Hobbo's Poems
A quirky look at life from a Yorkshire poet and his dog's perspective
Black Clouds
Black Clouds Woke up. Didn't want to. In a foul mood. Another resolution wasted. Challenged God to take me. Didn't work. Head thumping. Stomach washer-ing. Limbs trembling. Feel awful. Covid? Don't think so. More like death. Drag myself up. Walk/crawl to bathroom. Head bowed. Let me die. Please God! I hate hangovers.
Oh, I remember that pain. From a very long time ago though … with age came at least enough wisdom to go easy on the alcohol!
LikeLiked by 1 person
😂😂 Unfortunately, age and wisdom are not always comfortable partners!
LikeLike
True!
LikeLiked by 1 person
We characterise it as calling God on the royal telephone on Oz. 😉
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oz has some great sayings!
LikeLike
Things can only get better!
LikeLiked by 1 person
You took the words right out of my mouth! 😔😁🖤
LikeLike
Thought it would! 😂
LikeLike
😉🖤
LikeLiked by 1 person
Hands you a Bloody Mary! The end was never near, just felt like it 😁
LikeLiked by 1 person
I love your clever comments!
LikeLiked by 1 person
😄
LikeLiked by 1 person
Good write. Shame on you if you did. If you didn’t, excellent write!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thanks. I couldn’t have written it if I did. Although I have!
LikeLiked by 1 person
HaHa; unfortunately they’re par for the course this time of year 😦
LikeLike
Each time we drink we say, ‘cheers!’ But this is why it’s called Boo-ze. Sorry for your pain.
LikeLiked by 1 person
😂 Loved that!
LikeLiked by 1 person
I thought it was sth serious, in the end ,only to know that it was just another hangover.
LikeLiked by 1 person
😂 A sigh of relief then! My serious poems sometimes have a little twist in them, but not always!
LikeLiked by 1 person