Sunday Muse - A Painter

"Roots" 1943 by Frida Kahlo (link) 

The Hurting Painter 

There you lay amongst a sea of fallen leaves 

Hurt, emerging from tap root of aging elm 

Bringing with you tender green--new hope conceived 

The dirt the old crumbling leaves be overwhelmed 

Get up arise cut your cord and paint anew 

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 - Frida Kahlo was a Mexican painter, the first woman from her country to be famous for her art.  From childhood, without formal education, painted profusely.   Although at age eighteen she was badly hurt and was left handicapped for the rest of her life she still painted and gained national and world recognition.  

 - The "self portrait" above fairly recently sold for five million dollars plus.  Read more here and about this picture at this link. 

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 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Carrie Van Horn for the Photo prompt at The Sunday Muse #171, http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-sunday-muse-171.html?m=1 

 - I'm also at 55 syllables without the title

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Weekly Scribblings -- Johnny Cooks, a Ditty

Johnny, Johnny, 

    breakfast maker 

Cooked me up some 

    eggs and pancakes  

Pancakes were hard 

    and eggs too soft 

Ate them himself, 

    sick as a dog 

I could have told, 

    had this feeling 

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 - Poem and Photo Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021 and 2010, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Rosemary at Weekly Scribblings # 80,    https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2021/07/weekly-scribblings-80-sudden-moments.html

 - Rosemary was asking us to "write about "sudden events which the people involved somehow sensed coming"—or didn’t."

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Sunday Muse -- "Mom's"

      "Moms"; a letter 

 AJ, I like your "Mom" poem. Sooo many moms in this world cry a tear for their sons. Right now, this instant they are, oodles of them. 

Forgive me, I think of the time Mom found a cigarette lighter in my pocket while she was hanging up my pants. I know she had a tear, or two for me. Nothing was ever said but she had traded my lighter for a note, left in my pocket. 

Just now I brushed away a 'dry tear' for my mom, twenty-two years since she died.  

I hope some of my kids, and some of the grands, will have a 'dry tear' for me now and then when I'm gone.  That will be soon I suppose. 

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 - BTW AJ, most in the Muse comments section are wishing they could find the key to your comments, they'd liked to have left one for you. 

 - Prose Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved 

 - Linked to The Sunday Muse, at http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/2021/07/the-sunday-muse-170.html?m=1 and 

  - to AJ at https://prodigalthoughts.com/contact/?contact-form-id=27&contact-form-sent=138&contact-form-hash=8bd2c192eed12aabcc7e3ab8333536fdb494c18a&_wpnonce=cc51d7c297#contact-form-27  and 

  - his poem, https://prodigalthoughts.com/2021/07/26/124/ 

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