Sunday, November 10, 2019

[click on a picture to make it larger - click again for larger still]

When you come

When you're here I want not
for you to feel welcome
But I won't make you leave

After my old roan died
her stall over in the
red barn has been empty
Please feel free to go back
to where you have come from
and I won't care a bit

Seems my clean stable here
has been missing a mare
I think for way to long

Well, you might grow on me
you'd have to neck rein** well
_ _ _

 - Photos taken (2014, link) at the Vauxhall City Farm, Vauxhall, London U.K. (More pictures here).
 - Photos and Poem  Copyright , Jimmiehov 2014 and 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I am linked with Sanaa Rizvi at Poets United in the Poetry Pantry, m=1
 - Go there to find a similar titled poem by Maya Angelou link which helped inspire me to write this.
 - ** Neck rein, a horse will turn right or left at the rider's nudge on her neck, left or right, to the opposite of the nudge.  The reins are not necessary at all.

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Friday, November 08, 2019

A single word Poem, "Burnish"

Burnish Me

I love to be burnished
Not the result rather the act
What is going here

On that I yield to Marriam
Marriam-Webster tells it all
Sister in need, I call
"Synonyms for burnished

Burnish 'til I glisten
Really though I love being rubbed
Rub my feet any day

Or my back or my neck
Shoulders cry, "Never get enough" 
This kitten purrs for you 
_ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Marian in the Imaginary Garden at

 - Marian has suggested we write to one single prompt word, "Burnished".

Wednesday, November 06, 2019

A "what I am" Poem for Midweek Motif

What am I?

What I am is what you see
Not always what I liked to be
All alive see Red differently
What they learned on Mama's knee

Red is the same in chemistry
How each has seen from infancy
and now it makes no difference why
Grass is green blue is the sky

What I am is what you see
Not always what you'd like for me
Things are different if it's a crime
Bad is bad but some is worse

Remember I'm not your slave
If you don't like how I behave
For you then changes I might cede
If I don't then one could leave

What I am is what you see
Please keep me for eternity 
 _ _ _ _

- Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2014 (link) and 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I am linked with Susan at Poets United Midweek Motif

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Monday, November 04, 2019

A Poem -- The Wolf

Wolf on (My) Wall 

Guarded by the wolf on his wall 
Safe from the bad his wolf would howl 
From bright mornings through the dark nights  
Brave wolf was there easing his frights 

The wolf could scare away all bad 
Growl, howl, even bite for his lad 
Rain, snow and hot sun boy could call 
Big Gray Wolf was there standing tall 

He'd guarded the dad now the son 
A hundred years old feared no gun 
Loved by the town not to be downed 
Painted for them artist renowned 

This boy has grown, feeble and frail 
Big Gray Wolf hangs above the rail 
_ _ _ 

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved 
 - I am linked with Sherry Blue Sky in the Imaginary Garden at 
 - This morning I dug my old picture out for a photo-op.   It is waiting to be hung again, "above the rail."  I have embellished but the print is over a hundred years old.  My sister still thinks it is a scary picture. We are old but not real frail.

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Sunday, November 03, 2019

A November Poem for Pantry of Poetry and Prose juat Poets United


That First Kiss

I've got this thing
and your face reminded me again,
of trying and not ever knowing,

remember the first girl
I ever kissed
or vice versa. 

Can you yours?

I do remember a couple
of other firsts, critical two 
One in the first grade,
the other way after
I had dropped out of college

but I can't recall the first girl
I ever kissed
or vice versa

You might exchange the question,
boy for the girl  Was he handsome,
thin or muscular,
dark or light skinned,

or perhaps like your dad
or your brother (it may have been him)

so can you remember then
the first boy that
you ever kissed

I don't remember mine
I wish that I could
She's not a place holder
with the numbers in my mind

She may have been
the girl in the first grade,
the one who took me
by my hand down into
the storm cellar steps

but if she was
I don't remember
that (part)

so can you remember then
the first girl or boy that
you ever kissed

 _ _ _

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2011 and 2019 respectively, All Rights Reserved 
 - I am linked with Magaly Guerrero in the Pantry of Poetry and Prose at Poets United, 

 - The street you see becomes London's Abbey Road ahead at the corner.  That corner crossing is the one pictured on the Beatles prized album jacket.  We were staying with our daughter and her family in a flat building over the sidewalk fence.

