Wednesday, October 29, 2014

Challenge -- Bits of Inspiration ~ Nightingale


I always loved Patti Page's rendition of Mocking Bird Hill.

Mocking Bird Under Your Window

I'm the mocking bird under your window
I'm singing my song to you, my sweet love
Tra la la, my dear love, won't you come down

If I were a boy I'd throw some pebbles
Their rippling effect on your window pane
An age old song there, whispers it's sweet song

Either way I'm singing my song, again
Again and again, until you come down
I'll hold you and kiss you, we'll kiss 'til morn

We will kiss until morning, feel our love
That love will be throbbing, throb in our hearts
Mocking bird I am, singing you my love

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- Poem Copyright, © 2014 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved;
- Photo from Susie Clevenger post, her from Wikipedia (below--http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/8/83/Luscinia_megarhynchos_Istria_01.jpg/800px-Luscinia_megarhynchos_Istria_01.jpg)

- I'm linked with Susie Clevenger at the Real Toads, Bits of Inspiration ~ Nightingale (link)

- Susie tells some things I didn't know about the Nightingale, then asked "What is your nightingale song?* Please write a new poem for the challenge..."

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- *My favorite Mockingbird song is Mocking Bird Hill, here are the lyrics:
(Do you remember the song?  Patti Page singing it?)

Mockin' Bird Hill

Tra-la-la, twiddly-dee-dee
It gives me a thrill
To wake up in the morning to the mockingbird's trill
Tra-la-la, twiddly-dee-dee
There's peace and goodwill
You're welcome as the flowers on Mockin' Bird Hill

When the sun in the morning
Peeps over the hill,
And kisses the roses 'round my windowsill
Then my heart fills with gladness
When I hear the trill
Of the birds in the treetops on Mockin' Bird Hill

Tra-la-la, twiddly-dee-dee
It gives me a thrill
To wake up in the morning to the mockingbird's trill
Tra-la-la, twiddly-dee-dee
There's peace and goodwill
You're welcome as the flowers on Mockin' Bird Hill

When it's late in the evening,
I climb up the hill
And survey all my kingdom while everything's still
Only me and the sky -- and an old whippoorwill
Singin' songs in the twilight on Mockin' Bird Hill

Tra-la-la, twiddly-dee-dee
It gives me a thrill
To wake up in the morning to the mockingbird's trill
Tra-la-la, twiddly-dee-dee
There's peace and goodwill
You're welcome as the flowers on Mockin' Bird Hill

Tra-la-la, twiddly-dee-dee
There's peace and goodwill
You're welcome as the flowers on Mockin' Bird Hill


( http://www.songlyrics.com/page-patti/mockin-bird-hill-lyrics/ )

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Sunday, October 19, 2014

Sunday Mini-Challenge & Open Link Monday posts


 
A Grain of Love

It was love at first sight, she thought.
A fiery hot courtship followed, she was persistent,
their being together nearly night and day.
Wedding bells' gongs screaming
in her head, begging for fruition.
.
Our handsome young lad was making noises,
sounds of another kind, Please Mary, I need ...
When she'd hint of that blissful day he fidgeted,
coughed lowly, and begged her leave.
Worried a little she took her stand.
Devious it might be, invitations to stay increased.
  .
Oh John, O John, hold me tighter,
I love you so became her consistent whisper.
Whispered softly in his ear.
Night after night, passion abounding,
Oh Johnny, do you love me too?
  .
It took a measured while but then one night,
his wine-breathed whisper barely sounding,
I love you too, Mary, I love you too.
With wedding thoughts more intense,
she dreamed of that day,
surely coming very soon.
  .
Months had passed then her thoughts quickly changed.
  .
She'd have to ask and ask she did.
Veiled at first with feigned humor,
talk about the rabbit dying.
Made no sense to John. Come, come to me,
I'll get you a new one tomorrow.
Johnny, it isn't a real rabbit.  
No, my test said "a happy day is coming."
  .
Later that night when John was with the guys,
they told him what she had meant.  
Oh damn, O da...  He texted her that night,
gibberish about a fast job change in another town.
I'll text you when I land and
send you some money soon when I can.
 .
I am sorry. Be seeing you.
  .
Mary's note they found.
Nothing in it made much sense. 
One line "to John,"
 .
"Was there one, even one grain of love?"
 .
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Photo, Poem Copyright, ©  2011, 2014 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

