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    poetry


    dots Submission Name: The Hobo Kingdots
    --------------------------------------------------------





    Author: SupposedlyHuman
    Elite Ratio:    8 - 5/3/6
    Words: 773
    Class/Type: Poetry/Nature
    Total Views: 281
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 4447



    Description:
       


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    dotsThe Hobo Kingdots
    -------------------------------------------


    The Hobo King or
    The Day I Became a Travelin’ Man


    On the road between two great oaks
    Which looked to me like hands
    Raised into the sky
    I met a man who said he was the hobo king
    Magnanimous and wise.
    I asked him where his thrown was
    He said he wore it on his feet
    I asked him where his kingdom was
    He stretched his arm out wide
    I asked him how he ruled his subjects
    This is what he said
    “The government which governs least governs best
    So I’m then I must be the greatest
    Because I govern not at all”
    I asked him where his castle was
    “Above the tops of trees,” he said
    “And underneath the clouds”

    I asked him how he became this man
    This mighty hobo king
    He scratched his scruffy beards and thought
    To organize the tale

    He spoke and then this is what he said
    As best as I recall,

    “When the summer came
    I picked up my bag and bore it
    Over the mountains
    So to find a place I might call mine

    I left behind my brother,
    Who never stopped to look
    I left my sister there,
    For she never stopped to listen
    I left men and women who I loved, and some of them left me
    I love them still

    I picked a leaf up let it fall
    And as it spun from me
    I thought to follow it
    To another place
    But if I miss it in its flight
    I wouldn’t worry for I think I’ll find another
    With a brim as wide
    A color as green
    On another tree

    I lived at in a mansion once
    And also in a hut by the quiet river
    And found it just as fair
    But when the rains came rolling down the plains
    I found myself once more moving
    Moving on a ways

    I met a man in Memphis
    With hands made out of granite
    His voice composed the same
    He said to me to gather round the people I had met
    From the weary windy valleys
    From the bayou down the way
    And from the cities I had passed through
    So I gathered up a wind
    And hitched it to my thoughts
    And so I reached each one of them and told them all to come
    To sit round my table and to speak to me a while
    I said that we might band together
    Though we sat on separate coasts
    I said that I would lead them, that I might be their king

    The bus-boy asked what would our taxes be
    I told him I won’t take I thing
    Maybe a memory or two we’ll share,
    If he would agree

    The farm-hand asked from between the corn
    Where we, bent low, shared bread
    During my passing through
    “How would we serve the kingdom
    You build out of each step?”
    I told him they already had
    By onetime meeting me.

    The housewife who let me in the basement
    With her husband out to work
    She asked if she might join me
    (I fancied her my queen)
    I told her that the road to me
    Did not follow my trail
    But rather that she should step
    Step out from her house
    And find the route that she found best
    And take it for a while
    And if that wandering road turned sometime back on me
    Then so should it be, or if not,
    The road itself is as much a part of me
    It is the purple vein that pops up from my hand
    And ran back to my chest
    And though stopping by my toe
    I’m sure will find its way sometime to the heart of me

    And so the poet, hat cocked sideways,
    Who met me by the Hudson,
    Crowned me with words that I hear still
    Dancing through my ears

    As so I serve each person that I meet
    As each of them serves me
    And so you, you too have my loyalty
    And I hope you’ll gives yours to me

    I do not ask much of you
    Just that when I am sitting by
    My fire late at night
    I might recall your face and hold it in my mind
    And with memories as good as these I’ll live a thousand times”

    And so he touched his hat and smiled
    And then walked on down a ways
    A wind went through the oak trees
    And they bowed down in deference
    To the mighty hobo king.




    Submitted on 2009-10-28 01:15:56     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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