Hobbo's Poems
A quirky look at life from a Yorkshire poet and his dog's perspective
Older
Posted on 3rd May 2022
Older A little bit wiser a little bit bolder a little bit greyer a little bit older. Slightly less hair slightly less huff slightly more patience slightly more puff. A touch less panic a touch less worry a touch more thoughtful a touch less hurry. Another pill a bit more weight a bit more skill a lot less hate.
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Body Parts
Posted on 21st Apr 2022
Body Parts With a foot in my mouth and a heart on my sleeve, I'm a mixed-up old man like you would not believe. I have brains in my pants and a chip on my shoulder, life gets much harder as teeth get much older. And they're in a jar behind the settee, why can't body parts remain where they should be?
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Growing older
Posted on 8th Apr 2022
Growing older I hate this growing older, my childhood sweetheart said. Listen girl, I told her, If we didn't, we'd be dead.
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The laconic man
Posted on 24th Mar 2022
The laconic man I tend to laconic, my love life platonic, quotidian, run of the mill. There's nothing exciting. no shouting or fighting, a once-was that's over the hill. The passion is sagging, I look like old lagging when naked, a horrible sight. Without my new dentures my foodie adventures, restricted to suck and not bite. I still think I'm forty and try to be naughty but these days, it's all in the mind. My memory's so shot that as likely as not, I lose twice as much as I find. Invited to dinner, I'm on to a winner I'll grin and just nod at the host. Get away with the wrong fork, no need to make small talk; ignore me, I'm deaf as a post.
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A rabbit’s habits
Posted on 19th Jan 2022
A rabbit's habits A rabbit cohabits From sociable habits, Producing her young by the score. And when she is old Then her partner is told Not tonight bunny, I'm sore.
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Lost time
Posted on 7th Jan 2022
Lost time They say that time's a healer; well, I am ninety-three, it might work for the youngsters but time is killing me!
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Transition
Posted on 20th Dec 2021
Transition As I transition seamlessly from mid-life crisis to the gentle senility of old age, I find myself contemplating profound questions; what is the real meaning of life and have I eaten my lunch yet. Sadly, both are equally difficult to answer.
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Seasons of life
Posted on 8th Dec 2021
Seasons of life
Spring
It’s fashion, it’s passion,
it’s sporting, it’s courting,
it’s all about falling in love.
It’s sowing, it’s growing
and yearning and learning
what it means to walk loved hand in glove.
It’s exploring, deploring,
it’s hoping and coping,
it’s having some muscles to flex.
It’s exciting, inviting,
it’s all new and all you,
the very invention of sex.
Summer
It’s working, some shirking,
ambition, fruition,
a bit, to be honest, yes guv.
It’s slippage, it’s marriage,
it’s squadrons of children,
it’s learning the meaning of love.
It’s romantic and frantic,
energetic and hectic,
the busiest time of our life.
It’s stations, vacations,
promotion, devotion
and knowing you’ve found the right wife.
Autumn
It’s grown kids and grandkids,
retirements and virements,
a warm, fluffy socks kind of love.
It’s possessions, impressions,
it’s cynical, clinical,
the need for a bit of a shove.
It’s grilling, it’s chilling,
it’s box sets and twin sets,
a chance for the world to slow down.
It is cocoa and go-slow,
it’s white hair, -where? -right there,
a stroll down the quiet side of town.
Winter
It’s aching and shaking,
it’s fresh ills and more pills,
above all a chance for reflection.
It’s objective perspective,
it’s welcome and wisdom,
a counting of blessings collection.
It is Lord Above love,
it is last minute faith,
thanks given for each shallow breath.
It’s tearful and cheerful,
it’s goodbyes and don’t cries,
Then finally, my friend, it is death.
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Dementia
Posted on 21st Nov 2021
Dementia I dreamed I was asleep but clearly was mistaken, as I showered in my undies, I could smell the care home's bacon. A woman with a badge on was washing off my bottom, I wish I was asleep, my life right now is rotten.
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Contentment
Posted on 20th Nov 2021
Contentment Whilst I'm usually okay in the skin I am in, I sometimes reflect on the years I was thin. When I had my own teeth and I still had some hair, my memory was good, I could quote from Voltaire. Many winters older and folk look at me like I'm stuck to their shoe or I fell from a tree. I am pleased that my missus has aged a bit too, I'm the house red and she's the grand cru.
Hobbo's Poems 