- I'm linked with Kerry at the Real Toads, Sunday Mini-Challenge: In Other Words (Link)
- There Kerry picked a couple of novels, I am writing mine in honor of her second selection,
A Grain of Wheat, a novel by Kenyan novelist Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o
and again Monday
- with Kerry at the Real Toads, Open Link Monday (Link)
 

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Wednesday, October 08, 2014

Dog and squirrel games -- Challenge writing

 
Dog and squirrel fun
 
Little squirrel, I hope you'll come down
Down from your tree so we can play
We'll play some more but no more chase
Game of chase, you ran up that tree
 
A new game for us, follow me
We run and run and when we're done
I take you gently by your neck
Game of shake, a dog's show of love

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Photo Copyright, © 2008 Jimmiehov (link) and Poem Copyright, © 2014 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

Today I'm linked with Kerry at the Real Toads, If Only They Could Talk (Link)
and
on Monday with Magaly at the Real Toads, Open Link Monday (Link)

Kerry's Challenge:  "reimagine an iconic literary character or monologue as presented from the point of view of a close animal companion (or one that just happens to be passing by). Alternately, you may like to write a poem about yourself from your pet's perspective. Have fun with this idea - the only stipulation is that the narrative voice of the poem be non-human."
Katrin is our 14-year-old Toy Poodle.  She was eight when the picture was taken and the dog/squirrel game of "chase" ended with the squirrel up the tree.  Katrin was new then to us, she was given to us, when the former owner died we were her choice. (more Katrin posts HERE)
Adi,  my beagle dog (she died a couple of years ago) shows us how dogs play the game of "shake": (more Adi posts HERE)
 [from my YouTube postings: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEGXiWws33E&list=PL38B949635D7A06A8
 


My iconic literary character?  It might be one of Edgar Allen Poe's "victims",
i.e., "The Pit and the Pendulum".

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Monday, October 06, 2014

Open Link Monday -- Abou Ben Adhem


. . . [please click on the picture to make it a bit larger]
. . . . . . . . [ -- I am the boy in the back row]
 
 
By Leigh Hunt 1784–1859 Leigh Hunt
 
Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold:—
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?"—The vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow men."
 
The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blest,
And lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest

Poem copied from the Poetry Foundation, http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/173698

The picture above was my annual "school picture."  I believe that I was in the fifth grade, our school taught eight grades but some were empty.  I was five when I started.  My sister, Lois (link), is front row right, standing near the teacher.  She was four or five, depending on when the picture was taken, and had started in the first grade.

This was the second and longer poem that I had ever memorized. (My first poem memorized was "Trees" by Joyce Kilmer).
I had come to like this poem and somehow I applied it to my life.  It probably calmed for life some of my bad side bones and helped set my personality. 

The poem was in an old poetry book that I found rummaging upstairs in an unused bookcase.  The bookcase had belonged to my father's aunt, Aunt Minnie. The book was either hers or my mom's from her younger days.
I still have that little book, a paperback, someplace packed away for now.

Here is some author material the bottom from the bottom of the page linked to above:

"RELATED CONTENT

Discover this poem’s context and related poetry, articles, and media.

Poet - Leigh Hunt 1784–1859

POET’S REGION - England

SCHOOL / PERIOD - Romantic
Poetic Terms - Couplet"
_ _ _ _ _

Monday, I am linked with Kerry at the Real Toads, Open Link Monday (link)

Her Challenge: "Do you have a poem that you would like to share with us today? (see above) Please link up a piece of your choice and join us in reading and responding to the best of online poetry. (see below)"
_ _ _ _ _
 
Abou Ben Adhem
Leigh Hunt, my inspiration
Stayed with me for life
Old book of poetry mine
One treasure never stolen

Tanka poem and School picture Copyright, © 2014, 2010, Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

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Sunday, October 05, 2014

Museuming -- Flash 55



Museuming  

Day when he got to Albi,
Expectations running high,
Was ready to get his fill.
 
