly, rocky shore
Where I stood alone against the Rock.
The Rock of Gibraltar watched with a smile
As the turbulent Med pulsating with life
Scattered its waves against the strand,
And the sapphire waters kissed the ancient land.
The stormy sea embraced the coast
With fierceness intangible as a ghost.
The air vibrated with a taste of freedom,
With barely audible words of wisdom
That travelled across the centuries
To fill the tangy air with memories.
The voices from the past enveloped the Rock
In an alluringly mythical, protective cloak.
I gathered the strength I drew from the Rock;
Fears discarded, the resolve growing strong,
I walked the Med Steps to the very top
Against a dazzlingly splendid backdrop
Of the breathtaking views of the bay,
Basking in the aura of fears thrown away.
Intoxicated by the beauty, hungry for more,
I was feeling elated to the very core.
The fear of heights temporarily conquered,
The contentment felt almost awkward.
Suddenly, the world seemed a different place:
Offering the nature's graceful embrace.
As the starry night slowly descended,
In my solitude, I felt protected
By the mighty Rock standing tall and grand
Guarding the ancient, immemorial land.
Copyright: Nara Hodge 2018
Jul 23, 2018
Jul 23, 2018 at 1:31 PM UTC
Two creatures' eyes have seen the sun,
and now their lids are filled with dust.
But if their eyes were blue, or brown,
I cannot tell, and yet I must.
St Claire's an Amiable Child
who sleeps secure and snug as Grant,
but who can tell me of his eyes?
(The city parks curator can't.)
And Johnson had a cat named Hodge
who fed on oysters, and was fine;
his coat was black, but not his eyes,
whose shade I cannot now divine.
Two creatures hold me in their gaze,
and thoughts of it I can't dislodge:
the nature of your eyes, my friends,
your sleeping eyes, St Claire and Hodge?
Jun 19, 2010
Jun 19, 2010 at 3:14 PM UTC
Lucky.
Some people would look at this little life of Grace and think, **** she is lucky. Of course, you know better, don't you, Wonderland? You know what goes on in my hodge-podge head where the rainbows lament and the killers dance.
So come and tell me what my kiss tastes like. I want to know if the poison is evident or I'm just the one who can feel it.
Skeletons twirl on my walls, and that's not a metaphor. I literally have neon skeletons dancing on my walls. That's just the type of person I am.
No where. That's where we're going right now, with wonderful gibberings of a lost cockatoo, so lost she found herself in a young woman's body.
Lost little Grace, trying to find her place in the world, just like her beloved Alice. Yet Alice was always free of Wonderland at the end of the night. Or was she? She did always gravitate towards the insane place, maybe she's just as trapped as Grace.
Musings of the world as I grow, from young little wide-eyed girl to the woman I am today. A young woman, albeit, a naive, wide-eyed woman with too much hope in her heart, but a woman nonetheless.
The scars of your love leave me breathless. Oh no, no they don't. I hope mine have left you dead.
Still bitter I am how my caterpillar betrayed me. Have I not told this story? How in the dark of the night he found solace in the wings of another, to leave me blind to his deception. Thank the gods the March Hare had the sense to enlighten me.
Now I spend my nights in the arms of other, and I could not be happier. Never one solid man, never one stationary enough to become a character of Wonderland. But there enough so the loneliness does not creep up on me in the waking hours of the moon.
Stars are my companions now, yes, that's what they are. I am always stargazing and sometimes, when I'm lucky, I share my pantomimed sleep with them, pantomimed for of course I do not sleep.
So perhaps I am lucky, for I am a Grace surrounded by stars, and at the moment, I would not have it any other way.
Sep 26, 2014
Sep 26, 2014 at 12:49 PM UTC
Thanks for all that you say
Night and Day
Nothing more do I have to pay
This friendship is what I have
So thank you
And that poem too
I needed that pick me up
To get back up
Its a dark time
For me right now
Nothings safe
My problems they strafe
I try to hit them away
But they dodge
One big Hodge bodge
But you were there
And you did Care
And so did I
So I didn't want you to die
Heres a line about pie
So I do love you
In a platonicall way
You helped me
Because of you
I now enjoy life too
Best buds
Society's duds
Quirky, and weebs
We peeps
And life plays for keeps
So keep this friendship going
Keep our minds peaceful like its snowing
Buds
Duds
Friends
To the bitter end
Oct 15, 2018
Oct 15, 2018 at 2:16 AM UTC
I’d like to introduce myself to you today,
I’m Joe Nobody.
