LONELISS

 

In reply to a question?  

Why do the chaps not start a loneliness club as the girls just have? 

I think for centuries, men have had to be macho and strong. To recognise loneliness in themselves could not be allowed.

However recent events have seen men gather together for a cause close to their hearts. 

Like the three grieving men, who lost three beautiful daughters through suicide. They are on a mission to raise funds for others. To raise awareness, prevention and support for those suffering in silence, both the possible victims, and the desperate families left asking WHY?

Other men have appeared to support them physically on the walk to help achieve their funding target. Yet the greatest plus is, uniting as men with a need to support or be supported, in doing so becoming friends and mates.

The sports fields have seen causes raised by elite players for colleagues, stricken by life-changing illnesses. They have gathered to raise support and raise funding for football fans. Plus in their spare time together as men, to support the afflicted players and their families.

These small flames are growing with lasting friendships. It is perhaps a male response to loneliness around a cause.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

SHIFTING SAND

 

As a ship of the desert, a camel I am!

Plodding my way through the ever-shifting sand. Huddling down, back to the howling winds, some hot, some bitterly cold, which blow out of nowhere and sting.

Sometimes I refuse to arise, but eventually have to give in. Goods I carry on my back, all sizes and shapes. Some are quite cosy; others hurt and irritate with too much weight.

I try to shake them off, spit at the loader my way of complaint.

Plenty of warning I give when upset, so humans can retreat from a hard thump with my neck.

Stars you will see, but not the night-time starry show you and I know. I am capable of hurting quite badly those who show me no respect. A bite painfully delivered by me, leaving an imprint for others to inspect.

Yet, in the desert, I have no equal, able to make my way from oasis to oasis, or to almost forgotten rivers covered by the shifting sand. I will take you anywhere but, as a proud ship of the desert, I need to remind you I am in command.

© 2023 Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

DO I DO ENOUGH?

 

I often wonder, do I do enough?

On first rising, do not do so well,

Leave everything to the wife to handle.

As I am concentrating on washing, shaving and clothes rearranging.

Mentally trying to configure arguments I must use in court.

Detaching myself from family distractions, eating, saying goodbye, 

quick kisses and slipping out the door.

Only on the train does guilt slip in again.

What did she say, to be home in time, 

to watch the end-of-term children’s play?

I should have put my clothes away,

Not leaving them, with wet towels, all over the bed and floor.

The wife will not like that at all.

I have to switch off and fully immerse myself in what is ahead today.

After all, I am the breadwinner!

If I fail, everything we have will be lost; that is too high a cost.

On the train, I remember the play, now nearing the end, 

which I will fail yet again to attend. I will be berated for sure.

I just have to put my head down and beaver away.

If I win, which I often manage to do.

I will take home a reconciliation red rose (it used to be a bunch).

To say sorry, I will do more to help you from now on.

Meant at the time, but the question still is do I do enough? 

It just won’t go away.

The guilt-ridden answer is no!

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

MEMORIES OF FOUNTAIN PENS

 

MEMORIES OF FOUNTAIN PENS

I loved my fountain pens and used to rush to my Dad to have them repaired when it seemed like they were at their end.

He had a drawer of bits and pieces,

I watched anxiously, under his care ink would run through and my pen would be saved to write stories again.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

OH TO BE OUT IN THE WILD WEATHER

 

Oh to be out in the wild weather and the wilderness, where my roughened, damaged feelings can break free, to be grounded, before returning refreshed once more to me.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

KINDNESS

 

For every act of kindness given, a warmth might be encouraged, from a very dark place.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

A POLITE CAT CALL

 

A POLITE CAT CALL

Pussy cat, where have you been? 

I have searched everywhere and you have not been seen.

I went to London to call on the Queen.

She was not there.

Just an empty, ancient chair,

Waiting for the new King to be crowned and to sit there.

You better hurry, as Coronation tickets are in short supply.

If you miss them, you have to stand; there will certainly be no seat for you.

If you will take my polite advice, I would stay home.

There it will be much better by far to toast the Crown when it’s held high in the air.

Then celebrate with family and friends and let down your hair.

There is always a toilet when nature calls, not anxious queues seemingly a mile long.

