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Post by goldenmyst on Dec 31, 2021 0:26:18 GMT -6
The Cosmic Hobo
Beer fumes on the hobo heaven run In our orphanage where grey is the color For grown children of the night When lightning cracks my veneer With the truth that I will ride That freight car to New Orleans In all its cavernous graffiti Until my whiskers populate the universe That has come to be home
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Post by QueenFoxy on Dec 31, 2021 11:44:50 GMT -6
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Post by goldenmyst on Dec 31, 2021 18:04:27 GMT -6
Thanks so much for the uplifting tag, my dear friend. This poem was inspired by my stay one night in the YMCA bunkroom with the hobos there. This is my second try as capturing that night in words. I think it needs another try.
XoXoXo John
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Post by Deleted on Jan 4, 2022 3:29:31 GMT -6
It's a great mental picture through your words John, can't imagine what it must have really been like though. I think you convey it well here.
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Post by goldenmyst on Jan 4, 2022 14:29:24 GMT -6
Thanks so much, Michael. There was a brotherhood between us that night. The guy with more wits introduced me to a hobo from Halifax Nova Scotia who was not all there but seemed good-natured. They were like brothers.
John
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Post by oldarmybear on Jan 22, 2022 14:43:17 GMT -6
This is a cool picture.
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Post by goldenmyst on Jan 22, 2022 15:50:54 GMT -6
Thanks, Don, it is partly based on a real experience I had in my crazy youth. John
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