You’ve seen me before, I’ve worked for you for years.
I was the crossing guard at your children’s school.
I was your janitor; I emptied your trash and mopped your floors.
I delivered your goods by truck or took away your garbage on Sunday.
I delivered your mail in the rain.
And you never even knew my name, but that’s ok.
See, I’m not special like you,
I’m just plain old Joe Nobody
I don’t drive a Mercedes; I drive a beat up old Dodge.
You wear Armani suits and my clothes are sort of hodge-podge.
But my hands know the feeling of an honest day’s work.
And no one in my life ever said “That guy’s a ****
My pockets aren’t full, but what’s there was earned with honor.
So with that I’m off to the store to buy supper for my daughter.
I’m not looking for anything special, no big fancy type of ordeal,
Just a box of mack-n-cheese, some veggies, and some veal.
Maybe a small piece of that cake they had on display.
Then I’m off to the register, goods in hand and ready to pay.
“Hello Julie, how are you doing? How was your day?”
She smiled that I remembered her name, and that I cared enough to ask.
See she was helping me just then, though we’re just regular folks.
Not special like you.
I pulled up in front of my small home.
Sure it ain’t much, but it’s warm inside and well lived in
The roof doesn’t leak, not even a bit.
And the fridge is covered in magnets that hold my priceless art collection.
It’s all drawn in crayon and scribbles of course.
Mostly pictures of a pink unicorn dolphin horse.
I still laugh at those…..
I opened the door and walked in to the sweetest voice saying “Daddy’s Home!”
I dropped to a knee, bags in hand to hug an Angel.
I, Mr. Joe Nobody, hugged an Angel today you see.
Maybe you never knew my name; maybe to you I didn’t matter at all.
So I’d like to introduce myself to you today,
See, I am a Father
And in the eyes of the most special little girl,
I’m not simply special like you.
I am a Super Hero!
Apr 29, 2012
Apr 29, 2012 at 2:00 AM UTC
Oft had I thought ‘twas meant just for a male
And mindlessly I’d chosen not to read
Until one day I was summoned to heed
Melville’s epic tale of The Great White Whale
The wandering sailor - “Call me Ishmael”
Captain Ahab - vengeance his greedy need
Reckless, careless; anything to succeed
Yet, his destiny, rightly, was to fail
Hodge-podge of cultures from all walks of life
Scruples, beliefs, tenets, lessons and more
Adventure and religion - all were rife
Herman challenged and gave voice to it all
The world then - the world now - deeply in strife
When will we learn and stop fighting the war?
Sep 11, 2011
Sep 11, 2011 at 8:28 PM UTC
From the hodge porridge
of their country lust,
their local life in Illinois,
where all their acres look
like a sprouting broom factory,
they name just ten years now
that she has been his habit;
as again tonight he'll say
honey bunch let's go
and she will not say how there
must be more to living
than this brief bright bridge
of the raucous bed or even
the slow braille touch of him
like a heavy god grown light,
that old pantomime of love
that she wants although
it leaves her still alone,
built back again at last,
mind's apart from him, living
her own self in her own words
and hating the sweat of the house
they keep when they finally lie
each in separate dreams
and then how she watches him,
still strong in the blowzy bag
of his usual sleep while
her young years bungle past
their same marriage bed
and she wishes him ******* or poet,
or even lonely, or sometimes,
better, my lover, dead.
Jul 27, 2016
Jul 27, 2016 at 5:32 PM UTC
Get out of Dodge
well pardner I guess it's time
think I heard that school bell ring
they're playing tunes to a nursery rhyme
and I wasn't even asked to sing
the writing is clearly marked on the wall
<---- this way out you silly fool
you're the one left standing at the ball
no dance partner and that ain't cool
did you really think that this would work
you need to see the limits in your dreams
now everyone thinks that you're a ****
tired of hearing your yells and screams
so get out of town while the gettin's good
before someone decides to shoot you down
the horse you're riding is made out of wood
you can try your luck in some other town
the Marshall is coming he's bringing a rope
the posse all gathered in a huge hodge podge
they know that you are the one who's a dope
it's time for you to get out of Dodge
Gomer LePoet...
Sep 15, 2011
Sep 15, 2011 at 8:44 PM UTC
She knows more
than she shows,
Shows more than she knows.
Bows, ribbons, flowers, lace
Invisible mask
Cast iron and shadow play
May I understand this
Heavy air?