His fill of Henri Lautrec,
Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec.
Little problem, parking space.
 
Henri was to wait his turn
For want of a parking space.
Lautrec, had his fill, and then,
 
Paul Cézanne surprise for him
in Albi's Lautrec Museum

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Photos Copyright, © 2009 Jimmiehov (link) and Poem Copyright, © 2014 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

Today I am linked with Fireblossom at the Real Toads, Flash Fiction 55 (link)
Monday, I am linked with the Real Toads, Open Link Monday (link)
 
Her challenge:  "write a poem (I chose this) or a piece of flash fiction (next time again), about any subject, and in any form, as long as it is comes to exactly 55 words!"

Well, with the title I am sitting at exactly 55 words.  Classified as fiction, it very well could be true.  I know.  [Scrunched face.]
You don't need to tell me, I know that museum is not a verb.  But here, using poetic license, I made Museuming to be one.  For more Lautrec posts, click here, for a little of our Spring 2009 Europe Vacation click here.
As are other museums with all museums having clasics, the old masters works, Allbi's (France) Lautrec Museum is a place to spend at least half a day (link).   I never tire of 'museuming' in Europe's old art museums.


 


Paul Cézanne surprise
(click on any picture for larger view)

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Monday, September 22, 2014

Open-Link-Mondays -- The Sun



The day the sun didn't rise

An ordinary day it seemed to be
The star lights were put out, all wicks were snuffed
Morning dew on grass, deer's last time for wet
.
Ducks in  the pond, diving for the big fish
Commuters' long drives were nearly ended
Darker than norm this day, street lights still lit
.
Calling from beyond, Sun was sleeping in
Commerce came to a halt, greed froze in place
Couldn't see in dark, folk went back to bed
.
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Photos and Poem Copyright, © 2014 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved
.
Today I'm linked with  at the Real Toads, Open Link Monday (link)

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Sunday, September 21, 2014

..

Does it hurt when  
.
Does it hurt when your buds burst
That it might, it all depends
Depends on the meaning of
The meaning of the word burst
.
I walked down to the valley
Wanting to see my lover
Yet that would be all so wrong
My buds were bursting with, guess
.
Did I see my lover there
Dying for love, I could not
Did my buds go down bursting
Hyperboles they, could not
.
 _ _ _ _ _ _

Photo and poem copyright, © Jimmiehov 2014, all rights reserved

Today I'm linked with at the Real Toads, Sunday Mini-challenge (link)

Bjorn's challenge was to find one of her poems, available online at a karinboye.se, and write something that the poem inspired us to write.  I chose her poem, "Yes, of course it hurts," from which the first line goes like this: "Yes, of course it hurts when buds are breaking."  You can read the entire poem in English here:(http://www.karinboye.se/verk/dikter/dikter/ja-visst-gor-det-ont.shtml).

Notes:
-- The flowers, complete with 'buds', were given by our daughter, Karen, to Mrs. Jim as she recuperated from a partial hip transplant.
-- Last Saturday she fell and broke her hip. Her surgery was Monday at St. Luke's Hospital in The Woodlands, Texas. Thursday "we" moved to a rehab center where the average stay for hip transplants is 10 days.
-- The baby tiger is a baby tiger named Mike, after Mike the Tiger of LSU mascot fame.

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Thursday, September 18, 2014

Alphabe-Thursday (4th), the letter "R"



 
"R" is for racing.  This is a 1965 Ford Shelby Cobra.  It has been a while since I took the picture, I cannot remember whether it is the real thing or a modern made replica. ( Idea link )
 
 
This is a 1934 Ford Three Window Coupe.  In the mid 50's we raced one of these on an oval dirt track in Lincoln Nebraska.  Mostly I worked on the car but occasionally I was able to drive it.
 
Our car was a modified stock class car.  That meant we could "hop" it up using any means that would not show.  The car had a bored and stroked Ford V8 engine.  This increased the displacement of the engine giving it more power.  All the work was done inside so that nothing would show.
 