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Wednesday, October 30, 2019

A Poem not scary for Midweek Motiff

Ghosts and Ghouls 
To all the ghosts and ghouls who hear 
I've never believed you were real 
Though some may say they're surrounded 
by your howls and persistency 

Mother never taught me of you 
She was silent on the subject 
She'd have told had I need to know 
That's all because you were not there 

Growing up my life was simple 
Jack-o-lanterns and skeletons 
they graced our steps just like our kin's  
There's still no need for ghosts or ghouls 

Don't say I'm a Halloween Scrooge 
I have no fear for what is not 
 _ _ _ _ 

 - Photo and Poem Copyright,  Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Sanaa Rizvi  at Poets United Midweek Motiff,

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Monday, October 28, 2019

An Ode -- Poem for the Quince

Photo from Wikiedia
[click to enlarge, once or twice]
"Still-life of quinces"
Vincent Van Gogh

Ode to a Fruit

Oh that I'd eat all the fruits that I like 
Apples oranges and grapes my delight
Some are strange like the yellow fellow Quince
Not real pretty eating raw makes one wince

But baked in a pie they are O so good
A wide slice will be sweet soft and gooey
Find them in France growing near St. Remy
Van Gogh painted himself a bowl of them 

Oh that I'd eat all the fruits that I like 
Eat them raw but for Quince in pie I'll bake
 _ _ _

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Kerry O'Connor in the Imaginary Garden at

 - Kerry wrote of the scientific principle of "metamodernism" and of it's place in poetry.   My writing today makes a 180 degree turn around which sort of fits in.

 - My inspiration was from reading "an Ode to the Quince"  published in "The Tree Hugger", October 19, 2019, click here , by Melissa Breyer, managing editor (her Bio). Wikipedia article

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Wednesday, October 23, 2019

A Poem for Artistic Interpretations

At the Seashore
by S. Anderson

Pretty Pebbles

Pretty stones near the river's edge
lying where put by the currents
There's purple reds and pearly greens
Azure blue one tortoise shell white
Small heart shaped snitch it for the sweet

When they're wet they're glistening pearls 
though when they're dry they're sandpaper 
Giant green stone like jade it looks 
Gem for sure polish it at home 
Will they come looking, foreign jail 

_ _ _ 

 - Poem and Bottom Two Photos Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019 and 2016, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Margaret in the Imaginary Garden at
 - Margaret displayed photos of various art pieces, Alcohol Inks,  that were on display at Boone, N.C.    I chose the top picture, by "Anderson" of pretty pebbles at the water's edge for writing ideas.
 - You can see more Alcohol Inks at Margaret's link above.


Wednesday, October 16, 2019

A Poem for World Food Day

Eating Etiquette 101; 
  where you from? 


Why do you eat chicken that way
Don't you know it is much better
when you eat while holding it with
your fingers

Reasons come by the multitudes 
Main one being of course is that
Fingers were made before your forks
And that way when you're done you can
lick your fingers 


But here's my reason for the fork 
Major, differences in locale 
Our upbringing tells the story 
mine north of Mason-Dixon line 
while you're from the South 
 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - Photo is a Shrimp Poboy with Fries and ColeSlaw taken by my brother-in-law as served by the RALPH & KACOO's Seafood Resturant, just North of Houston, at Lufkin, Tx. .... YUMMY!!
 - I'm linked with Susan with  Poets United Midweek Motiff  ~ The Food We Eat at

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Monday, October 14, 2019

My poem, boyhood of prairie life

Prairie Boy 

Born on the prairie 
in an upstairs bedroom 

Sod busters came there 
early eighteen hundreds 

Seven miles from town 
share cropper mom and dad 

One twenty acres 
Eastern Nebraska hills 

Too small for a horse 
he rode his bike to school 

First girl friend was there 
Storm cellar clandestine  

Changed schools for high school 
rode horse grades nine ten 

He helped on the farm 
and milked cows year around 

Last two years in town 
he earned a scholarship 

End of prairie life 
Jimmy had made big town 
 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright,  Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Marian in the Imaginary Garden at

 - This what came to mind after reading my environment growing up as glorified in the link above.  My growing up years in a Nutshell Poem.   I could elaborate on any verse but no need to boar you more.
 - I won't rewrite or change as I am in the middle of on-line completion of my continuing education for my annual Texas State Bar licences renewal.

