Cats -- Guido Vedovato

I call this one, "Alley Cat, a Cat of the Night" (link)

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Cats and then Cats;
and then 'cats' painted by Guido Vedovato

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Yellow cats we have seen

White ones, grey and black too

Striped, spotted, solid

Calico  cats I love

They're yellow, black, and brown 

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God can make a kitten

And grow him big and strong

Some can draw a cat nice

The idea is plain,

can we can tell it's a cat? 

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Some are scrawny stick cats,

others elegant and

suitable for framing

Modern art changes that

Guido Vedovato**

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His, perched on braided rugs

Fuzzy plush toys they seem

Squeeze please and I'll squeal

Colorful, spotted cats

Like ones God doesn't make

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Picture, Poem Copyright, © 2012, 2014 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

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**Note:  Click on that link to see a few of Vedovato's cats

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I'm linked with Fireblossom Friday's Challenge at the Real Toads again where another "naïve" painter (and sculptor), the Italian artist Guido Vedovato was presented.

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The challenge was to "Take a look at these paintings by Guido Vedovato and see what poems you may feel inspired to write!" Due to stringent copyright restrictions, we were asked not to post any of his art work.

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I have several cat posts on my other blog, Jim's Little Blog.  You can see a few here.

Guido Vedovato
Wikipedia (Creative Commons)

Adelle's Pony

Adelle's Pony

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Adelle had a small pony

That there was no such critter

Adelle wouldn't hear of it

The pony followed Adelle

Wherever she was to go 

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The pony would make water

Whenever they were to go

No one ever saw the horse

But Adelle swore he was real

Wet and round puddles, they were 

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Those puddles proved to Adelle

The pony she had was real

No one ever saw the wet

Doesn't matter she would say

He's a boy, boys make puddles

 

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..Picture and Poem Copyright, © 2014 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

Today I'm linked with Susie Clevenger's Real Toads, Bits Of Inspiration ~ Maya Deren

Two of Maya Deren's poems (titled):

"Never Alone

1. Never alone! Never alone! There’s always somebody near Someone will follow me close to my bone. I’m never alone! Never alone! 

2. You may think that you are alone, But there’s always somebody near. That somebody finds out your secrets with ease, To your drawers he has all the keys.

3. ..."

"Untitled 
 
When rains come down to flood the town And earnest citizens really ought’er try to make and keep things sort’er dry…  I make water. 

When water’s rare and cattle’s dying and I’m as thirsty as can be and long for some water in me— God-damn it!  I still pee."

(a surprise completion of Never Alone and more of her unpublished poems is here)

Maya  (April 29, 1917 – October 13, 1961) was strange for her day.  Her movies used photography tricks, she was into Voodoo and studied and wrote enough to be an expert in the field and filmed actual Vodoun rituals extensively in Haiti.  Maya died at age 44, probably of malnutrition. (more -- Wikipedia)

Susie's instructions were to "Select a photograph, her movie, or her poetry [for inspiration] (or all three) and create a new poem." I used the two poems I copied above for getting my ditty started. You can see I was in a much lighter vein than Maya ever was known to be.

My picture was taken of a youngster in bringing for evening rest one of the ponys a person can ride at the Vauxhall City Farm in Vauxhall, Lambeth, London, U.K. (link)  Entrance to the park to visit the animals is free as are most publicly owned facilities in London, including the museums.  There is a charge to ride the horses.

City Kids -- Grace's Sunday's Mini-challenge

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City Kids

 

Growing up through the cracks like clover, city kids they were. Almost wild, hatched on the sidewalk. Eggs dropped there by a bird.  Who their fathers were, nobody knows for sure.

 

Boys and girls, closely housed.  When they flowered that was another story.  Take advantage while you can. From the street, learn your lessons well was their motto. 

 

Some went on to become famous, others transplanted to homes on silk stocking row.  Still more spent their lives inches and yards away from their mama's home.

 

I was a lucky one, with a small bunch of others, we were plucked.  Plucked and away to become educated and married well (only some did the latter).  A few when plucked shriveled, died, and dried.

 

One thing I can say, I'm proud to be Irish, freckles, three and four leaves, and all.  

 

 

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I picked this clump of clovers from the sidewalk leading to downtown Killarney, Ireland.

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Pictures and Poem Copyright, © 2008 and 2014 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

 

Today I am linked with Kerry's Real Toads, Open Monday (link)
Sunday I linked with Grace's Sunday's Mini-challenge at the Real Toads (link)

 

Grace's challenge this weekend was to write about our insides with nature or season as inspiration. She said, "the prompt is wide open and feel free to use my title if it inspires you. Please write a new poem or prose poem or flash fiction (less than 250 words) and link up with Mr Linky."  My word count of this little prose poem is 140.

 

Note:  I am not Irish and did not grow up in the city.  A fourth of my blood is Manx (Corkhill family) although there was a great migration of the Irish to the Isle of Man in the 5th Century A.D.  Another fourth is English, with family names of Fletcher and Cram. The rest is German and undermined English ancestry.  And I grew up on a farm.

 

Originally I had posted these two pictures originally on Jim's Little Blog (link) in 2008.