"wobble" poems
They have spent their
content of simpering,
holding their lips this
and that way, winding
the lines between
their brows. Old folks
allow their bellies to jiggle like slow
tamborines.
The hollers
rise up and spill
over any way they want.
When old folks laugh, they free the world.
They turn slowly, slyly knowing
the best and the worst
of remembering.
Saliva glistens in
the corners of their mouths,
their heads wobble
on brittle necks, but
their laps
are filled with memories.
When old folks laugh, they consider the promise
of dear painless death, and generously
forgive life for happening
to them.
28k
The riled route master and the hacked off hackney carriage weren't bothered by the boris bike, they simply barreled along the bus lane oblivious to the wobble, blind to the blindsided and bent on beating the amber to red, til they were halted by the growth factor of a chelsea tractor straddling lanes and field testing the choice of right or left and failing the screen test set by the sat nav, thereby giving opportunity to the swarm of office staffers snatching their chance and chancing their luck, dancing past with their fat chance of swiping in before nine and avoiding the chagrin of the boss who's been the bane of their short sojourn through the city of lost dreams, chance encounters, thin fortune and rushed hours. This is London.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 2:03 PM UTC
no weapons, no drugs.
he had the eyeballs of an aztlan prince.
touches water.
touches hot-grill to meat /repeat/
/replete with cerveza.
to roil in love of sun said lights, all things lovely.
to return by city driven lights, lake to shore to shoulder.
[to sleep.]
[to dream.]
dad is on the grill, cookin’ up something scorched.
swill is on the lake, skiin’ up something else.
sweat &
stretching lungs, the sun busting gut.
unseen, bikini pink
& green sauce.
pass the tortillas.
winterous: awake.
ice-fish and stoke the pipes of flash and holy hash.
ice-fish our favorite frozen mass.
we all grow beards,
untrusting of men who wobble blades to their faces on the daily.
spring sprung and spigot. we
return to blushing shores of wet rocks
& girlfriends.
girl bands exploding amps from atop houseboats
in styles of the highly drunk and tameless.
plucked in memory
of the ******* to come before them.
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 7:31 PM UTC
No one should judge another,
Just because of his colour,
Nor because of his culture,
For therein lies our future.
All should live in harmony;
Put aside greed and envy;
Build a great world together;
Differences do not matter.
Among ourselves we squabble;
The sands beneath us wobble;
Is it not time we unite?
For in unity is might.
Aug 22, 2018
Aug 22, 2018 at 8:32 AM UTC
Gravity
Shakes me,
I'm not fat
But I feel
So
Heavy,
I hit the ground
I wobble
I feel too big
For my skin,
I am not overweight
But I feel my fat,
I wish I weighed
Nothing at all.
Sep 1, 2013
Sep 1, 2013 at 3:22 AM UTC
You were an alcoholic,
And I was just another bottle.
Maybe you won't break
The next bottle you drink from.
I doubt it, though.
You will drink and break until you wobble.
You are an alcoholic,
And I let myself forget it.
Jan 25, 2016
Jan 25, 2016 at 4:39 PM UTC
Métis, Themis, Ma’at, their banter was for naught.
All the tides and tithings wisdoms and their teachings, Daemonium forgot!
But the heavens cry manna as Nix cried out reprieve!
An act that loosed the flood, the chaos of her sea.
Her pain arose a champion to tend to all her needs,
Formed of Celestial Ocean he bore down on the freed.
A giant wave of madness, thrusting mist of sadness eradicating gladness... One led the ruthless breed.
Opaque in their beginning, formless shapes in twining.
Conjoined but not together, accompanied the weather.
Thalassa’s stringy tether wrapped them all forever.
Come or go in seasons, live or die in age.
No Spring to Fall in reasons, travailing of the mage?
Black tentacles the streamers, rooted into wave.
Witness the all-wise and snaking phantom phage...
Chiron watches while he prances, his dressage on the shore.
Arising liminal of beings wettened ambiguity of yore.
Even Iblis is impressed, such black rotten to the core!
Merkabah or egg, mountain, belly, tree they squabble.
All elements do I cobble, such are actions of the wobble.
