Saturday, March 03, 2018

At the big ditch -- a Poem for Sunday


Young folk;
at the big ditch
Sunning on the bank of the big ditch
they laid in the sun and talked
They were too young to be romantic
but true romantic they showed

He picked her white ripe dandelions ripe
white fuzzy domes she would blow
She would cool his brow when he sweat
her hanky dipped in the stream

Time to go yellow flowers he picked
bouquet for his sweet young friend
Hand in hand slowly they walked the mile
lingered by her door they part
  
His text on the way home, come morning
meet you at our corner, I'll carry books
_ _ _ _
Photo and Poem Copyright, 2018 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved
 [Photo is my "PrintScreen" copy of Crepuscule by Heinrich Kuhn (1897)]

  - I'm linked with
at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Camera FLASH! , http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/03/camera-flash.html 

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Thursday, March 01, 2018

See the waterlands ... a Thursday Poem

 
See the water lands;
save the water lands

We trudged to the pier, coffee in hand, trying to make sense of outlines peering through the fog. For certain there was a sun up above, trying to break through the clouds.

The noise of a propeller was competing with its driving motor. Have to put up with that.  And now we could see her.  Mama Cass reincarnation?  We immediately though of her as a Hippie we used to know, only younger.  Her sun bleached hair was to her chest, straggly as usual.  Sandals though, not barefoot as the old.  And where was her yellow dog who followed her everywhere?

We all limbed on and our Ms. Cass gave us a lecture of which I've forgotten every word.  Except I do remember she was holding a sack of marshmallows, there were three more up front by her controls.  She revved the engine and we took off, almost literally as this water craft was air propeller driven.  We were skimming across the water.

We went rather fast until we passed a herd of turtles.  There we slowed and our guide threw half a sack of marshmallows.  Those turtles clamored over to see the fuss, and then to eat.  I think they had been wailing for us; they must have had some sugar sweet teeth.

Off we went again, a left then a right another right and then left.  I didn't know how we would find our way back, for sure I'd tie a ribbon on the tree.  Finally the high spot of our swamp ride, we stopped and Mrs. Cass gave out a loud screech.  Then she smiled as she tossed our the marshmallows.  I think I counted seventeen alligators coming to call.

Our way back was uneventful, we must have made every turn correctly as soon we were back at the start.  It didn't seem long but by my watch we had been out for three sun burning hours.


Let's save the turtles
Let's save the alligators
Politicians won't
_ _ _ _
 
Photo and Poem Copyright, 2006, 2018 and 2018 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

 - I'm linked with
at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Wordy Thursday With Wild Woman: Being the Change, http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/03/wordy-thursday-with-wild-woman-being.html
 
 - Sherry's instructions are to "Write a poem about the Everglades. Take a serene ride down the river and experience a time out of time. Either poem will be good for the soul."  My ride was in the Atchafalaya Basin beginning in Henderson, Louisiana (https://basinlanding.com/airboat-tours/). 
 

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Tuesday, February 27, 2018

Time, time to ... -- another Poem for Tuesday

 
 
Time, Three Ladies in a ...
 
Rub dub, Dub Dub Dub, Three Ladies Lying
Lying in the bed, with all their clothes on
Perhaps their shoes are under the bed, eh?
 
One is recovering from surgery
Bunion surgery of all ails, fitting
Fitting the lifestyles for which she has lived
 
Would you know which one, which lady
Only one for this time, her time for sure
Time for everything, Toe restoration
 
Three generations, grandmother, daughter
With the granddaughter stuck in the middle
Daughter had those crutches ready, her time
 
'Nuf said about that, what have they done there
Didn't eat a meal, nor sing any songs
No jumping on the bed, one's not ready
 
They read books, talked, two watched "The Price is Right"
Then I came along, they posed for pictures
It was their time, who is there to complain
_ _ _ _
 
Photo and Poem Copyright, 2018 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

 - I'm linked with
at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, The Tuesday Platform,  
http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/02/the-tuesday-platform_27.html 
 - Sanaa introduced us to T.S. Eliot's final long poem collection, of four poems called "Four Quartets".  He was seeing some dismal times and times for hope, much of it during the earlier days of WWII.  I plan to read it.
 _ King Solomon of old, Old Testament Bible times, wrote his dismal outlook poem, Ecclesiastes, which became a Book of the Christian BibleChapter three is about time, I liked "a time for living, a time for dying" probably best: (link)
 "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; ...
... 11 He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.
12 I know that there is no good in them, but for a man to rejoice, and to do good in his life."
 - The Byrds, in Turn, Turn, Turnalso wrote a song about time (the lyrics), much of it is a quote from Ecclesiastes 3.  You will recognize it:
 

 
 
 - Now I plan to go hide, read my T.S, Eliot book, Practical Cats, a collection of his Cat Poems.  And soon also I will watch a video of the Musical, "Cats" which uses many of the poems from this book.  I might even read some Eliot's book, "Four Quartets", read Ecclesiastes 3, and listen over and over to this Byrds' song.  Oh yes and read other writing from the links posted on the Imaginary Garden today.  Thank You Sanaa.

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Sunday, February 25, 2018

Digging for Gold -- a Poem for Sunday

. . . . . . .

              Digging for gold;
              hard way for riches
                    
1         Stop and blow my nose while I dig for gold 
2         Chilly days and nights freezing buns, no moon
        Sniffles, rained, Klondike, how I caught my cold 
        Coughing every moment.  Tough life we've made
5         Soon sure I'll stop and watch you dig for gold 
 
6         Think how rich we'll be when we reach the pot
        Dig where we last saw the rainbow's end, bold
8         Mansions we'll build to stay warm through the
     night    
       Wealth isn't pleasing, now we dig for mold  
10       Let us reconsider.  Have we enough   
 
11       We've plenty--others want.  Let them dig for gold
                 _ _ _ _ _


Photo and Poem Copyright, 2018 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

  - I'm linked with
at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Fashion me your words to fold ~ RAINBOWS,  
http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/02/fashion-me-your-words-to-fold-rainbows.html

 - Gillena has devised a "new" form which she calls "Fold".  I think I have written this in Fold form.  It is an eleven line poem with lines five (5) and eleven (11) repeating the ending word or phrase of the first (1) line.  All the other odd lines, three (3), seven (7), and nine (9)  should rhyme with the ending word of the first (1) line.  And if possible make reference to a like of hers, a rainbow - She has published her forms or information of them  HERE and HERE .
 - Photo was one I took while on a half hour walk on the trails in the Green Zone, for flood control, starting at the end of our street.  Fog was obscuring the view of the other side of the small stream that runs through.

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