Sunday, January 13, 2019

a Poem -- ??

Hollow Legs;
an anatomy of 
drunk together

She was alone at the bar
Sipping her gin and tonic
His countenance perked, he liked,
wandering if she too had
a hollow leg

Of that of course he dare not ask
If she'd let they could find out
But so much of her he liked
it really wouldn't matter
if neither limb were hollow

If not then he'd remain still
and hoped they'd be snockered
together. That would be fun
More so than hollow legs

His he would seal, drink faster
Together then they would lose,
lose sight of reality
Non-hollowed night would pass

How do you do, Maam. Would you
like a drinking partner here
I'm lonesome and would not bite
That would be fine, Hubby says
this hollow leg I can't fill
_ _ _ _

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Marian in the Imaginary Garden at
 - Marian has asked us to use the word  "hollow" in our writing today. It caught her attention when she was reading a T.S. Eliot poem, you can read it at the link above.
 - I would have liked to have written about 'cats' this weekend.  I have Eliot's book, "Old Possum's Book of Practical Cats, from which the Broadway production, "Cats" was adapted.

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Thursday, January 10, 2019

What we save may save us

Will it be a scared kid
a tree on the esplanade
or a giraffe in Africa

Saved from street gangs in his hood
saved to fight greenhouse gas or
saved to propagate it's kind

Saved our peace of mind that's sure
Saved from street gangs, Climate Change,
change of place in Nature's chain
_ _ _ _

- Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019. All Rights Reserved
- I'm linked with Sherry Blue Sky in the Imaginary Garden at

Wednesday, January 09, 2019

Hi to my sweet
honeybunny I love

I am in the first
section by the pastry
Sitting by the window

Don't mistake me for
The honeybun rolls
I'm sweeter than them
Waiting for your lips

They'll make a lovely
match with mine ready
for loving in all ways
we can imagine

And sweety please bring
Your wallet or credit card

Yours for the night
_ _ _ _

- Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
- I am linked with Anmol (HA) in the Imaginary Garden at link

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Friday, January 04, 2019

A Wordy Thursday Poem

April's apple blossoms wasting

'Twas the second weekend in May
April's apple blossoms wasting
Unpicked they'd long begun to dry
First on branches now the roadsides

He was headed this morning down
Down the mountain below the clouds
On mission he'd buy a flower
Carnation for his favored girl

They would be liked at the Spring Ball
He kicked up some browning blossoms
Better than kicking cans those hurt
Made his feet ache like she his bod

When they parted he missed her so
Walking along thinking of her
Did she hurt as well when he left
Tonight could they be light like kids

Gay with laughing light doorstep kiss
Then from her balcony smiling
Toss some remembrance of herself
Homeward kick more blooms her in mind
 _ _ _ _
 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2011 and 2018 respectively, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Sanaa Rizvi in the Imaginary Garden at

 - Sanaa asked that we use at least three of the following words:  carnation; slightly;  percussion; balcony; January; deep;                 toss; heat; snow, wind; gravel; morning;           city; obvious;  pensive; bedside; bread                clouds; ache; and poems

Tuesday, January 01, 2019

It's Twelve fifteen at night;
  first day of this new year

The streets are full of irking smoke
Outside smells of powder burning
Faintly I see street lights' weak glow
Reminds me of Lebanon's ills

Faintly I see street lights burning
Few lingering explosions heard
Now and then really loud, real close
Scares the dogs even our beta

Outside smells strong powder odor
Lights still burning through the smoke  
Moments ago the skies were lit
Arial bombs bursting in air

Had Houston won the Super Bowl
You'd think so, way they celebrate
The skies were lit China gets rich
Selling fireworks to the masses

Morning, It's Twelve-fifteen;
 _ _ _ _

- Photos and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved 
 - I'm linked with  in the Imaginary Garden at

 - HAPPY BIRTHDAY, Mrs. Jim - I love you more each year !!!

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Sunday, December 30, 2018

a Poem (I hope) using some Russian Slang

Appy polly loggy
Appy polly loggy to Baboochka
Baboochka Dear I am sorry you blub
You are not a devotchka anymore
I hurt your feelings now I am sorry
I wish to make amends please forgive me
Dorogoy to me ljublju so very much
_ _ _ _ _

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved - I'm linked with Bjorn in the Imaginary Garden at 

 - Bjorn wishes for us to write using a Russian slang which he found from researching his "Clockwork Orange" book.  You might like to see what I am trying to do at his link above.  I would rather have written it in Pig Latin or German but that was not "Slang" which the Russian is. (Hint, click on a link there called "Appendix")

 - For an interpretation highlight the blank area below until you reach the line entitled, "Labels:"
Apology to grandmother
Grandmother dear I am sorry you cry
You are not young a woman anymore

