Saturday, November 21, 2020

a Poem for Sunday Muse -- This Misguided and Misbehaving Lamb


 Image by Justin Dingwall
click HERE for his website.

Mama, there's a lamb on our table 
He's standing there, I can't make him leave 
Be careful my son, it's a lion 
A lion standing, dressed like a sheep 

He's done us dirty, has fooled a lot 
especially children, gullible ones 
In turn he has failed, his trusted ones 
The children said "go", but leave he won't 

We can't make him leave, the owner will 
Courts and militia, will come to aid 
_  _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 
 - Photo prompt furnished by Carrie Van Horn at the Sunday Muse # 135 web site.  Read others there,

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Tuesday, November 17, 2020

A write, Guest Absent for the Party -- For Weekly Scribblings # 46

Little Joe had to Go; we partied without him; college dropout days

Little Joe was my best buddy then, probably unless I was having a Steady "then".  We cruised Main.  Joe loved to whistle out the window at the girls, some liked that, others didn't.  I was embarrassed when It was my car we were using. 

Little Joe got married and he and new wife were on a honeymoon. Another bachelor buddy bit the dust, we didn't do a bachelor party for him.  "It's never too late to party," especially for Little Joe, we had to party.  The party was at Little Joe's sister's house, he lived with Sis and her Hubby. 

It wasn't out of the ordinary to land someplace after our Main Street cruising was over.  Generally it was after time the girls had to be home or to "Y" if that was their home away from home.  Curfew there was 11 or 12, I can't remember.  I do remember that the dorm mom would lock the door at curfew time.

We had to wait for a weekend when Sis and them were out of town, this weekend they were to her parents' home in Western Nebraska.  We gathered our phono records to use on Joe's player and some food things for refreshments.   

My friend, Other Jim, had sampled some more wine from his uncle where he was staying.  The uncle had two barrels in his basement which we were free to tap.  As I remember none of us were twenty-one yet.  We mixed the wine with 7UP and it would last all night.  

There weren't any girls there, shouldn't have been as this was a Bachelor Party for Joe.  So we talked the night away, until everyone who could was asleep someplace in the basement.  The last record on our stack was "Night Train", very appropriate for our little get-to-gather celebration. 

That was our party for Joe. 

_ _ _ _ _

We had another for a buddy who left for the Army, a Going Away Party.  Only thing, the buddy had already left for basic training.  It was about the same though I think there were some girls there.  And our drinks may have been different. 

I did go to another meeting, a funeral, where the guest was absent, this was years later for a working friend.  (I posted about this one in my comment below.) 

_ _ _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Rosemary at the Weekly Scribblings # 46

Rosemary has asked us to write something celebratory, or to tell us about a particular celebration, real or imagined 

 - My first comment I wrote, and told more about the party for the working friend.

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Saturday, November 14, 2020

a Poem for Sunday Muse -- I Don't Wish This on You


The Poor Loser 

Better to butt one's head against the wall 
than having a tizzy 'bout a bad call 
After the tizzy you'll be a "Loser" 
and carry that name of defeat for life 

Butting one's head will leave a big headache 
but that is why aspirin and Tylenol 
every day are sold.  Having your hissy 
often leads to the hoosegow or much worse 

Either way your friends will be laughing and 
having a jolly time at your expense 
You'll never live down your mistake or your 
telling name, "Loser, Loser--did it wrong" 

So why don't you take it like a big "boy" 
and cry up your sleeve when you are alone 
 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 
 - For the prompt photo I am linking with Fireblossom at the Sunday Muse #134 at  

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Wednesday, November 11, 2020

A Poem for Weekly Scribblings # 45 -- Dread Consumed

Carnival Dreams, by Shelle Kennedy

Hearts on Sleeves; 

"Sins of the Fathers"

