Inspired by "Oval Living" by CayCay Godwin
Wobbly teardrop poised to fall,
why do you have a Southern drawl?
And if I raise my eyes to look,
will I find you've grown into a brook
on a face that's all aquiver,
ruefully destined to be a river,
joining tears of sisters and brothers,
in life's ocean made by mothers.
.
Curse of life, my gangling knees always creak.
Everyone giggles whenever I stroll .
My kin labels me...a wobbly antique!
To prove 'em wrong, I twirl a rock and roll.
Sciatica! Joints lock while floor tiles squeak.
Why does the trolley
dolly or cart
I choose to use
in every supermart
always have a wonky wobbly wheel
and feel oh so wearing
as if it's about to lose
its marbles or ball bearings?
It clunks like junk with a 'thunking' sound
and almost dumps
my groceries on the ground
won't go straight
invariably tilts veers
careens or curves
and without a doubt
indubitably gets on my nerves
Written: April 17, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Constance La France
Quote: "Lovely days don't come to you, you should walk to them." by Rumi
***********************
Life will not coach you until it happens,
Serendipitously, it flows, upsetting our souls.
When you glance, you feel no longer whole,
Leave dreams behind until the frost blackens.
Love doesn't always reach out to stay,
It often teaches you how deeply you feel.
It seems like it's just dangling a kneel,
as if it were writing you a swiping essay.
Being whole does not teach you resilience,
You discover it when you're crushed by life.
You proceed with wobbly hands and strife,
Grace is born by shaking, not just experience.
I loved seeing your face, unexpectedly, I was affected. In the coldness of work, you were a warm hug of delight. We cannot ever meet, for the simple reason I would have to stare at you and make it weird; happy in the silent thoughts of you, my friend. We may never walk side by side; walking would be a challenge for my wobbly legs. Not sure how you change my physiological normality by being you, just you, but you do.
When I was younger and thought of old age
Thought we all became senile at this elderly stage
It appears I was wrong, I can still go potty
And able to dress this tired old body
Try as I might, I don't see very well
And my wobbly old legs are as shaky as hell
Sometimes my words come out like a squeak
Other times I whistle when trying to speak
Have a secret my young whipper snappers
It's as good as it gets except for my bladder
It seems to be constantly wanting attention
I don't have a problem with pee retention
So now that I've told you what to expect
I must tell you all it's as good as it gets
Enjoy your youth cause it's downhill from here
You'll soon be old and decrepit I fear
When you sail a sloop in slop,
be prepared to stop, regroup;
time spent on the choppy seas
throws you for a loop, makes wobbly knees.
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Another Kloang: xxxxaxb xxxxbxa xxxxbxc xxxxaxxxc
A Kea is a parrot found in New Zealand
Also called Wobbly Keas, pranksters of birdland
Clowns of the mountains
Known to thousands
Of natives and tourists for fun loving diversions
Old men.
Silver crowned flowers.
Shriveled crimson bloated noses.
Bow-legged little clowns...
Gait beaten down by time.
Storm-battered greying bows.
Sprinkling life with wisdom's eye.
The joy and sorrow they've spread.
A million times they've laughed and bled.
Yet they battle on and on and on.
To kiss a pair of tiny hands again.
Old men.
On the subject of an unwanted water feature...
Water, water, everywhere
In rushing rivers down the wall
As loud as grand Niagara’s Fall
In to the Wobbly Bog
Pouring, pouring, endlessly
Insistent flow of running stream
Unwanted runnels carved through dream
Swelling the Wobbly Bog
Soaking, soaking, soggily
The puddle deep, the muddy ground
‘Tis said there was a postman found
Drowned in the Wobbly Bog
Dropping, dropping, gravity
Bleaching brick with scale of lime
On damp of wall the mark of time
Shadows the Wobbly Bog
Gushing, gushing, noisily
Unbalancing the Feng and Shui
No wind to dry the churning sea
Flooding the Wobbly Bog
Madness, madness, sanity
By white noise of incessant drip
Is sunken like a sodden ship
Wrecked in the Wobbly Bog
Misty, misty, spookily
By moonlight come the boggy sprites
With mischief and their tiny lights
Haunting the Wobbly Bog
Wishing, wishing, hopelessly
That some good knight with tool or sword
From Aster or the Water Board
Might conquer the Wobbly Bog
Watching, watching, grumpily
The paint that never dries; dismay
As Wiltshire waters pour away
In to the Wobbly Bog
by Gail
Don’t come trick or treating down here
We spent all our money on beer
Don’t knock at our door
‘Cos we’re scary and poor
Lend us a tenner for gear
by Gail
I was doing the laundry one day
the dryer wobbled to and fro,
it was freaking out bad
I knew it had to go.
I leaned on one corner
and nearly landed on the floor,
one of the wheels were missing
what would somebody, do that for?
The wobbly dryer was a trap
someone could get hurt,
I threw the dryer outside
it landed hard in the dirt.
Copyright © Cynthia Jones
Oct.19/2006
The wobbly dryer part of this poem is true, but not the part about me throwing it out.
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