Friday, August 29, 2014


Mount Franklin's Peak;
fun mountain climb memories

I'm having memories again this day
Memories of El Paso and it's hill
Mount Franklin beckoned me oft before
I would climb the mountain, rocks and all
Then the cable car I'd ride back down
I'll climb no more though return I might
Will be in the little orange cage
Up and down, this time I'll ride both ways,
Titanium knee, creaking joints, they beg
Please do leave the climb for younger folk

Picture credits:
Top:  Summit Posts, Ranger Peak
Poem copyright, © Jimmiehov 2014, all rights reserved

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Today I'm linked with 

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Wednesday, August 27, 2014

She's a Bit Weird? -- A Limerick

She picks up quarters with her toes
Has followings where ere she goes
Her friends are getting skeered*
They say she's a bit weird
Think not, my tongue touches my nose
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Photo and poem copyright, © Jimmiehov 2014, all rights reserved

Today I'm linked with Mama Z. at the Real Toads, Words Count (Link)

She  said, "The older I get, the easier it is for me to admit that I'm a little weird. Yes, I can pick up a quarter using only my toes. Yes, I'm a water sign that hates the water. And, yes, I do watch Fox News just to ...  See?  A little weird."
"What about you?  Are you a little weird, too?  Do tell . . . in 46 words or less."

My little Limerick has 31 words plus four in the title (post header). Guess I made under 46.

*  Skeered, '"It's the writer's way of imitating the strange accent of one of his characters. "Skeered" = "scared".' (Google Search)

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Sunday, August 24, 2014

A Fib(onacci) Poem

Meet you at ...

At the
Melon patch
Bring your spoon, some salt
We'll eat our fill, go for a dip
Then we'll dress and go to a show
When things start to slow
Pucker up

Photo and poem copyright, Jimmiehov 2014, all rights reserved
Today I'm linked with Margaret at the Real Toads, Play it Again (link)
And now on Monday I'm linked with Kerry at the Real Toads, Open Link Monday (link)
-  like to "Play it Again, Toads!" where one may select a challenge from the three (prior challenges that Margaret has selected). 
- I chose # 2 (link) which says, "The Fib(onacci) - imagined by Hedgewitch."  Syllable length is based on the Fibonacci Sequence (math majors love these, I have a math minor with 21 college hours of math.  Differential Equations was my final course [that I passed]). 
- My "Fib" poem today is 1/1/2/3/5/8 syllables, then I reversed the number sequence after 8 syllables for a 12-line 'poem'.

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Wednesday, August 20, 2014


Walt and Henry and Jim and Sarah 
They were working on the form gang that summer. Walt and Henry were Omaha Indians who lived on the reservation. Jim was a student who needed a Summer job, one that paid good.
Sarah was another student who had said in a class with Jim that she wanted not to be married and that she would teach her children to do the same. She hung out with guys on the paving crew that summer, and sure enough when fall came Sally was expecting child. And not married.
Walt was a young Indian buck who after payday wouldn't come back to work the next day.  He smoked cigarettes and drank his booze.  Indians have a bad reputation for their booze, but on this job he did just fine.
Henry was old and wise. He would sit while on a break and pull out whiskers that he could find. This he did by pinching them in his spring from an old window roll-up shade and then pulling them out.  He didn't have many to pull. He said that Indians don't have very much facial hair. Jim had  sometimes pretended to be an Indian and this learning spell about Indian hair gave him doubts but what he was indeed part Indian himself.
There was an old Ford truck that at first only Walt drove.  Filled it up with forms and took them upfront where another gang would make a rail-combo-form to use the next day.  The mixer rode the rails, from Tekamah to Craig, making cement along the way.  That was a long three month task, just right for a summer job.
Jim had another summer job the year before.  His foreman got nasty one day, before a bunch of girls and young ladies working with him in the corn fields detasseling the seed corn.  And he invited Jim to play.  Jim declined his game and the nastiness ended right there.  Jim called it an "escapade almost," but there were no accolades for him for saying no.
Jim learned a lot that summer from working and talking with those Indians.  But ask him what he learned and he'll only remember for his telling that those Indians are nice fellows who worked very hard, were clean, well mannered, and for sure they didn't play nasty games. 
And that one, young man Walt, taught Jim how to drive that form truck that they had named Hot Rod.  It wasn't for certain that Henry knew how to drive.  Oh yes, Sarah proved to the town that the paving crew was up to no good and that they should keep their daughters reined in.