No need to worry about transport home.

Just a few steps are needed to land safe in your bed.

Someone, I am sure, will be there to check and quietly close your front door.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

A CALL

 

As I stepped out the back door to take a breath of fresh air, a pair of geese flew past, calling a greeting loud and clear.

Another sign that spring is on its way, as geese arrive in their thousands for their summer holiday.

I think they are headed for the Thames and parks nearby.

Some will be tempted to stay; others have much further to fly.

This migration, flown in great numbers to and fro each year, is an event totally amazing to me.

Welcome all!

© 2023 Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

World Poetry Day

 

A POET

A poet, but I did not know it.

It could not possibly be, as I am dyslexic: that is me.

As time went by, more powerful words started flowing.

Totally amazing to me as they appeared on the page.

Others suffer in the same way; they are poets, too,

And struggle to have their words heard.

Do not give in, as we have so much locked ready to say.

Especially on World Poetry Day.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

TIME SLIPPING

 

TIME SLIPPING

Time seems to need stretching to fit everything in.

Time to wake up wash and change.

Time to have breakfast and listen to news from afar.

Time for caressing the cat that wants to be mine.

Time for my young man checking we are happily alive.

Time for my I-Pad to check messages that have trickled in.

Time to write new material urgently demanding to be written down.

Time to talk to friends all over the world sharing information and beautiful stories and rhymes.

Time for a lunch snack and maybe an unexpected short nap.

Time for more writing for a big story of mine, quite exciting if I can leave enough time.

Time to create a meal for us both and to watch the news on TV.

Time requested by the want to be mine cat, so I write with her cosily resting on my lap.

Time especially for my young man to watch a movie or a serial we planned.

Time to windup at the end of the day, a quite tidy up, and putting the cat out and in.

Time she does not understand as her owner is away.

Time to wash, change and sink into our marital bed.

Time to whisper our love and goodnight.

Time is slipping away for ever but thankfully not tonight.

Time fills up with normality for most retired couples as it slips on through.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

CLAP HANDS

 

CLAP HANDS

Clap hands, stamp your feet,

Dance along the street.

When music in your headphones

provides the exciting beat.

Sing loud and strong.

You won’t hear it but other people can.

They will join in, too,

every time you stop and stand.

Don’t be shy; you can do it.

Clap hands, stamp your feet,

Then move along the street.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

ST PATRICK’S DAY

 

It feels a different morning with the wearing of the green.

Hints of excitement and preparation for celebration of this ancient Saint’s Holy Day.

Yet everyone wants to get in on the action, starting with family gatherings for prayers in church,

To pay homage to this Saint of the Irish long gone.

Home for breakfast and to be dressed in their finery in cheery green.

To join the marching bands, to be seen and admired for the people they really are.

It is a celebration they long for and make special plans.

Songs newly written to join those from the past, as multiple voices raise glasses and join in with at least one national musical blast.

Fiddles played by all ages are impossible to resist; claps and stamping echo around the room.

Old friends gather for news and stories, which grow wilder as the golden nectar and laughter flow free.

Watching the young doing their Irish dances, faster and faster, the clogs’ hypnotic rhythm infecting the watchers, encouraging them to join in.

The odd scuffle breaks out, but is soon sorted with laughter and new friendships made.

Oh how the Irish love being Irish, and to be able to celebrate a great Saint Patrick’s Day memorial parade.

Wishing you all a wonderful St Patrick’s Day.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

DEATH OF A TREE

 

Oh, if all ends were just as neat.

No cries of pain for others to hear,

Just gentle withering in our sleep.

No more sound; not a peep,

As into the earth we finally return,

Till a seed does start growth and a new tree struggles free.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Picture with the permission of Jane Risdon

THE RATTLE OF THE TEACUP

 

The rattle of the tea cup.

The tinkling of the spoon.

The slightly steamy, inviting smell, 

Floating around the room.

Bringing feelings good and bad into view.

Collecting a group of friends and strangers,

To share stories personal or with a disconnect.

Some just to listen to, then conveniently reject.

Others keep repeating around and around in your head

Like an old movie; no matter what you do, 

You just cannot forget.