This feeling of despair?
Words like bullets
He pulls the trigger with his tongue
Rung out like a towel
Trowel to dig a grave slowly
Stinging sharpness
Darkness never knew light.
A hodge podge sea
Of words can't make a sentence
When I said this is me
I really meant it.
Oct 14, 2013
Oct 14, 2013 at 1:14 AM UTC
Week old tincture
tinted with lemon-grass
and snod-grass
and grease from black beer-spilled book-bag.
Weak old tincture
couldn't sustain relationships that envelop
circadian rhythms that clash and grate against bunk-bed guards and bone hanging ceilings.
Play bill:
swam in the shallows, metamorphosed, gender bended
unwavering and unending personal development through catharsis.
Pushy beliefs pushed on people who don't believe,
who won't believe in the "serenity of a clear blue mountain lake."
Science, and logic, and classical hodge-podge of ideas,
no,
of theories;
that makes sense.
The non-sensical is the warm.
The un, understood is the energy.
The sun shines in hard, unforgiving through the frosted window, blinding me and I trust my instincts suddenly.
Jan 3, 2014
Jan 3, 2014 at 11:13 AM UTC
The boys ran
After the ball exploded
The bedroom window.
Shattered glass shards
In indiscriminate flight.
The ants re-grouped
To build after
The red-cherry erupted
The hill like Pompei,
Scattering serendipitously.
Grimmacing quarter moon
Pumpkins lay in hodge-podge
Pieces on All Saints Day.
Suitcases, clothes and neckties
Stewn on a runway
Like a kid's bedroom.
We move from order to chaos,
Like the third light
On a match.
I was lead to believe
Displacement Laws,
Science, and regular
Bowels could explain
Explosions,
So we can lift the stones
On Salisbury and Newgrange,
Or re-arrange grains of sand
With projected order.
We only have a beginning
And an end, while living
Through the explosions.
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 8:02 AM UTC
leaving
home alone
cheap
*****
liquor
dope sick but
I'm sicker than what
star stickers could fix
it's made me
a motley collage
of a hodge podge
apogee sentenced to be
hanged from the ceiling
or on the wall in a
cheaper motel hallway.
this is in no way an apology.
what the **** are we doing here?
getting stupid numb
playin dumb &
faking it, making noise
to fill a synchronized void
it's feeding itself,
it's eating itself
photosynthetic autophagy
lovely little lamb
lost cause long shot
breaking the bottles
for succumbing to
their own poison
but smashing the glass
don't quiet the voices,
it just makes them laugh.
peace love
*** drugs
bubblegum baby in
a neon pink bikini
a tragic act.
houdini chasing
rabbits & red dragons
to wonderland
under the tophat
he huffs his magic
from a plastic bag
- escape artistry.
carved from bone
covered in leaves
drinking veins.
darkhearted
hollow-eyed & starving
***** & sparkly
snarky harpy barking
senseless malarky.
she's pretty garbage.
beautiful.
just plain
*******
beautiful.
Apr 15, 2015
Apr 15, 2015 at 10:40 PM UTC
The Ninth Father's Day Poem
(6/15/2014)
A 12 year old Wynn,
wandering around the house.
Not so different from a spirit,
one that had shed its oppressive shackles of daily struggles.
A lot of people came to my father's funeral.
Everybody kinda threw a hodge podge of advice at me.
Saying token phrases that they probably picked up in a movie.
Things like, "Your father loved you, you were a lucky boy."
I don't care to remember the rest.
Although the worst was the people who had the audacity,
the nerve, to tell me, "Time will heal all."
They must have meant it takes enough time for me to die too,
only able to heal once I can see him again.
Because I spent the first 6 years numb,
carrying on through awkward motions,
like I needed a good grease or tune up.
You could hear the **** squeaks
as a poorly maintained robot should.
Devoid of emotions, unfeeling,
unable to accept the traumatization of tragedy.
I spent the last 3 or 4 years successfully.
I graduated college.
I've fallen in and out of love.
I even grew up into a promising young adult.
But I also learned how to miss my dead dad.
Time only makes it hurt more as I count each year.
This is The Ninth Father's Day.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 1:18 PM UTC
These days,
you don’t talk to anyone.
You hear the offers,
and you refuse to take them,
refuse to give anyone
the satisfaction
of helping.
[What could they do,
what could they say?]
These days,
you don’t reach out
reply as much as you have to
when approached,
and disappear into dissociation again.