Jul 16, 2016
Jul 16, 2016 at 7:28 PM UTC
..life is full of life
like a magic land full of wonders,
like songs whose notes go high and low,
with lines which rhyme to make a flow!
and whole experiences in life goes just like a wind's blow:
soft yet swift, silent yet clear.
It begins,continues and may even end well only if you put forward a virtuous life indeed.
All you need to be away from is the poison tree
which fed Adam and Eve.
Look away!
It may be placed in the center of your life too.
You may find it the most glossy and glittering today.
Bowing to this may keep your head held down forever.
Know this fact for a sinless life
All the tempting trees yield fruits sour & reel
you'll stumble,totter,wobble & falter!
Then'll you realize fasting away this fruit was better.
But by then you'll lose paradise forever and fetter!
So let us all not reach to this concluding our lives should have a better ending.
which is to be more certain,graceful & dutiful.
Cos we live only once but it should have the worth of tons
Life'll help you do that..As "life attracts life"
BEAUTIFULLY ,ENORMOUSLY & PERFECTLY!!
Jun 1, 2015
Jun 1, 2015 at 8:20 AM UTC
My legs are shaking as I step
Onto a frozen lake
In skates that are not my own.
He grabs my hands
and whirls me in a wide circle
I scream and beg for him to stop.
He leaves me for a while
to wobble slowly
on my own.
Then he returns with a shopping cart
And dumps me in it
To push me across the lake
At an alarming rate.
With tears in my eyes
I beg him to stop.
I know I am being jettisoned
Towards my death.
May 9, 2012
May 9, 2012 at 1:04 PM UTC
I see you from across the room
I've known you for years
But I get this feeling inside
Like I just met you
And as I watch you
You slowly walk towards me
And my insides start to melt
As you get closer, our eyes lock
And I feel things I've never felt
You move me, make me wobble
Once your close enough to touch
I can't help but giggle
You put a finger to my lip
And I secretly smile to myself
Your fingertips move down my arm
Softly landing on my hip
You caress my face with a gentle touch
Then get closer until there's barely a breath between us
My knees go weak
This is all just too much
I sigh and lean in to your mouth
Your lips surround mine
Removing all my doubts
I can feel it in your kiss
And a sudden bliss overwhelms me
This electricity is too hot to miss
I go in hard, I can't help myself
My arms around your neck,
I feel you losing control of yourself
No holding back
I can't help but want for more
And in a flash
We're lying naked on the floor
Fingers, legs, hands and arms
We're completely intertwined
From our souls to our hearts
I feel love to depths divine
And there's no greater sensation
Than when your body finally enters mine
It's an overpowering friction
I'm surprised we're not engulfed in flames yet
These sparks are flying
I've never been hotter
The sweat starts dripping
We've never been wetter
The passions an electric surge
And my body's on fire
I fight the urge
Taking myself higher and higher
I'm lost in you
In your touch, in your eyes
And I'm surprised how unafraid I am
A guilty pleasure with no shame
We climb together as one
A game that we'll both win
Reaching peaks we never knew existed
Crying out in ecstasy
Again and again
I sigh...
And sleep
Cuddled in your arms
Heart and body
Safe from harm
Feb 5, 2017
Feb 5, 2017 at 4:27 PM UTC
Let me tell you about myself.
I am a mosquito magnet.
I have little scars of itchy memories all over my scrawny legs.
But I think it means my blood is sacred.
I find my laugh unique and one of a kind.
My walk, resembling more of a bowlegged wobble, allows me to stand out against the crowd.
(My walk isn't that bad, by the way, I was merely exaggerating for stylistic purposes.)
What's more, the fact that I am prone to blushing at even the slightest glance my way is kldjaf;ldjfoiad;htija;ji;ajf.
I love it.
My clumsiness only adds meaning to the moments in which I am fleetingly graceful.
Yes, my posture is rough around the edges,
But it signifies that I have been around the world a few times.
At least I don't jut out my pretty decently sized *******
You're welcome.
I find my lack of arguing skills in the moment cute.
My mistakes are adorable, and my obvious flaws are endearing.
The fact I can't **** an ant without showing sympathy is amiable.
If only somebody thought the same way about me.
If only people looked and analyzed others as closely as I do.
They would see.