Saturday, October 12, 2019

A Poem today for a One Word Prompt


A destroyer by invention
Never has built or constructed
Tears things apart and people kills

Like food chain pyramid members
Consumer* dynamite would be
With the law and against the law

Come fireworks or revolvers
Sparkler toys or bad guys' weapems 
Depends on whose hands are holding 

 _ _ _

 - Poem Copyright,  Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I am linked with Marian in the Imaginary Garden at

* "... groups of organisms that might compose a food chain. ... Producers — bring energy from nonliving sources into the community. (or) Primary consumers — eat the producers, which makes them herbivores in most ..." (Google's answer for a "food chain member" search) 

Thursday, October 10, 2019

A Poem for Midweek Motiff

First Hour of My Day

One day after another
are they any different
I'm awake sixteen minutes
before the alarm,

seems there's no snoozing
anymore so I turn it off
and get up

Making the coffee is a matter
of pushing a button,
I prepare it the night before

The TV's on from last night
I dare not turn it off for fear
it won't come on again

My first breakfast is the same
as yesterday and the day
before, the small half of the
granola bar

With the bar and coffee in
hand I settle in the chair
on the left, I always sit there,
my feet go up, network news
just started

Mesmerized I sit chew
swallow and sip
until the bar and coffee are
down, glad I didn't
get up any earlier

Had I done that I would have
heard of the killings here
during the night,
six or sixteen it might
have been,
one police death perhaps

Doesn't count those
killed by car

Watch world threats by bully
leaders, seems they aren't
heeded anymore,
see which country
was invaded while I slept

They talk about coffee being
short--will supply and demand
rule or should we ration

King of Sian takes another wife

and pay the water bill due today

I hobble to the kitchen for
another cuppa, seems I've left
my cane in the loo
retrieve the cane coffee in
hand settle down and wait
for the Mate to awake

Signed, sealed,
first hour of my day
 _ _ _

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I am linked with Rommy in the Poets United   Midweek Motif  at

 - For more Daily Grind routines for Rommy click on the link above

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Tuesday, October 08, 2019

A Poem of Lament

I want to heal, I want to feel
What I thought was never real
I want to let go of the pain I felt so long
(erase all the pain til it's gone)
I want to heal, I want to feel,
Like I'm close to something real
I want to find something
I've wanted all along
Somewhere I belong
(Somewhere I Belong -- partial lyrics, by Linkin Park)
_ _ _ _ _

For that one and the music playlist by Sanaa at toads:

When There's Nowhere

What will I do
Where will I go
When will I know

Somewhere I belong
even though you've gone

My life is empty without you
I miss your touch and your feel
still I know
Somewhere I belong

Now that you're gone
and I've nothing left to own
nothing left of my feelings
feelings I had for you

But you're not here
and all I have to own

is in this little bottle
I'm taking contents now

And when I awake
there'll be another take
I don't know where it'll be
for sure you won't be

Goodbye now this world
Still even though I won't be
My remains here will be
but I will myself no longer be

You can cry for me now
I'm crying no more

Somewhere I belong
I'm finding it now
but not here ever more 

[Business Insider, 10/10/2019]
_ _ _

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved 
 - I'm linked with Sanaa Rizvi in the Imaginary Garden at 

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Sunday, October 06, 2019

An October Prose Poem for the Pantry of Prose at Poets United

The Little Girl at the Dollar Store

I had been reparking the car after letting The Misses out by the door. She went ahead to find some fake flowers for her mother's grave. As I walked into the Dollar Store I asked the clerk where the fake flowers were, but as she started to point the lady was interrupted with, "I'll take you there."

My rescuer was another lady in her late thirties pulling along a little girl about two. I think this little girl had not seen a man using a cane before to help him walk. She may not have seen a man a old as I was either. We will name her LGAT for "little girl about two"

We found The Misses coming back with eight dark red and twittering on the verge of orange. Very timely for this nice October month.  As the four of us walked rather leisurely to the cashier the mother and The Misses talked of burials and the upcoming Halloween holiday. But LGAT and I were eyeing each other with what is next with us?