With an invitation to a second cup, 

You sit relaxing more and more.

Till time runs out and goodbyes are said 

As you walk out the door,

Leaving littered teacups behind.

Friendships renewed, 

Troubles hidden amongst the empty teacups,

Ready for washing up.

Till another invitation to one more 

Friendly tea time comes my way,

And I say yes to another cup of tea straight away.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

THE SEAGULL

 

The lonesome cry of the seagull, soaring high in a troubled sky. Searching for a companion way up high.

It is a cry demanding attention as it flies in spirals, capturing the mood in humans passing by.

Loneliness, that sad affliction, will connect like a thread between some of them, too.

Soar on, great bird of the oceans and herald of appearing land.

Some will look to the heavens in answer to your plaintive call, and understand.

© 2023 Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

I HEARD

 

I HEARD

I heard a merry singer singing a catchy song.

I was swept along by the beat and rhythm.

A note or two I missed, that is true,

Yet how wonderful it felt singing along with you.

When the singing ended, the music did not stop

As, trapped in my brain, it continued to be heard

With me the singer, singing for others this time instead.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

I WOULD LIKE

 

I WOULD LIKE

I would like to feel the touch of silk the warmth of cashmere.

I would like to see an opulence of gold dangling from my neck and ears,

I would like to have a credit card or two I can maximise without pain.

I would like a limousine awaiting my beck and call to whisk me to the next glass of champagne.

I would like the best table and food in the house wherever I appear.

I would like real conversation whispered in my ear.

I would love to hear real mean’t words of love when my man holds me near.

Yet none of this is for me as I huddle and dream in a dirty shawl begging bowl clasped tight.

Pleading for a coin to buy something to eat from those coming out the door.

Perhaps one day someone will see me and really understand and stretch out a helping hand.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

I AM HATED

I am hated, not loved, but why?

I try to help; I really try.

Yet each time, my efforts fall short,

And I don’t know why.

It has to be my fault, something I do.

What it is I wish I knew.

Only then can I try to make amends.

I ponder over each occasion:

When was the point it started to turn

And anger and hate came into play?

Was I overbearing, playing a heavy hand?

Or being too laid back, losing command?

There is such a narrow dividing band

To be a boss in any business in this land.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

AN ANT

 

AN ANT

I saw an ant out scouting indoors.

Must have come in on our gardening shoes.

And hopped upon the floor.

I was as surprised to see it,

As it was amazed to see me.

We are puzzled by this thing called climate change.

As, instead of becoming warmer,

We are headed into a deep freeze once more.

Do not worry; I am not going to kill you.

I just want to return you to the great outdoors.

To a crack in the patio paving, where I have seen you before,

Marching in columns, carrying debris from the garden.

Below ground, you use what you need to feed the queen,

Then break it all down, before industriously pushing what is left

Up and out to be scattered into the soil once more,

As part of life’s merry-go-round and recycling scheme.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

SLEEPY HEAD

 

Sleepy head, can’t get to bed.

Keep seeing something I need to put away.

Can’t wait till morning.

Sleepy head, can’t just get up and go.

Seen a meal I have to prepare

To save time in the morning.

Sleepy head, it will not take a mo.

The cat has to be toileted and fed.

That cannot be delayed till morning.

Sleepy head, don’t leave it.

The kitchen is a mess; tidy or regret,

As you will have to face it in the morning.

Sleepy head, last look around

As you stagger to bed.

Too tired for a hug, just a call-out.

Apologies for any snoring.

Please turn off the light before too long.

Love you lots; see you in the morning.

© 2023 Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License

LATE, LATE

 

LATE, LATE

I am running late as I slam the door

Heading up the street at the gallop

To catch a train which will not wait

Or accept excuses for being late.

The meeting was brought forward

Knocked my schedule out the park.

Rushing down the stairs train pass in hand

Just in time to see the train lights vanishing

Along the track.

Home to make apologise and use new tech

To set up a zoom meeting unplanned.

If included I can sit back, notes and coffee in hand.

Relaxed and commercial arguments well planned.

Sometimes there are advantages these days to being late.

2023 © Penny Wobbly of WobblingPen

Photo: Pixabay License