How can I smile with my heart on my sleeve 

Like a lot it's edging that way 

Already I wear it outside my vest 

A very tough life I have led 

Skeletons from my ancestors closets 

Their dastardly deeds now exposed 

Some of mine as well hanging on the stairs 

Hidden no more, out to be seen 

They're there in plain sight--bug me every day 

Great-Uncle John whipped slaves to death 

Aunt Bess bore fourteen illegitimates  

Grandpa Jones rode with Bonnie's Clyde 

Seems there hardly could be no worse than these 

But that was them, angel I'm not 

Nothing heinous like they buried here 

Indiscretions young often take  

For all my rude transgressions hurtful be 

I've begged forgiveness  and pardon 

Most have given me solace and kindness 

That helps me some but kin remain 

Their mistakes and wicked life I must bear

They're dead and gone but I am here 

Here with their sad reputations to bear 

Their skeletons smell of their sins 

Closer and closer my grieving heart moves 

Reaches my sleeve I'll take no more 

You'll see me no more I have run away 

Joined the carnival lost my mind 

 _ _ _ 

 - Note to my readers:  THIS IS FICTION.  My crazy muse wouldn't leave me until I hit the "Post" button.  The title could be "Sins of the Fathers".  I'm making it a subtitle now. 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Magaly Guerrero for her picture ,  Carnival Dreams, by Shelle Kennedy, for Weekly  Scribblings # 45. 

 - Magaly's prompt instructions were, "... to write new poetry or prose inspired by one (or all) of the three paintings shared on this linkBeautiful, YOU are’ by Magic Love CrowDelightful Donkey’ by Gina Morley, and/or Carnival Dreams’ by Shelle Kennedy. For this prompt, your imagination is the limit.  

Delightful Donkey, by Gina Morley

 - The donkey was cute but I chose the Shelle painting.

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Saturday, November 07, 2020

My Flame -- a Poem for Sunday Muse # 133

 Candle in the Jar 

I'm a little candle here in your jar 

Don't let anyone put the lid on me 

For if that happens my light will go out 

Let not that one be you, my light will die 

Precarious perch, tender little fire 

The edge of the sand one wave away 

Not a note in the bottle is the flame 

Distance does not remove lids, fire pales 

And if you've not protected me, the same 

Our lives would be so dull without that flame 

  _ _ _ 

  - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

  - I'm linked for the photo prompt with the Sunday Muse # 133, at 

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Tuesday, November 03, 2020

"eye of the hurricane" -- a Poem for Weekly Scribblings # 44

 Hurricane Ernesto, a tropical storm hits Florida in 2006. The "eye" is in the middle of the blue swirl 

Satellite Map, 11:00 PM EDT on August 27, 2006
Click picture, then do f11 to enlarge
Photo courtessy of Weather Underground and NASA 

 _ _ _ 

The Storm 

We walked through the eye of the hurricane 

Gathering sticks, throwing stones, kicked a can 

Little did we know the can was a home 
Home to liars and cheats scum of the earth 

In there hiding from storm, and their victims 
'Tis said their kind wins battles loses wars 
So the can was kicked into the gutter 
Where the scum had come, now floating down stream 

And when the eye moved on new scum was born 
All good blown down or blew away--we cried 

Our efforts in vain 
Where can justice live? 
 _ _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 
 - for the Weekly Scribblings, our Rommy would like us to craft our words around the phrase: “eye of the hurricane”. We can choose to do this literally or figuratively.   
 - Two years later: 
We had no damage to our home, not even a shingle was lost. The winds reached about 80 MPH for a couple of hours. 
Then we lived in Montgomery, Texas,  which was 105 miles north of the shoreline of the Gulf of Mexico.  Now we live near Katy, Texas, about 75 miles from the Gulf.