That way I wouldn't be the only one loving myself. (Or trying to.)
Nov 2, 2012
Nov 2, 2012 at 6:09 PM UTC
Lays of Mystery,
Imagination, and Humor
Number 1
I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls,
And each damp thing that creeps and crawls
Went wobble-wobble on the walls.
Faint odours of departed cheese,
Blown on the dank, unwholesome breeze,
Awoke the never ending sneeze.
Strange pictures decked the arras drear,
Strange characters of woe and fear,
The humbugs of the social sphere.
One showed a vain and noisy ****
That shouted empty words and big
At him that nodded in a wig.
And one, a dotard grim and gray,
Who wasteth childhood's happy day
In work more profitless than play.
Whose icy breast no pity warms,
Whose little victims sit in swarms,
And slowly sob on lower forms.
And one, a green thyme-honoured Bank,
Where flowers are growing wild and rank,
Like weeds that fringe a poisoned tank.
All birds of evil omen there
Flood with rich Notes the tainted air,
The witless wanderer to snare.
The fatal Notes neglected fall,
No creature heeds the treacherous call,
For all those goodly Strawn Baits Pall.
The wandering phantom broke and fled,
Straightway I saw within my head
A vision of a ghostly bed,
Where lay two worn decrepit men,
The fictions of a lawyer's pen,
Who never more might breathe again.
The serving-man of Richard Roe
Wept, inarticulate with woe:
She wept, that waiting on John Doe.
"Oh rouse", I urged, "the waning sense
With tales of tangled evidence,
Of suit, demurrer, and defence."
"Vain", she replied, "such mockeries:
For morbid fancies, such as these,
No suits can suit, no plea can please."
And bending o'er that man of straw,
She cried in grief and sudden awe,
Not inappropriately, "Law!"
The well-remembered voice he knew,
He smiled, he faintly muttered "Sue!"
(Her very name was legal too.)
The night was fled, the dawn was nigh:
A hurricane went raving by,
And swept the Vision from mine eye.
Vanished that dim and ghostly bed,
(The hangings, tape; the tape was red happy
'Tis o'er, and Doe and Roe are dead!
Oh, yet my spirit inly crawls,
What time it shudderingly recalls
That horrid dream of marble halls!
5.5k
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
On rising heat, killdeer flush
to decoy enemy--
threat to its young that roams too close
They rush to skim on hayish blur
wailing over wildflowers drying
Fretful twitter in perpetual flight
swifts-- twirl and hurl their bits of bodies--
debris
from a cumulonimbus of a late-day sky
toward a ridge of stag horn sumac
presuming horizon primordial
behind which time and city-- drift and wobble
on rising heat-- after rush hour
Rising Heat
Rising--
to meet my mind
on its way down
from my post behind
the laundromat
where I view it all--
rising--
where I usually go in search of quiet
to almost hear the ocean
two hundred miles away
to strain words from wind
in careless conversation
to wonder over
missed whispers....
But not today
In rising heat, I went down
in search of something better--
your eyes again
solvent for my presence of mind
dissolvers of hours and the order of things
But I need an excuse!
To turn, to trespass, to disturb the peace!
For your eyes again!
And still I need more-- being feverish, weak
Or?
Or... should I take the cure?
To deny ...To deny
To deny what?
Overtones from a sea of years?
I don't know! Whatever it was!
Nothing explain it...
I melt... I'm gone....
Aug 8, 2018
Aug 8, 2018 at 12:51 PM UTC
my mother shoved words into my mouth
she fed me whenever i cried
and as the obedient kid that i was,
i learned to nibble on every word
and swallowed them as i should.
now that i'm older,
my stomach has ran acid
ーit burns my chest and i would still feel them
foam inside my mouth as if
every word were told just yesterday.
how can i truly love my mother
if she couldn't feed me
when i was hungry for something else?
i cried again with my heart wide open
as my knees wobble in fear
of how exposed i was in front of her.
but this time,
i guess she couldn't hear me enough.
it was silentーshe couldn't feed me anything,
for not a single word left her mouth.
she watched me intently
as i detach the cord from both of our bodies.
i wasn't the daughter she loved anymore,
but she was still the mother i loved.