I hurt your feelings now I am sorry
I wish to make amends please forgive me
Dear to me I love you so very much

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Friday, December 28, 2018

My Monkey Solaces Me -- a Thursday Poem for you

When things aren't write

There's sometimes my monkey around
He solaces me* when I'm low

Like "if you're going to talk with him,
the monkey, please do it in there
But if you want to talk with me,
then please do it in here"
Or when I'm late for our supper,
"the whole world is waiting for you"
I'll put the blame on the monkey
Beats "the Devil made me"
And if I come home with some dents
"It happened in the parking lot
while I was shopping.  Witness said
Monkey driver hit me"
I think my wife knows what I do
and plays my game along with me
After all I don't beat her or
make her feel bad at all
Well, I forgot the favorite here
At our place there's always gravy
on my chin.  Or on the grand kids'
The monkey slobbers too
  _ _ _ _
- Photos and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved -- Pictures of Nature's doings also bring solace
 - I'm linked with Margaret in the Imaginary Garden at 

 - Margaret said she was "sitting (with other poetry writers) in a room surrounded with displayed art, it is truly a creative environment.  Each month the venue has new local talent displayed and often the art work is for sale.  I fell in love with these alcohol inks and I hope you find inspiration in them as well."  I have posted my ScreenPrint copies of her finds here. [Click them for large]
 - Readers here will find ten more of the pictures at her link above.  (An aside, I stopped at the Michael's Store here and found the shelves empty where the alcohol inks were supposed to be.  I think we all might do art with this method.  There is even a YouTube on line showing how to do it right.)


Definition of solace. (Entry 1 of 2) transitive verb. 1 : to give comfort to in grief or misfortune : console.

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Tuesday, December 25, 2018

this year's last Tuesday Poem


O the things I might have done
The places I might have gone
Then that day you came along
Since, what I've done where I've gone
We did, we went, not alone

_ _ _

 - Photos and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018 (top), 2016 (bottom two) and 2018 (poem), All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Pat, aka willow-switches, at

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Tuesday, December 18, 2018

Coming fast -- a Humbug Poem


Christmas is coming fast
Faster than this man wants 

Less a week away
Stores marking down wares

My list is short this year
Since you have left my heart
Ho ho ho ho ho Scrooge
had it right all along 

Tiny Tim come rescue 

_ _ _ _ 

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2008 and 2018 respectivelly, All Rights Reserved 
 - The picture is of daughter Karen's cat, Amber. It was sleeping on her bed, just minding it's own business.  I posted it in 2008, she has since died (link).
 - I'm linked with Vivian Zems in the Imaginary Garden at
 - One more time again this obviously isn't really me, I always look forward to Christmas. And I've been happily married for a long time. I have, though, experienced this episode I wrote of, in another life. It's the pits being alone on Christmas.

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Saturday, December 15, 2018

My grandfather and I ~~ a Prose Poem

Favorite Grandchild

Doesn't every lass or lad think of being grandma or grandpa's favorite?  Well, I did. And so too probably did my sister and my seven cousins on Dad's side of our family. Whenever I had Grandpa alone I KNEW that I had an inside track with him.  Like the born-again KNOWS he's going to Heaven.  Tell you a couple or three.

First one I remember was when my sister was born, Grandpa came and got me with his pickup truck. He had his stud horse in the back and we would make some rounds that morning.  I really didn't appreciate him leaving me alone while he and the horse walked away.  My first second encounter with the birds and the bees, I was five.

After that alone time with Grandpa I don't remember him much in anything special.   He was always there and I took him for granted.  There was the time he took a toy away from my younger cousin for being selfish by not sharing it with me. "J" had two rather large  cast iron toy Yellow Taxi Cabs, replicas of about 1929 cabs. Grandpa then gave it to me, it became my favorite toy.  Until Dad accidentally backed over it with his tractor.

Grandpa once told my father to have my eyes tested as I was missing too many cockleburs when we were weeding the corn with hoes. My eyes were fine. Grandpa had a couple rows, he rode his horse while we others walked.  Another time in one of our numerous rides Grandpa promised me his 1955 Ford car when he died. I remembered that,  Grandpa didn't.

Grandpa died while I was away in the Army, I was in Texas and didn't go up to Nebraska for his funeral.  If I could leave loving memories with my Grands like Grandpa did for me, this life would probably be worth living twice as much.

Note:  Jim's offspring are five kids, six grandchildren, four great grandkids, and one great-great grandchild. Sixteen so far.
 _ _ _ _

 - Poem copyright, Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Msgaly Guerrero in the Imaginary Garden at
 - Magaly encouraged us to write in 131 words or less in prose form of a situation in the past, in our early life, one that has influenced our lives in the present.  I have greatly exceeded her ideal length, a mini-poem.  And there's way too much to get it edited down much--mine has 319 words without the 18 word Note.

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