The engine burned alcohol with nitroglycerin mixed in with it.  It was such  cool running fuel that the carbonator would often be covered with frost.
 
We were allowed to cut off the fenders and to  put on more heavy duty bumpers. We cut the fenders to be much thinner, sticking out only about four inches.  The inside was gutted and only one racing seat was installed.
 
We had it painted a light blue, almost baby blue.  Our number "88" was painted in black on the doors and on the trunk lid. We had two sponsors, one for the engine and car  and the other furnished our tires.
 
The car would often win its heat races but seldom would it win the "A" feature race.  Most often we would hold it back or I would drive it so that it would win 3rd or 4th in the heat race so that it could run in the "B" feature race.  We could win on that level quite often.
 
I do not know what happened to that car.  The engine blew but we put a sleeve in the damaged cylinder and put the engine into a nice 1940 Ford Coupe.  That car was a nice street racer
 
Our next "88" car was a 1936 Chevy Coupe with a 302 GMC engine made to look like a bored GMC 270 engine.  Any engine 300 cubic inches or larger had to run in the model car that it could have come from.  This was to keep out the 1950's Oldsmobile and Cadillac large overhead valve engines.  The 1950's cars were way too heavy for racing on our 3/8 mile oval dirt track.
 
A practical benefit of working with the racing cars was that I learned to work on my own cars.  I built a 'hot rodded' engine for my 1952 Ford that would outrun any 1955 or 1956 Chevy with the new overhead valve V8 engines.
 
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Today I am linked again (this is the first one of the fourth series for me) with Teacher Jenny at her Alphabet Thursday Letter "R" blog (Link)  (My Older series post links, 1st, 2nd, 3rd)

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Saturday, September 13, 2014

Artistic Challenge Poem, Ruby

Ruby was, Ruby is

Ruby is my stone, Ruby was my love
I didn't pick her, Ruby picked moi
Ruby was keen on me when I was young
Not old in years, but older than her years
 
We'd known each other, it seemed a long while
Then that night, one that boys do remember 
Ruby's gone away, no way I'll find her
Though Ruby picked me, I didn't pick her
 
She left a rock, rock no one else can have
Placed near my heart I keep it there for her

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Poem Copyright, © 2014 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

Picture courtesy Wikipedia, picture link,  http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/0/0d/Ruby_cristal.jpg/640px-Ruby_cristal.jpg (Wikipedia Ruby Article link)

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Today I'm linked with
 
 

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Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Out of the Standard Challenge


 Sister, Do You Love Your Brother?
 
Awake, he didn’t know since when
Half dressed, bathroom duties called him
But when he flushed all Hell began
Water was gushing everywhere
 
He tried to shut the water down
Pulled the thing off the wall instead
Water stopped, why he didn’t know
‘Twas his sister’s house, should he tell?
 
Next he knew it was time for school
Raining now, polished theme was due
Half mile, sister wouldn’t drive him
Walk in rain? No way, he’s retired
 
Leaving now, water everywhere
Too deep in spots, detours abound
Call his sister? He may come back
And hope she’d forgiven his mess
 
(Soft alarm) "Ring" (Louder) "Ring, ring"
(Very loud) "Ring, ring." . ..  I was 'he'.

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Photos and Poem Copyright, © 2014 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

- - - - - 
Today I'm linked with at the Real Toads, Out of Standard (link)
 
Izzy's Real Toad post today was entitled, You could have done better....Out of Standard (link--same as above).  Her challenge instructions were short and direct, "Write a poem or piece of fiction which encapsulates a lie you could have told better."  The above is all a lie, it is a dream I had early this morning, just before I woke up.  I left out a lot, and embellished some a bit. 
 
There was water still coming when the scene changed to leaving for school, from the bottom pipes and from the wall cabinet above.  We weren't headed for school when Sis said no ride, but rather were trying to leave for our home.  Seemed the whole world was flooded.  My dream didn't get us back to her house but we were thinking about that. 
 
Seems a lot of my dreams about my missing either a class or a day at the University of Nebraska (I at one time had a recurring dream like this) .  I did miss a lot of classes because I was someplace playing chess instead.  Maybe that's why I dream these kind of dreams.

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