Jun 22, 2023
Jun 22, 2023 at 10:34 AM UTC
I’ll never bee kissed
Every weekend, Humble would go to the same bar,
In the same part of the hive, with the same group of mates.
He always went on the same Friday night and nothing ever changed.
Until one day there came message that The Pollinator band,
Were playing a gig outside the hive at Bee Pride
And as Humble arrived, he saw all the honey-fungus mushroom lights!
There was a huge crowd, so Humble pushed his way through
And eventually he made it to the front.
Some bees were drunk, some babes were happily screaming
And there, stood next to Humble, was a bee-punk.
She looked like the other bees, but she was a tattooed rebel.
She looked at Humble and his bees-knees began to wobble.
Then in-between Humble and the bee-punk stumbled her boyfriend
And Humble thought, typical.
Later, Humble couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
The crowd of bees began to split apart;
I must bee dreaming, he thought,
As the music disappeared.
No sound to bee heard from a thousand cheers.
All he could see, all he could hear,
Was a Queen of undeniable beauty approaching.
The beat of Humble’s heart began to quicken,
He was in shock at the look of this fox!
She was unlike any other and he hadn’t even been drinking.
He knew right away that he loved her
And he would forever love her for all his days.
It was Colpo Di Fulmine; make no mistake
And luckily for him, she felt the same way.
She walked up and gave Humble his first kiss
And his entire life was changed
And then she said “Hi Cutey, what’s your name?”
He was left speechless,
He had actually been kissed!
It was like nothing he had ever experienced before
And no other kiss would ever bee the same since.
This was Humble’s first kiss,
It was unique.
He had finally managed,
To find his true love!
…or did he?
(C)2017 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Jul 5, 2019
Jul 5, 2019 at 5:15 AM UTC
you're walking mighty
cocky, gobble every
little kudo to so
grow your bobbing
crimson head instead
of mending bridges
burnt to ash and grain
you rain and
wobble 'top this
weather
vain, again you
drain the night
no flight, that's
right it's you
I've named
the Rooster.
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 12:33 AM UTC
I am the pinnacle of controversy
Some say murder-my middle name
And still to others I represent freedom,
I am the pointed pentagram of blame.
Almost mothers spread cold-feet
Where I scrape and claw/vacuum aspirate eat.
From open, porous, space-between-legs
My Gnashing teeth-grind out the would be meat.
I am the noise that is never forgotten
Detaching zygotes from walls of womb
I am the reality of ****** indiscretion- the tomb
I do my job- do I play “God” ?
For the ****** behind doors
Carrying secrets & dreams of more
They leave one less-plus future full-term
slide up their stockings & hope not to return
I’m the last to see the mothers-to-be
Before they change- rearranged
I see geometrically: each.separate.part:
Chalk eyes never wet just hurt
Lips-lined straight with shame
chins that never wobble- 50/50 tipped to pray
& feet with nowhere to fall, they walk away
I am the pin-cushion point of pain
To what the picketing protesters agenda is aimed
I am where pro-life and pro-choice meet
The executioner of straight to heavens unborn elite
I am the buzzing abortion machine.
May 10, 2015
May 10, 2015 at 5:15 PM UTC
there was once a little camel he had great big ****
and it used to wobble went he hit a bump
the camel got a pump and laid across the floor
pumped till it was hard now it dosent wobble anymore
Feb 18, 2010
Feb 18, 2010 at 3:57 AM UTC
Young women know all about style -
how to fix the decimal point
between them and their mothers
differentiate themselves
from Special K over 40s wanna bees
mini skirted and high heeled
trying to catch their husband’s eye
Yummy mummies in their 30’s
are separated from the new stock
by firm elastic flattened midriffs
no bulge or wobble
unlined skin taut sometimes
navel peirced or *******
their legs wear the 4” heels again
on winklepicker pointed toes
for a mid century crop
of bunioned feet.
No scraggy necks or waddle
no tea tray arses only
plump peaches
in the bend over show
of skimpy, lacy thongs
of ****** floss
So, **** femme fatale is cool
body object the thing to be
flouncing and preening
flirting and *******
random hook-ups on the run
in the alleys of time on the net
in the warp of space
Killer ! Whatever !
Wicked ! Yeah feral !