This is a true story the best I can remember.  Some of the names I changed.

[click on pictures to enlarge]
Photos and poem copyright, Jimmiehov 2014, all rights reserved
Today I am linked with Susie Clevenger at the 
Susie challenged us to appreciate and help disseminate "the voices of Native Americans. They have a profound connection to earth, nature, spirit, and wisdom."  Then she listed some profound quotations by some of the Indian folks. 
A quote she posted that may be appropriate for today's revelations here might be:
'"What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset." - Blackfoot.'  
Very likely I ("Jim") am the only one now living of these four characters as they were all older than me, even "Sarah" I believe.
I wrote of a highway paving summer job experience where I worked alongside a couple of Native Americans for my specialized job as a 'form gang' member.  "Sarah" was not employed by the paving company and not even seen by the American Indians but was affected by the other workers' presence in our town.

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Monday, August 18, 2014

Love (# 1) (reposted, formerly June 3, 2010)

Magaly talked of her first poem. My assignment, the first, over at One Single Impression--now dormant--was to write a love poem. I had never written one so I Googled for instructions.
I linked this poem with her, Magaly, at the Real Toads, Monday Open Link (link)

These, which are integrated into my work, served me, the novice, just fine. (I had dabbled before but not published, not even on-line.)
The picture I included, it was our wedding photo.  All family, except my best man.

Mr. and Mrs. Jim's wedding picture
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They said to write a love poem

To my sweetest, my blossom true
wanting to write you a love poem
telling you how much I love you
fingers to keys sweet words to come

tell how you felt when first you saw her
I will try to write a love poem

When first we met my heart went wild
no tender little pitty-pat
but one long jolt you caused, my child,
a bolt from the blue hit my chest

how you knew it was her you loved
It came one day into my head
Listen to my arrow pierced heart
my life will never be the same
Dan Cupid hit me on the mark
that arrow had your name

tell now about being with her

My life is whole a life complete
I need you always by my side
dearer than chocolate you're so sweet
love you always will you're my pride

are you happy with what you wrote?

If I could only write a poem
if I had the sweet words I felt
if I could now put them to print
there would be a love poem for you

discarded thoughts that didn't fit?

Many thoughts I dropped one thing sure
I love you to Heaven above
you can do no wrong you're so pure
I can't live without you my love

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Photo and Poem Copyright
© 2010 Jimmiehov
All Rights Reserved

Note:  Now that I've posted this one I did find some other poems that I wrote and posted for One Single Impression.  The first one that I can find is about an outhouse, which way for ladies and which for the men. 
It was titled "Doorway".  (link)  I wrote that one back on June 29, 2008.  There were also some more after that and before the one I posted again here today. (first posted this on link)
Ooma mow mow
Prompt suggested by Melanie at Cassiopeia Rises
I love her
Find more poems at One Single Impression using "Love" as prompt

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Wednesday, August 13, 2014

Get Listed - August - Carpe Diem -- Real Toads

Robin Williams died this Monday. 
The headlines are saying, "Robin Williams dead.
at 63."  That was Monday. 
This is today, Wednesday, 
the headlines are saying many things.