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Saturday, October 31, 2020

The Plan ~~ Sunday Muse # 132

The Gift 

Deep in the tall woods 

where I am safe 

When the sun comes up 

I venture forth 

Down from my high perch  

Gather mana 

Gift from Heaven high 

Every day I'm served 

sweet savory bites

Only in the fall 

For one I eat 

Save nine winter's store  

Give thanks to God

He's been good to me 

Nature's good plan 

Gifts from Heaven high 

 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Sunday Muse # 132 for Picture Prompt per Chrissa and Carrie Van Horn at 

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Wednesday, October 28, 2020

Where the Wolf Found Herself ~~ an Erasure Poem for Weekly Scribblings # 43

Challenges to Some 

Walking through high school's doors 

Had almost forgotten 

What it was like 

Watching change of atmosphere  

Everyone is monotone 

People are online, all virtual 

The shift was from hosting 

To being hesitant 

Their health failed to stay home 

I have friends I understand 

Dedicated to teaching change 

Switch to in-person 

The Second Wolf broadcasts 

a long time around--many people 

Trying to reprieve her first day back 

Found herself to a pep rally 

 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - Photo and being an Erasure Poem so that All Words and Characters copied and/or photo copied from Pages A1 and A17, titled "50,000 area students swap screens for being on scene"  from the Huston Chronicle,  Wednesday October 28, 2010. 

 - I have linked to Rosemary who asked for an Erasure Poem or Found Poem (I chose the Erasure Poem) for our Weekly Scribbling # 43, at 

 - My guide lines for the Erasure poem are: (on this blog from a previously posted Erasure Poem, "Wire to Wire", on Wednesday February 12, 2014  at )

 To write an erasure poem from a local news story which posted today.  Your erasure poem may be as long or short as you would like, but you must adhere to the following rules

  1. You cannot add text to your poem.  All lines must already exist within the news story.
  2. You cannot change the order of the words or lines.  They must appear in the same order which they appeared in the story. 

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Saturday, October 24, 2020

Boy's on the Loose -- a Poem for The Sunday Muse # 131


The Outing 

The boys were out today 

It may last the night 
They'd called in sick that morn 
Didn't tell their wives 
(Shorty riding back 
didn't have a wife) 

It was a topdown day 
Sunshine and pumpkins 
Fall days meant for outings 
Drive eat drink a bit 
(They'd be seaside 
by afternoon) 

Swim and surf spread the food 
Shorty's cooler packed 
Girl's on blanket next to 
Invited them 
(Didn't last long 
our married men)

Evening was coming near 
Drive into the town 
Cruised the streets until ten 
Yes, they'd called their wives 
(Memories aroused 
Like olden days) 

Moonlight driving back home 
Day to remember 
One like when they were young 
Needed get away 
(Shorty's flowers 
for the two wives) 
_ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 
 - Photo screenshot of Sunday Muse # 131 prompt photo posted by Fireblossom at 
 - NOTE:  I have been told that the picture's person in the back seat is a lady.  I believe that is right but had thought it was a guy.  I wrote for Shorty being a guy holding flowers for the others' wives.  Sorry. 
 - I like the picture or I would remove it??  Maybe I'd best buy a computer, I write with my Galaxy 8 smart phone.
 -  My Play Car 

 A 1998 Ford Mustange GT Convertible. 

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Thursday, October 22, 2020

-- a Poem for Weekly Scribblings # 42


Thirty years have passed 
But I remember still 
Seemed like yesterday 
Same crowd except for Luke 

Outskirts of our town 
Cemetery visit 
Halloween ghosts 
Goblins too real scary 

Down in the corner 
A few carnations waved 
When we neared we stopped 
Twilight nearing the night 

Something was not right 
A grave freshly covered 
Amateur work showed 
Human leg sticking out 

Slowly coming close 
Other leg chewed away 
Bone splinters around 
Filled our treat bags with bone 

Something rustling near 
Let out blood curdling howl 
Teeth barred deadly growl 
We grabbed our bags and ran 

Keeper of the bones 
Job they elected me 
Stashed under my bed 
Guarded by boogey man 

Years pased I'm renowned 
Bone artist carved and cast 
Grinding those splinters 
Was in back of my mind 

Art piece remembrance 
Bone paste into the mold 
Hardened then polished 
A rosary fit for Queen  

