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Arlene Corwin May 2021
I've added a line: "Even fish feel while they swish!"  
          Doddery

Am I getting doddery,
Long in the tooth,
Long dead to youth?
Or sensible, experienced, mature,
Deploring times and crimes of culture?

I feel pain, must look away
When I see creatures run, swim, fly
Abused,
Unfelt for,
Victimised.

**** fight, horse race, injured, forced;
Elephant, rhinoceros, without tusk;
Even fish feel while they swish;
Hunted whales or seals or tuna.
Turned into a grilled hamburger
I no longer eat frankfurter…
What the heck is wrong with me?
Who out there sees what I see?
*doddery;
slow and unsteady in movement because of weakness in old age: he's a bit doddery on his legs and doesn't get about much.

Doddery 5.18.2021 Our Times, Our Culture II; Arlene Nover Corwin
Paul Gilhooley May 2016
Clickety click, Clickety clack,
The train it rolls along the track.
The kids all get restless the parents all natter,
But at least they aren’t crying, so that doesn’t matter.

Clickety clack, Clickety click,
A child hollers out “mum I feel sick!”
“What did I tell you about eating those sweets?”
“Don’t make a mess all over these seats!”

Clickety click, Clickety clack,
The guard sitting bored, in his cab at the back.
We thunder through towns and all of its people,
Passing by churches, and that old pointed steeple.

Clickety clack, Clickety click,
A drinks cart on the train? Ah just the trick,
A nice cup of coffee and a cold can of beer,
“How much?  You’re kidding!”  I won’t get much change here!

Clickety click, Clickety clunk,
Oops, sounds like that rail's missing a chunk.
We cross over bridges, spanning their rivers,
I must close that window, it’s giving me shivers.

Clickety click, Clickety clack,
I’m getting hungry; I could use a good snack.
Back comes the hostess with her goods laden trolley,
No chance I’m parting with even more lolly.

Clickety clack, Clickety click,
So many destinations, which one should I pick?
Should I stay local, or should I go far?
It’s certainly more peaceful than driving a car.

Clickety click, Clickety clack,
It feels like we’re speeding along a fair whack.
The seconds to minutes, the minutes to hours,
From towns and their houses, to fields and their flowers.

Clickety clack, Clickety click,
Wherever I’m going, I’m getting there quick.
Bright eyed young faces, an adventure, exciting,
The doddery old folk, complain when alighting

Clickety click, Clickety clack,
We pass many crossings and a ***** old shack.
How many golf courses and quaint country pubs?
And weekend gardeners out pruning their shrubs.

Clickety clack, Clickety click,
These seats so uncomfy, now my neck's got a crick!
Now finally I've reached my long journey’s end,
And I'm glad that I've shared it with you my dear friend.

© Cinco Espiritus Creation
2012
Laurel Elizabeth Nov 2013
Life is the prattle of an old lady.

She squawks either too loudly
or makes you crane to hear.

as she sits rocking,
her senile nonsense numbs your intelligence
until you sit bleary-
gaping at the air
like the fattest fish in the aquarium.

your every comment drowns
in the mush
of her tapioca voice.

you sit uncomfortably in her fishbowl world of
cottage cheese,
faded floral print- lace doilies
and contemplate your deft superiority
as her denture clicks gnaw on your sanity.

as soon as you think
a vague plotline surfaces in her mumbling
a new great aunt’s third cousin’s baby
weaves its way into the conversation,
and you are hopelessly thrown
like a reused dryer sheet
back into the colored load.

occasionally you attempt to establish a connection
between you and the venerable wrinkled smile
but she mishears and begins another
disconnected strain
featuring Bobby, the lad turned soldier.

but
just
as soon as you gain confidence
that you know how to handle this doddery senior-
she slams you with a small token
of sage advice
that shatters your naïve sphere
with its mind-wrenching validity.
J M Bougourd Apr 2011
It should be you,
Inescapably,
Who walks with me at night through
Empty country lanes,
Shouting and screaming into the sky,
Distressing doddery old men,
And quiet little kids,
Who, sleeping in warm and glowing cottages, will know us,
Transitory,
Burning, Flickering.

It should be you who
Squeals with laughter
Down nostalgic pathways in the dark
By the playground.
And sliding, spinning, flying,
Like sweet precious things in the moonlight.
Pale skin fluorescent,
Eyes shining and full-toothed smiles
Gleaming,
Young and bright.

It should be you,
Surely,
Who runs with me on
Pale, white, wet sands.
Hearts pumping and blood racing,
Coursing through our veins and
Now down and rolling in the reeds,
Tussle, fight and wrestle
Kicking up sand to the moon,
Floating, falling.

It should
Be you,
Who perching on a rock towards the sea,
With foreheads met and hair whipping
In the wind,
Who tilts your head and takes on red lip against
Red lip
And eternally and endlessly
That night would have been
Ours.
Yenson Jan 2023
How we laughed and laughed
hardly noticing the ****** of dimwits
in their ritual obscene displays
of blind archers leading the infantry

How we laughed and laughed
in contempt at the stupefied wet mobs
scrambled brains *******
showing base exposures of banality

How we laughed and laughed
to see droops of eunuchs aping Lotharios
twitching stubs as tools for tools
moaning power to us as green eyes blazes

How we laughed and laughed
its pathetic posturing's of chalked cowards
ochered in snow frost blindness
at the roots of its all is primeval ***** envy

We know causing us laughter and laughter
some will have what you can never have
to be royally gifted is their dreams
to not have and not be is their living nightmares
Bread soaked in milk?

I wonder if that memory was mine or has time overtaken me to leave me so doddery that I fell into someone else's reverie.

jeeesus it's Sunday give me a break.

A green soap and sugar hot poultice?
take no notice of me
I'm still in someone else's memory.
Tanushree Sarkar Jan 2019
In the battle of realism and fantasy,
Precious smile of the lips,I lost,
Where I met many cocktail faces
So called as human beings but tend to be phantoms.

They seem to like indulging in hoaxity,
From which they only receive resentment,
Yet they hanker after it for doddery amusement.
Snubbing and brushing off the real endearment.
Jill Tait Sep 2020
Huh our mistress has left us again she must have went to work.. after she tethered us at Grandad’s gate and driven off in beserk.. but what’s that on old Pops face.. he’s smiling with a smirk..Wowee nice one Grandpa as he hands us a doggy ****

Ooh I love those tastey treats that he gives us every day.. he really is most generous as the pair of us do play..until we hear our leads rattle and of course we are on our way.. walkies with old Grandpapa down the dene’ and along the bray

“Darcey is my sister and the two of us are chums.. she is following the farmyard ducks devouring their crumbs..as Mother duck is quacking at her with such harrasing hums and her fourteen doddery ducklings keep close to their mums

Our mistresses Mother doesn’t like us in the house.. tho we wouldn’t bark..we’d be as quiet as a mouse.. but she loves to see us just like her old spouse.. Eeeh it’s a dog’s life though we really shouldn’t grouse...
Mark Bell Dec 11
Old and doddery
Losing the plot
Try and give it
One last shot
Im going to chance
Ask this lady to dance
See what happens
A bit of romance.

— The End —