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Penny's Jottings

mindfulness

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Roads in Cornwall

In Cornwall, when I visit, I find the earth is soft and gentle

The sights and aromas make me feel quite sentimental

I love the bluebells in the spring

The joy listening to birds sing

But driving on the roads drives me mental

I love walking on the cliffs and the pounding wavy beaches

The pasties and the pubs, and the guls loud screeches

I love the cream, oh my! that cream

With scones and jam, what a dream

But the windy, tiny roads leave me speechless

Brass bands on the green, marching vigorously with zest

Cornish folk singing lustily, will Trelawney ever rest?

I love the sound of a Cornish choir

There’s nothing more that I admire

But the hedge surrounded roads are not the best

I love pub lunches, and a knickerbocker glory

Cornwall is so peaceful; there’s time to share a story

I love the ice cream and the flowers

I gaze at scenic views for hours

But the roads, no room for cars, are quite hoary!

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107! What a woman!

Happy birthday once more, what a life you have had

A long and a happy one, for that we are glad

You have seen three Kings and a Queen in your life

Seen the Empire shrink through trouble and strife

You’ve seen Hitler rise and then fall through a fight

Watched suffragettes struggle to achieve women’s rights 

Seen Wall Street crash, heard Churchill speak

Saw Elizabeth crowned and married to a Greek

Saw rockets on the moon and jet planes soar

Cars that can steer and so much more

You watched Brexit with interest and thought it a farce

Lived well through Covid though company was sparse 

You’ve travelled the world and embraced different cultures

You’ve loved gardens and art and many strange sculptures

You rise with the sun with a project in mind

A painting, a photo, your ‘hearings’ to find

There’s never a day when you’ve nothing to do

It’s exhausting to be in the same house as you!

What a life, what a woman, what a wonderful day

One hundred and seven, what can I say?

Happy birthday dear Mum I just cannot wait 

To be here next year when you’re one hundred and eight

A Poem for Marilyn

My sister dear was born today

Well, a few years ago I have to say!

My mentor my idol, my senior by five

My perfect goal to which I strive

Held up to me as an idol to follow

(Not always an easy pill to swallow)

‘Look at your sister, she’s pretty and nice

Follow her closely’ was the constant advice

She’s clever and quiet and lovely to see

And so much better when compared to me

everything she does is exemplary

With a kind approach packed with empathy

Even though in comparison I don’t make the grade

I love my big sister, and I’m quite undismayed

She’s intelligent and funny and always ready

To keep my thinking clear and steady

We live far away, and I wish we were nearer

Cause I love her to death and want to be near her

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My Friend

My friend Liz died today

such a popular woman, kind and warm

she died of breast cancer, insidious, ugly disease

she was in palliative care with her loved ones around her,

caring for her

loving her

till she took her last breath

we didnt meet often over the last few years

when we met it was as if we had never parted

my friend Liz

had many friends

when we spoke she told me she had been a good woman

she hoped that she would meet her son Aidan when she died

I hope so too

I am crying for my friend Liz

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Questions

I have a lot of questions roaming through my head

Lurking in the background until I go to bed

No sleeping as I contemplate and speculate instead

Like what’s at the end of the universe? and why is God a man?

Why do pronouns matter? and what’s my lifetime span?

Why do people hate and kill? and what’s the bigger plan?

I have questions about racism and how that came to be

What is freedom? why discriminate? What is wrong with being me?

How come some folk are really smart but lack practicality?

What’s happening to the weather? What’s the best that we can do?

Is global warming irreversible? I get in quite a stew!

Why do we cross our fingers and sometimes touch wood too?

Why am I so fascinated in watching stories on true crime

When people see a mountain why do they feel the urge to climb?

What happens when we die? And why the phrase ‘I’m killing time’?

What makes some people vulnerable and others tough as nails

Why ignore the plight of children but fight to save the whales?

Why do we bully and harass and ignore the justice scales?

The questions remorselessly pounding in my poor deluded brain

I have no clever answers, many more questions still remain

probing and surrounding, I may never sleep again

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Empathical Hat

I had a dream I was given a hat

not a Melbourne Cup hat

but a real fancy hat

a smart hat, a clever hat, but light as a feather

a hat that instinctively protects from the weather

a hat with a miniscule oven installed

with sausages and buns, now don’t be apalled

an empathic hat. it knew what I was thinking

played a little light music, encouraged my drinking

when it rained it closed up and a brolly emerged

in the sun it sprayed sunscreen without being urged

I woke up this morning and I felt for the hat

gone, not a trace of it, I was quite flat

I loved the feel of that hat on my head

the comfort, the fit, the thinking ahead

Tonight I might dream of a comical cat

or a robot that speaks or a sweet talking rat

but deep in my heart I hope its not that

I hope its my clever, empathical hat

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Uh Oh!

I am still in my sleepwear and its well after two!

My hair is unbrushed! Oh what a to do!

I’m unshowered, ungroomed, unshod and unclad

I’m a little ashamed and feeling quite bad

In my defence I may say that I was feeling quite weary

my life is quite full, and a book made me teary

Playing games till the wee hours made my eyesight quite bleary

Though an occasional win made the losing less dreary

so I crept out of bed, after a hot cup of tea

and sat in a chair with the dog on my knee

checked socials and emails and played one last Wordle

gazed at the clock and felt my blood curdle

I am still in my sleepwear and its very nearly three

Well…. I think I’ll have lunch and a nice cup of tea

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I have packed away Christmas

I have packed away Christmas, no more jingle bells

I have wrapped the nativity and the twirling carousels

I have re-read the cards and stored them away

I have neatly boxed baubles till next Christmas day

and as I am working my minds in a whirl

I recall Christmas times when I was a girl

with sugary mice and an orange and nuts

midnight mass to attend, with no ifs or buts

nightly big snow falls and slippery ice

Father Christmas deciding who is naughty or nice

Hot Christmas lunches and cash in the pud

Gifts round the tree, Christmas was good

and now as I pack one more Christmas away

with no snow or ice in a land far away

and cold Christmas lunches with a pud of ice cream

Loud Christmas lunches with excitement and screams

In years to come as my grandies recall

they’ll remember the times when they were small

different times, different country, but in essence the same

Tradition and family is the name of the game

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It wasn’t my intention

It wasn’t my intention to break with convention

Live with dissension and growing inner tension

I’d really like to mention I was full of apprehension

When love became pretension and happiness invention

I sought for intervention but with budding comprehension

I felt the inattention the icy cold abstention

There was no way of circumvention too late for prevention

No hope of insurrection all love was in suspension

Though with recollection there once was some affection

Love and a connection at the relationship’s inception

But love and adoration was replaced by rejection

though now upon reflection I can feel no dejection

I can enjoy my reinvention my little resurrection

I feel my break with convention has released my inner tension

No longer in oppression and I have a small confession

It wasn’t my intention but my life’s in its ascension

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