Put it on display 
Think now where would it be 
Go back to that grave 
Hang it on the tombstone 

Gathering our crowd 
Except for Luke we go 
Halloween is here
Twilight we are not seen 

The broach in the bag 
Tombstone is now in sight 
Would  wolves come again 
Something is different 

Sleek stone name we know 
It's Luke surprise surprise 
Gone ragged fellow 
Hang the rosary here 
 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 
 - Linked to Weekly Scribblings # 42, prompt by Magaly Guerrero and introductory by MMT -- read her instructions and of MMT's workings at 

Saturday, October 17, 2020

A Cat Poem -- for the Sunday Muse # 130

Click for Image Source

Who Let the Cats Out 

Cats cats everywhere 

Black cats every one 

Bad luck cariers 

Behind you must stay 

Mass production they 

Built as clones, one mum 

Pet for every home 

Black cats everywhere 

Turned street loose at dusk 

When they front your path 

Don't cross turn around 

Leave black cats behind 

The mice died or gone 

Cats come home to eat 

  _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - Photo prompt pictured above was chosen by Fireblossom and Came Van Horn for our Sunday Muse # 130 at

Wednesday, October 14, 2020

Love Poem -- Weekly Scribblings # 41

What's the Price 

Tea in China is sixty Yen  a peck 
new BMW runs 60K 
What is the price I'm paying for your love 
It isn't measured in Yen or $Dollars 

I measure it in hours  and hours 
Hours of freedom I did gladly pay 
They are worth every second that I pay 
Eighty-six thousand four hundred a day 

You rescued me day we met made me pay 
Our love's so great well worth the price I've paid
 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 
 - Rommy would like us “to consider the question ‘What’s the price?’ when plying (our) pen.” 

Saturday, October 10, 2020

A Flashlight Poem -- for Sunday Muse # 129

Light for My Path

She holds the light 

In the dark I cannot see 

Light I need 

for I'm afraid of the dark 

She holds the light 

She came I bribed her with the light

My little sister 

keeping me company 

She holds the light 

Bedtime walk out in the dark 

Outhouse is there 

a football field length away 

She holds the light 

so that we can see bad guys 

ghosts and goblins 

and other scary things 

She holds the light 

Now behind chicken house 

Outhouse is there 

under the trees in the dark 

She holds the light 

while I'm sitting on a seat 

Though a two seater 

we go in one at a time 

Other holds the light 

stays outside alone in the dark 

And when we're done 

back we trudge,  she holds the light 

 _ _ _ 

This was an almost true nightly episode in my life.  Athough the year my sister was born, five years after me, we got electricity and indoor plumbing in the house, we used the toilet and tub sparingly.  Mom could use both, my little sister the tub.  

So she, Dad, and I used our outdoor outhouse in the grove back behind the chickenhouse.  There were no lights that shone back there.   As a country boy I was not allowed to be afraid of the dark.  But I did not like to be out alone after dark.  

We had a flashlight and I always had Sister carry it, which she liked doing, so that she would come out with me.   I do not remember either of us going out there after dark.  Bathing?  Dad and I showered by the washing machine out in the back porch.  Sister used that a few times but mostly the tub.  Dad had to scrap the cesspool once and he didn't want to do that ever again.

Th.tThe way the outhouse looked the last time I saw it.  A tree had fallen on it.  But since that the new ownner bulldozed it down and burned the rubble 

_ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked The Sunday Muse # 129 for the picture prompt at