We will miss him.
I like it best said and not lived as Sylvia Plath
put it in her now mortal poem, Lady Lazarus:
"Soon, soon the flesh
The grave cave ate will be
At home on me
At home on me And I a smiling woman.   
I am only thirty.
And like the cat I have nine times to die."
Sylvia Plath did not attain those nine lives, not even four. 
She took her life when she was 30 and
could not wear her skin again ever. 
Only her poem is mortal.
Robin Williams died at age 63, he took his own life.  
I suppose Robin Williams never read Ms. Plath's poem,
if he did he would see the folly.  Instead, he is dead today. 
The headlines of the tomorrows will have passed
pretty much over Mr. Williams,
will history remember him at all? 
Life goes on. 
Mainly noble persons, barbaric villains, and authors
will be in the encyclopedia, home to those remembered.
And mainly the generations alive today
will be the ones who remember Robin Williams. 
They will tell of their favorite movie they watched, perhaps
even bought.  My favorite was RV, a 2006 film, really funny.
The List today is dreary today.  A soul has passed,
passed from earth to who knows where. 
I believe there are only two, perhaps three places it can go: 
Heaven, Hell, Purgatory

May he RIP.  We are missing you.

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Poem copyright, ©  Jimmiehov 2009, 2014, all rights reserved
Robin Williams picture credit to Wikipedia, Robin Williams

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Today I am linked with

The List (of words I was encouraged to use here—I used four, dead, desperation, barbaric, and noble—I decided to write my first thoughts behind each of them):

worm - Wormwood, that junior temptor student to the Chief Demon Screwtape in C.S. Lewis's The Screwtape Letters. 
verse - Second verse, third line: TBD (i.e. you name it poem)
dreams - Broken, much crying and tears, hair pulling, ashes and torn clothes
suck - Life sucks
rout - Win the race, it's a rout, one way or the other for life
daring - Young man on the flying trapeze
caution - To the winds, 'p' on caution (have your ever driven 180 mph?  I have, on the German Autobaun)
seize - The moment, it may be your last
dead - These men don't talk.  Das ende, schluss (German, it is over)
desperation - Don't worry things WILL BE WORSE
barbaric - People with this propensity are presently trying to rule the world, their way only can be 
noble - This man may prevail.  Noble thinking at the least

Grapling's post: Get Listed - August - Carpe Diem
Theme: Robin Williams passed on August 11th, evidently a suicide.

Additional Reading:

Robin Williams was a 'genius so manic he said cocaine helped him keep calm' | Mail Online
References: (Sylvia Plath's poem, Lady Lazarus) (Does St. Peter really hold the keys to Heaven)

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Monday, August 11, 2014

Darkness comes

When darkness comes rats are ready
By the hundreds they've primped and groomed 
They're slinking around, teeth are sharp
Slick, greasy, dragging hairy tails 
Rats will come to your castle home
They will come to my shack as well 
Before the dusk we must prepare
Keep the lights on, they'll stay away
Photo, poem copyright, ©  Jimmiehov 2009, 2014, all rights reserved
Today I am linked with Grace at the Real Toads, Sunday's mini Challenge (link)

Grace introduced us to Gabriela Mistral and her poems.  This one of hers here below was inspiration for my attempt to show how it affected me.  I used the dusk idea, the animal too. 


I feel my heart melting
in the mildness like candles:
my veins are slow oil
and not wine,
and I feel my life fleeing
hushed and gentle like the gazelle.

I was also inspired by Ms. Mistral's poem, Woman:  The Mad One (click to read it, three pages long).  It is a tale of what a concubine woman would experience when her 'master' would come up the stairs for their conjugal visit.  Nothing explicit, much implied was her style of writing.  It was a little scary.

That in turn reminded me of the rats who used to come into the shack where I was on guard at a radar site out in the middle of the desert.  I was in the Army, stationed with a group who had several Nike Missile Radar sites scattered over a few thousand acres in Texas 

We took turns staying in the 'shack' pulling guard duty.  We were allowed to sleep.  But I would always keep the lights on which meant getting up, going out, and refueling the generators in the middle of the night.  Otherwise the RATS WOULD COME, running up and down the braces on the wall, nailed to the stud boards.  I think a few of did get bitten by rats.

