Dr. Janet Hoult
He Watches the Girls Go by While She Goes for Things,...
[Editor’s Note: This is the sixth in a daily series of Janet Hoult poems from “Body Parts,” a collection of poetry about aging.]
Watching Him Watching
I like to watch him watching girls
The young ones with all the curls
falling round their shapely shoulders
and over tee shirts filled with boulders
Oh my, perhaps it seems that way
with such large boobs where his eyes stray.
Watching Him Watching
I like to watch him watching girls
The young ones with all the curls
falling round their shapely shoulders
and over tee shirts filled with boulders
Oh my, perhaps it seems that way
with such large boobs where his eyes stray.
Body Parts V: Can’t Muster the Luster, Buster, So We Bluster...
[Editor’s Note: This is the fifth in a daily series of Janet Hoult poems from “Body Parts,” a collection of poetry about aging.]
Changing Hair Styles
When we are young, our pheromones are settled in our hair
Each time we shake our curly locks, they waft into the air
To see if other lads and lasses
Are open to us making passes
Changing Hair Styles
When we are young, our pheromones are settled in our hair
Each time we shake our curly locks, they waft into the air
To see if other lads and lasses
Are open to us making passes
Body Parts IV — Face? Face? What Face?
[Editor’s Note: This is the fourth in a daily series of Janet Hoult poems from “Body Parts,” a collection of poetry about aging.]
I Know I’ve Seen That Face Before
I know I’ve seen that face before
That one, the one that’s at the door.
I Know I’ve Seen That Face Before
I know I’ve seen that face before
That one, the one that’s at the door.
Body Parts III — We Are Up to the Eyes
[Editor’s Note: This is the third in a daily series of Janet Hoult poems from “Body Parts,” a collection of poetry about aging.]
Have You Seen My Glasses?
Have you seen my glasses?
I know they’re here somewhere.
I’ve already looked in the kitchen
and checked out the lazy boy chair.
Have You Seen My Glasses?
Have you seen my glasses?
I know they’re here somewhere.
I’ve already looked in the kitchen
and checked out the lazy boy chair.
Second Daily Selection from ‘Body Parts,’ a Poetry Collection About Aging
Hair Today – Gone Tomorrow
Oh drat, there it grows again
That pesky hair upon my chin.
Black hairs on my upper lip
Impossible for me to clip.
Can you please tell me why
I should be moustached like my guy?
Oh drat, there it grows again
That pesky hair upon my chin.
Black hairs on my upper lip
Impossible for me to clip.
Can you please tell me why
I should be moustached like my guy?
A Selection from ‘Body Parts,’ a Collection of Poems About Aging
[Editor’s Note: “Writing poetry,” our friend, the retired academic Janet Hoult, tell us, “has become my way of dealing with the aging process. Although not in the order I wrote them, I decided to organize these “Body Parts” poems, beginning with a wistful sense of regret, continuing with what happens to our bodies and minds, realistically and humorously from top to bottom, ending with some upbeat thoughts.” A new selection from “Body Parts” will run each day until, of course, we run out of Body Parts.]
Chewsy Puppy
We have a new rescue puppy.
Her mouth is attracted to everything she can get it around.
Today was something I would never have expected.
A confession: Her name is Ginger. But “Fred” worked better in the rhyme.
Her mouth is attracted to everything she can get it around.
Today was something I would never have expected.
A confession: Her name is Ginger. But “Fred” worked better in the rhyme.
Russian Birches
[Editor’s Note: Dr. Hoult composed this poem last year when she and her husband Charlie were traveling in Russia, on a boat cruising the inland Russian waterways, from St. Petersburg to Moscow.]
Tall sentinels along the Volga.
Long branches drooping and sighing;
Leaves drifting moss-like in the wind.
Tall sentinels along the Volga.
Long branches drooping and sighing;
Leaves drifting moss-like in the wind.
What T.S.A. Stands for, Especially the ‘S.A.’ Part
When we returned last month from three weeks in Europe, I had the worst experience ever at the hands of the TSA in Washington-Dulles Airport, which prompted this poem.
I've written a hot letter to the TSA with names and badge numbers....adding to the list of complaints that appears to be growing longer by the day.
We hope to be back at the later City Council meetings this year...after some more surgical ventures. The parts sure do wear out!
I've written a hot letter to the TSA with names and badge numbers....adding to the list of complaints that appears to be growing longer by the day.
We hope to be back at the later City Council meetings this year...after some more surgical ventures. The parts sure do wear out!
The Devil Wind
[Editor’s Note: With Halloween beckoning, the academician Janet Hoult, one of the Westside’s more creative minds, penned this work while worrying her over daughter and grandson in San Diego. They were caught in the Witch Creek fire, but now they are safe.]