I finally broke the ice and asked what she was going do to for Halloween. "Trick or Tweet" was her guarded answer. We didn't talk about me but in a bit I asked her about a costume, she said a witch.

Misses stepped in and asked her if she knew the song, "Witches on their Brooms*" but her answer showed she wasn't into listening to things like that (the only witch song I remembered then was the 1972 Eagles' tune, "Witchy Woman"). She did have several comments about witches that I really could not understand.

The Misses then asked her what she thought I should be so she said a witch also, though I think she wanted me to ride my cane like a broom. 

They left after their credit card was approved, without 'good-byes'. LGAT was walking half backwards half of the time trying to keep an eye on me. I am sure she will talk about us, me the more, and ask questions. I would have liked knowing of her grandparent's status.

LGAT may remember this episode for days, I will remember for years.

*YouTube song, "Witches with their Brooms" link
   _  _  _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I am linked with Magaly Guerrero in the Poetry Pantry at Poets United, 

 - Our instructions by Magaly were to write a prose poem of 369 words or less in the vein of the month of October.  I have exactly 369 words including the title.

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Friday, October 04, 2019

A Flash Poem of 55 Words


This bird's gonna die 
The gas is on 'cause 
I opened the valve  

I'll pull closed the door 
Turn the fatal key 
You're after the bird  

You can watch him die 
Go slowly to sleep 
Die, die, you are dead  

Throw the key back in 
Suicide they'll think  
Though murder it is 

 Ilk must die 
 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Kerry O'Connor in the Imaginary Garden at

 - At the above link Kerry has given us some information about an artist named "McMonster".  She has displayed one picture of his, an ink art work showing an owl watching some idle machinery from which came my idea for this poem. 

It is also time for Flash writing,  my offering has exactly 55 words not including the title.  

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Thursday, October 03, 2019

A Poem using three American Sentence Haiku poems

Now Mother is gone, away, there's no place to go, suitcases stay home

Without Mother dear she ruled matriarch supreme there was no other

Our mother has passed I am it, new matriarch, for that there's no book
_ _ _

- Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
- I am linked with Rommy in the Imaginary Garden at

 - Mrs. Jim's family is about to have another family reunion.  Since her mother passed Mrs . Jim is Matriarch Defacto.
 - The American Sentence Haiku has 17 syllables, preferably grouped in three clause order, 5, 7, and 5 syllables.  It is contained in one long sentence.

Friday, September 27, 2019

A Poem for the Weekend Mini Challenge


Maladroit, a fairly big word
for messed up or being clumsy
or the like--you can look it up

Maladroit, a word barely in
my working vocabulary
But it fits my direction goes

You see I hardly know left, right
My sister's that way too she says
that comes with "half dyslexia"

My problem first came to light when
I was marching in the Army
Left right left right your right left right ...

Those starts and turns were bad for me
I'd often hear, "Soldier put a
rock in your right hand." Not much help

And when I'm driving please don't say
"Turn left here," because we'll be through
the intersection way before

I think it out. Say "North or south."
When driving in France harder still
Please dont say to me "gauche et droite."

So now you can know why I wear
my watch on my right wrist. A 'Clunce'
_ _ _

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I am linked with Kim Russel in the Imaginary Garden at

 - The word, "Clunce".  I made it up,
"a hybrid wird produced when 'dunce' is mated with 'klutz'."
I first used it in another of my blogs, "Ask Dr. Jim (blog)",

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Thursday, September 26, 2019

A Poem for Midweek Motif

The Birds and ... 

The birds and the bees
I never was told

My father started
but then he said, son
you've watched cows and pigs  

The birds and the bees
I never quite knew
The birds fly high and
little bees fly low

Busy buzzing bees 
sweet smelling flower 
blooms make honey sweet

Pretty birds are nice
find worms for the nest
and make stinky poo
And if size matters
then it's large and small
Feathers or fuzzy  

There had to be more
The Birds and the Bees
 "S" word was the clue for school boys and girls

 Wikipedia was interesting
I tried not much help
 (Thomas Carew first user) 
 _ _ _
 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Sumana Roy at Poets United, Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Honey / Bee,

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