Could never let the lights go out 
If so those rats would surely come

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Saturday, August 09, 2014



The telling of my skeletons
I love to tell of my skeletons, brash
Grotesque, once they roamed the prairies with pride
Instead today, they hang around my house
There is this other fellow
he's thriving in my closet

[click on pictures to enlarge]
Photos and poem copyright, Jimmiehov 2014, all rights reserved
Today I am linked with at the Real Toads, Artistic Interpretations (link)
Margaret has an excellent of post showing skeletons on display by various artists.  Go see (link).  She also has asked us for our "artistic  interpretations."  This was mine, very simple, like I am.
The steer head skull I have here is one I rescued from my 'bachelor son', Tim.  He had is laying under a tree in his front yard (garden to U.K. people) .  I had always wanted one and now have this one on my request.  Thanks, Tim.  The red is two-fold, a University of Nebraska flag, but it also represents the matador's cape just in case he could have had a Skelton in his closet.
We have a family skeleton our closet.  It belonged to Mom, she died with all the details, keeping it well.  I would have loved to have known more, she was a bit ashamed of it (or more perhaps like did not want to boast). 
There was this family, we believe with royalty, with a person in Mom's line who married out of favor and as a result was disowned.  There were two mysterious visitors who came, once when she was younger and still at home.  He was wearing a uniform, perhaps like a Prussian.  We don't know details of this visit. 
Then after WWII someone came, Dad said he was offering money which she declined.  Reparation funds we all think.  Sounds of a Charles Dickens' tale.  I loved reading Bleak House (Link).

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Wednesday, August 06, 2014

Good Customer? -- Work in progress


Day I remember, Macy's bag in hand
I went to the mall, present there to buy 
Object of my search nonchalantly passed
I didn't recognize a soul around

I had started this in hopes of a later poem.  The copied flyer was a part of Victoria Secret's Christmas Special.  I did buy Mrs. Jim a pair of pretty red checked PJ's for Christmas, then saved this one.  But then I didn't go back to use the free panty offer's coupon.

Mainly I'm not sure of where I'm going with it.  Secondly, I ran out of time the day I started.  Although it is based on a true experience, there will be additional information that may not necessarily be true.

Perhaps I should return to Victoria's and watch the men who came in, see how they act, what they do, and how they were treated.  When I came in I was treated very nicely with the clerk giving me some very useful suggestions.  But I did end up with the red PJ's shown in the flyer.
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Photo, poem, and explanation copyright, Jimmiehov 2014, all rights reserved
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Today I am linked in with at (Real Toads, Poems in Progress)(Link)
She said this for instructions: "...I am talking about poems that end mid sentence.  Perhaps the ones you started with a wowza first stanza, but then it just unraveled and fell flat.  The poems you think about once in a while with a twinge of guilt for leaving them unfinished...Those poems, I want them. ..."
"AND NOW FOR YOUR CHALLENGE--When posting your poem in progress, leave very specific instructions about where you are stuck, and let us know what you want feedback on.  Maybe even why you stopped writing or what you don’t like about what you have so far.
We toads will respond in kind with our feedback and thoughts to help you finish the poem (huzzah!)."

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Saturday, August 02, 2014

Flash Fiction 55 -- Little Grey Squirrel -- Open Link Monday

 [click on picture for larger view-click again for larger still]
Little Grey Squirrel, Stopped 
Little grey Squirrel, stopped on my back porch
He wants to see what he can see from there
Was a brown dog out back, ready to bark
I know he'd like to chase me up his tree
Where's the calico kitten's milk today
She always shares her milk with me, my friend
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Photo and poem copyright, Jimmiehov 2014, all rights reserved
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Today I am liked with Fireblossom at the Real Toads, Flash Fiction 55 (Link)
She said this for instructions: "...write a poem or a piece of flash fiction in exactly fifty-five words, no more, no less. Any subject; children, shoes, nervous breakdowns, whatever..."
Update:  Linked in again with Magaly (Real Toads Open Link Monday)(Link)

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