Time is Scary

 Reposted from my "me, old blogs never read, and . . . " blog

I'm a saver, meaning I don't throw things away. I just put stuff in boxes or sacks until I might want it again. That's what this site is all about. Disclaimer: Much here is not my original writing, a lot is humorous email I've been sent. I don't copy any jokes here from magazines or books. Please let me know if you know or are the original author by leaving a comment as such. I will check it out and delete the suspect article or give you credit if I can verify your claim. It's your call.

I wrote thils poem and it then to be posted. But then I didn't like it and didn't post.  Saturday, June 26, 2021-- some of you will remember this one. 

   

My (Our) Heading 

Seeing another time is scary 

Are we looking ahead or behind 

Or to the left or to the right 

Perhaps upwards or woefully down 

I (we) see with the eyes and with the mind 

What's with the eyes is generally real 

But with my mind I cannot trust 

There enters fear and emotions 

Flavored by the other senses 

Is it real or do I imagine 

Life is complicated we must cope 

Sleep and day dreams will give relief 

Thinking of all this and more is too much 

I'm giving in and will float with time 

Doing that is hard if one must think 

A third parameter enters in 

My body's needs must be sustained 

Here desires too play a part 

These two are life's rudders and paddles 

Stay on my pad of ice there's no brake 

When the ice melts things will fastly change 

Am I the dog who can swim to shore 

Or the cat who hasn't learned to swim 

Can there be a miracle to come 

Surely one is needed else I die

 _ _ _ 

 - This is not a finished writing and I do not intend to finish. Somewhere in the process I lost track of my ending and then I couldn't get back to it fast or efficiently.  

    I have its replacement here, 

    https://jimmiehov6.blogspot.com/2021/06/sunday-muse.html?m=1

    It may not be much better.

. . .

 -  - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved 

 - Photo prompt posted by Carrie Van Horn with The Sunday Muse #166,  at http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/2021/06/sunday-muse-166.html?m=1 

 - - . . . 

- Now posted but not changed, Photo and poem Copyright ©️ jimmiehov 2025  All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with "Friday Writings" 195 at  https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/?m=1 -- We are to dig out an old poem we wrote.  Didn't say it had to be posted 

. . . 

Labels: Animals, Poem, Sunday Muse, Syllabic Form

Written by Jim at 6/26/2021 01:54:00 PM

Snows not on the Windshield

 

. . . 

Our drive to Missouri should should have been 

unadventual in the back seat 

Father was driving our Chevrolet 

a 1934 black two door 

Dad and Mom up front, two kids in back, 

we were pulling a two wheel trailer 

empty but would be full coming back 

Dad would fill it with cedar fence posts.  

The ride was fun for sister and me 

She was two years old and I was six 

But trouble came soon in Missouri 

Rain started and it leaked through the roof 

Sister climbed up front to be with Mom 

but there was no place for me to go 

A blanket got soaked and I was too 

We were glad when Grandma's house got near 

My grandparents were glad to see us 

With five grandkids I was Grandma's fave 

The other three lived in Oregon 

Grandma had three kids of her own there 

She took us to a fish hatchery 

We had hamburgers to eat that trip 

Jack, her son who was my age and I 

Played mostly outside, toy trucks and cars 

One time I was very peeved with Jack 

He told his mom on me, "naughty me" 

Told her I was playing with "my self" 

She told him shame, don't be Tattletale 

Going home, fence posts and all went well 

I have never heard from my mother 

Grandma's good 'bout telling our secret 

(Note:  We lived on a small share crop farm north of Omaha, Nebraska. My parents are buried there but I have moved to Texas now.) 

. . . 

- Photo and Poem Copyright ©️ jimmiehov 2025 All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with "What's Going on " at https://newwhatsgoingon.blogspot.com/?m=1  -- This poem is posted for my experience of a road trip.. Go there to read others about cars and trips. 

. . . 

 - Notes: 

     a.  The "snow" here is related to our writing instructions for this week that involved cars and road trips. 

     b.  My poem for today is true.  My mother wasn't hard on me and may not have wanted to bring this up.  Like she did when she found my cigarettes, took the cigarettes and left a note in my jeans pocket. 

      c. Grandmother here was just a few years older than my Mom.  Grandpa was a widower and remarried a couple of  years before my parents married.  Then the started a new family. 

. . . 

Monet's Boat

 

Mr. Monet don't you fall 

I like your boat hang on tight 

Do you fish are you fishing 

I'll come up closer and look 

I'm not sure where you are now 

It's not your pond that's for sure 

Your pond is so much smaller 

There I like walking your bridge 

Mr. Monet could I ride 

Ride in this your fishing boat 

I would like that very much 

I say thank you in advance 

. . . 

Note:  We were in Monet's stomping place for several days, his garden near where he severed his ear 

. . . 

 - Photo and Poem Copyright ©️ jimmiehov 2025 All Rights Reserved.

 - I am linked with Merril D Smith at dVerse at    https://dversepoets.com/author/merrildsmith/

 - Merril's writing instructions are, "You may write an ekphrastic poem inspired by Claude Monet’s “The Studio Boat.” Your poem does not need to include anything about reflecting or reflections, but it can." 

. . . 

Tin Man and His Girlfriend

Tin Man seemed down in the dumps this morning.  He was walking very slowly on the Yellow Brick Road, sniffling a little.  

I called him, perking up he gladly came.  "Mr. Tin what seems be the matter?" I asked. Gladly he answered: his girlfriend didn't seem herself, dumpy and quiet. 

Let's get to the bottom.  "How long have you two been dating?"  'Four months tomorrow," he muttered. "And what are you doing for her?"  "Watch TV."

So I had him call, then to a fine restaurant; bring her flowers and box of her favorite chocolate candies. 

Cheered up,  he skipped, making the yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes moisten and brighten the yellow brick road. 

Two days later walking hand in hand, they smiled as they passed, his finger and thumb waved to me a happy "All is fine, thank you sign."

 . . .

 - Photo and Poem Copyright ©️ jimmiehov 2025 All Rights Reserved.

 - I am linked with Björn at dVerse, at https://dversepoets.com/2025/09/15/prosery-t-s-eliot-and-j-alfred-prufrock/ for the prompt lines, "The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes . . ." from “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Elliot.

 - Using Prose is to be this Prosery Monday and is not to be over 144 words.   I have exactly 144 words here. 

. . .