Tuesday, October 06, 2020

Walk Away with Me - A Poem for Weekly Scribblings

Walking Away






I'm going to the other side 

May it be an island  sumptuous 

Or it could be your neighbor's backyard 

Mine (neighbor) has a putting green

To a big city that never closes or turn off its lights 

How about camping out by the lake in an amusement park 

And if we don't like it there we can walk away again to some other place   

Wherever we go we'll be walking away 

Our people will be missing us 

Well if they do they can walk away over to us 

Or walk away for just a visit 

Perhaps they'll stay 

Think of the thousands and thousands who've done it before 

Pioneers they were called 

Hippies too

I'll open my eyes and see where we will be







Good Bye 


Should this bubble burst 

I'll miss its haven for me 

In back of my mind 

_ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - I'm linked with Rosemary for her prompt subject, "Walking Away", at The Weekly Scribblings # 40, scribblings?m=1 

Sunday, October 04, 2020

Migration, other problems -- a Poem for Sunday Muse #128

"Migration"  Painting by Eddie Schrieffer 

Scientists Worried 

Rocket scientists have worried for years 

Worry about spontatious migration 

Outside and flaunting law of birds and bees 

Off course flights weird new species  

Two headed monarchs in Tasmania 

Seven toed sloths speed through sand dunes of choice 

Five legged ponies tripping each other 

Those are just a few, scientists keep lists 

Astronauts once revered trust them no more 

Turned traitors eating raw the new species  

What to do what to do scientists cry 

Bird watchers and bug enthusiasts know 

Look to the children they've named every one 

Categories entered Book of Nature 

 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - I'm  linked with Carrie Van Horn  with The Sunday Muse # 128

Tuesday, September 29, 2020

October is Here~~ a Poem for Weekly Scribblings # 39


[click on picture a couple of times for larger]

October Has Arrived

The last vinca's blooming

Rabbits' last brood has hatched

Green grapes finished their song

Migration's almost through

Nature doing her thing


October and this pen

Third - great niece's Wedding

Fifteenth - sister's Birthday

Thirtieth - Candy Corn

Day, and the Pen's Birthday

Thirty-first Halloween


Plants, animals and me

We all have a great day

 _ _ _


 - Poem and Photo Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved

 - I am linked with Magaly at the Weekly Scribblings # 39; October thrills, 

 - Every year I buy myself a sack of Candy Corn for my Birthday as National Candy Corn Day is also on October 30.


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Saturday, September 26, 2020

City and Country -- a Poem for The Sunday Muse # 127


She milked the cows;  
   he farmed the land 

She was a city girl, young 
on her first job 
They had met before in a 
neighboring town 
The girls all knew, "stay away" 
from that fast town 
She went there anyway, met 
her future man 

Married, this city girl young 
cried the first night 
Not accustomed to farm life 
there by themselves 
Barely knew a pig from a horse  
she'd learn a lot 
Husband was beside himself 
gave her a calf 

The calf wasn't like her cat 
it stayed apart 
Never sat in her lap but 
stayed in corral 
Sort of a pet but still its 
future uncertain 
To market when it was grown 
or milking cow 

Please a milking cow begged 
this city girl 
Keep it they did, calved and milked 
called her Blackie 
Blackie still her pet corralled 
with other cows 
Knew her name leader became 
"Queen of the cows" 

Blackie loved this city girl 
she loved her cow
A country girl became, they  
love their pet cows 
  _ _ _   

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 
 - I am linked with Chrissa at The Sunday Muse * 127 for the picture inspiration prompt at 

 - Before I started high school I was in 4H and had a Brown Swiss calf as a project.  Dad kept the calf, soon named Brownie, as a milking cow.  She gave a lot of milk and had good feeding calves, he kept her for a long time, probably until she died of old age.  In high school, as an FFA project for my last two years each I raised a litter of pigs.  Those pigs, 8 and 9, became farmstead pets who followed us around. 

  - And my mom was a city girl before marrying Dad.   She was away in Lincoln, Nebraska, working as secretary for a state legislator.  Dad share cropped on one of his father's small farms, half of all the crops went to Grandpa until he died and Dad became its owner.  They were married for 67 years until Mom died.  She raised the chickens and took care of the egg production.  She also milked cows until I was age five and took her place.  She was Dad's helper from husking corn to slopping pigs.  When they retired they, having purchased a home in town, moved to it.

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