Aug 25, 2014
Aug 25, 2014 at 1:08 AM UTC
For Robert Lowell
This is the time of year
when almost every night
the frail, illegal fire balloons appear.
Climbing the mountain height,
rising toward a saint
still honored in these parts,
the paper chambers flush and fill with light
that comes and goes, like hearts.
Once up against the sky it's hard
to tell them from the stars--
planets, that is--the tinted ones:
Venus going down, or Mars,
or the pale green one. With a wind,
they flare and falter, wobble and toss;
but if it's still they steer between
the kite sticks of the Southern Cross,
receding, dwindling, solemnly
and steadily forsaking us,
or, in the downdraft from a peak,
suddenly turning dangerous.
Last night another big one fell.
It splattered like an egg of fire
against the cliff behind the house.
The flame ran down. We saw the pair
of owls who nest there flying up
and up, their whirling black-and-white
stained bright pink underneath, until
they shrieked up out of sight.
The ancient owls' nest must have burned.
Hastily, all alone,
a glistening armadillo left the scene,
rose-flecked, head down, tail down,
and then a baby rabbit jumped out,
short-eared, to our surprise.
So soft!--a handful of intangible ash
with fixed, ignited eyes.
Too pretty, dreamlike mimicry!
O falling fire and piercing cry
and panic, and a weak mailed fist
clenched ignorant against the sky!
2.9k
Doris bought herself a bike when she were 93.
Thought a trip to John 'O'Groats, would keep her flying free.
Started off at Lands End, from there on she did wobble.
Rode past the tanker.
****** driver,what a ******
He nearly knocked her off.
She noted down his registration number.
Took it to the cop shop.
Wasn't feeling very happy, poor old darling needs a *****
Got back on her bike, to resume her hike.
The raindrops poured and granny snored.
Had a kip while on her bike, maybe Granny needed a trike.
Got as far as the corner shop.
She fancied a little nibble.
Noticed it was getting dark.
She checked out the sky.
Decided cycling was too hard work.
So off she went.
Decided to fly.
Grabbed her broomstick from the hallway.
Off she flew, up, up and away.
Wahey Doris.
Witch granny on an away-day.
(C)LIVVI 2014
Feb 10, 2014
Feb 10, 2014 at 8:51 AM UTC
*"Just the tip. Just the tip." Initiation. Fourteen years old, fourteen year olds don't know the just the tip trick. It hurt like hell but the sound of his panting was well...worth it. Just the tip, then just the shaft. Just a lick, what a champ…the other half. Gigi was born, de-flowered then flourished. Naughty by nature. Fed and *** nourished. What a **** I was, what a ***** I am.…just slap my *** grab me and pull me in. Choke me, bite me...squeeze, pull my hair, look me in the eyes, cuff me to a chair. Quiet ones you have to watch. I moan louder than I talk, nice rock in my hips....do me real good and I'll wobble when I walk. The club is my home, but not where I belong. Under my hijaab they can't see my laced thong. Taught to cater to the men and serve them martinis. Not dance ***** naked in heels and bikinis. Allahu Akbar. Don't let my family find out. Allahu Akbar. They'll **** me. Allahu Akbar. But if they do. Allahu Akbar. I'm still me.
My name is Neha,
Stage name GiGi however so complex, Stripper in silence,
And I'm strung out on ***
Feb 2, 2013
Feb 2, 2013 at 2:58 AM UTC
The Hummingbird
The golden egg, an Owl put
In the nest of nerd,
Out of which came then
The Hummingbird.
A gemmy nestling saw nerd,
the sooty Raven
He was terribly shocked and
in grief driven.
Aware Peahen asked Raven
Eyes aren wet?
Seethingly he answered her
The little I hate.
The restless little flatters,
As a bee unstable
And hovers above flowers
Which do wobble.
Belated Peahen took Raven
To Peacock White.
The incident she explained,
And story did recite.
Let my wisdom penetrate,
In thy empty brain,
Love begets love; hate hate
Said Whitish sane.
Take care of her, no her liberty,
The little be free.
Wish she pearches on loyalty;
A branch of Tree.
S. Bharat
Apr 10, 2019
Apr 10, 2019 at 1:03 AM UTC