You don’t feel bad,
you don’t feel sad,
you don’t feel.
Only tell yourself that
they don’t need you
and you don’t need them.
You’re alone.
But not lonely.
Your brain is home to a chorus,
there’s never a dull moment.
How could you ever be alone
with so many voices in your head?
There’s the querulous one of anxiety with her constant,
whatdoidowhatdoidowhatdoido?
The heavy, lumbering one of depression, who only mumbles,
Who cares? None of this matters.
There is the babble of Mombrain,
a hodge podge of toxic sludge that
at this point,
is not cruel but
almost comical:
You’reuglystupidbadloserfreaksocialmisfitliarliarliaruglystupidbaddesperatepatheticracistunfeelingcoldfuckyouyoulazyburdenonsocietyfuckyou.
There is the matter of fact one of Logic Brain.
She is the one who
has to do damage control, works overtime to
make you appear Sane, Articulate, Good, Better.
She is the one who guides you through
every
single
action.
*Get out of bed.
Now brush your teeth.
Now make the bed.
Now take a shower.
Now put on clothes,
Now eat - you have to eat multiple meals.
Now take your meds, don’t be a child.
You are going to get things done today.
You will be Fine.*
But the whisper
is the one that interests you,
scares you,
thrills you the most.
She's the one you never shut down.
She is cool, suave.
You can never see her, of course,
but she is the girl you could never be.
She is
so close,
so seductive -
just out of reach.
She breathes into your ear:
*crash the car,
jump on the tracks,
fly off the bridge,
stab yourself to watch the blood,
drink the nail polish remover,
chug a whole bottle of whiskey
and down some pills,
just like the old days,
remember the old days,
you were sure you would die?
You can still Do It.*
Ideation always whispers,
but the whispers are so loud,
feel so
right.
She tells you:
*You think I’ll disappear, but
you and I,
we’ll always be going steady,
I’m not like those other girls,
the ones who rip out your heart,
who never say sorry when they need to,
who use you and expect so much and
leave when they’re done.
Baby, with me
there will never be any surprises
no heartbreak,
no drama,
no manipulation
no uncertainty.*
*Baby,
I will never leave you,
I am the one constant.
Come into my arms,
let me hold you tight
and never let you go.*
Feb 17, 2016
Feb 17, 2016 at 12:53 PM UTC
I may not Know who
I am, but I Recognize
pieces of me,,
in Contemplation
in Time alone
in Others
we are all a Hodge Podge of
pieces, a Mosaic
cracked, yet beautiful
Mar 22, 2015
Mar 22, 2015 at 1:17 AM UTC
Within my own broken self
I look for hidden parts of you.
You, the destroyer; I am your victim -
For now, at least, our roles are reversed.
I climb the steps to the top of a fountain -
The imaginary steps, the ones we invented;
And I reach the fountain that never existed,
To drink from its memories - torn and twisted.
Do you remember how it all started
On that fateful night not meant to happen?
It happened though, despite all odds -
Its pain enduring, its memories blurred.
No longer knowing what’s real and what’s a dream,
I crawl through the day not daring to scream.
With one wish only - to reach the night,
So I can beg it for shelter and a brief respite.
The imaginary comfort of welcoming darkness,
A cruel illusion that inevitably shatters
As soon as the first beam of all baring light
Casts a fierce spell with all its might.
Thus I’m left with another day to crawl through;
With promises that are fantasy - none of them true,
Longing for the arrival of the merciful night
With its false comfort to sleep by my side.
Copyright: Nara Hodge 2018
Jul 4, 2018
Jul 4, 2018 at 1:05 PM UTC
You hodge podge
of a person you
random facsimile
you who would
pull yourself off
of four legs just
to have a go
at me
Climbing up the
evolutionary ladder
keeping me at bay
while that lizard
brain of yours
feels the real time
of our mutual
decay
Something soft in me
the warm red blood
in me, you could smell it
even from under that stone
with one eye peering
above the mud while
the other eye plays
dead, white as a
bone
You kept your weapons
well hid but in the soft
light of night and under
a bowl of stars I could
hear your claws sliding
over white flesh and
scars
You, fooling me by
standing on two legs
and showing off those
practiced and opposable
thumbs- how ******
gallant of you
(And I watched him
fall on his neck, biting
himself in half; in his
parody of a human
he forgot to add a
spine)
Apr 5, 2019
Apr 5, 2019 at 2:22 PM UTC