See You at the Ballot Box -- a Poem for Quadrille #172

 My shifting changes

I made a shift, 

a shift I've made before 

From Republican before

to Democrat last election

I'm shifting parties back

Back to Republican

Don't like the way

the way Republican candidates stack

Not saying for whom I'll vote

Don't want old men back again

    _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2023, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Mish for the prompt word, "shift", at 

    https://dversepoets.com/2023/03/20/quadrille-172/

 - Their request is that our quadrille should be exactly 44 words, not including the title and include the word “Shift” or a derivative of the word. 

 - To read other's writings, click here 

My Path - a Metaphorical Poem {??} for Sunday Muse

Surreal Image by Robert Jahn

I walk a narrow road 

more narrow than 

the width of my foot 

It has no curbs 

nor a fence 

and 

not a shoulder at all

No intersections 

except 

for one 

One for the 

light beam walkers and 

most of them can fly 

Fly as the June bug 

the one who 

flies to its death 

trying 

trying to get to the light 

For the light I have no desire 

that path I'll not try 

My desire is to make it 

make it to the other side 

In one piece if I may 

falls are hard and 

there's no one 

to help 

Some never make it up 

their lifeless bodies 

waiting for the hearse 

Others give it up 

they're tired of trying 

so they too 

wait for the hearse 

The hearses go 

in two directions, 

up 

and 

down 

Like an elevator where 

gravity 

pulls it down 

The desirable path 

for us is 

straight across 

Straight and narrow 

is the path to take, 

leave it not 

Left or right 

those ways lead quickly 

quickly lead to 

Down

_ _ _ 

I am linked with Carrie at the Sunday Muse #237 

https://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/2022/11/sunday-muse-237.html?m=1 

..

..

Adios

Thank you, pantry prompter, 
for writing this reminder, may we 
never forget the bravery of Rosa 
Parks. Love your illustration, 
she makes me feel young and happy. 

TODAY I START MY SABATICAL 
TO END JANUARY 12, 2020 
(love the ring of those numerals, 
my hope is to live that year long). 

Also, I may sneak 
out a dity or few when 
my Warden isn't looking. 

Bye Bye, wish me a BON VOYAGE,  
 _ _ _  

 - Like most blog writers I appreciate comments and critiques from my readers.  
 - Very likely though my warden, a cousin to my muse, will not allow me to return your comments.  Even so I am planning to read a lot of yours. 

 - I am linked with Magaly Guerrero in the Pantry of Poetry and Prose with Poets United, https://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2019/12/pantry-of-poetry-and-prose-6.html?m=1 

 - You can read Magaly's tribute to Ms. Parks at the link above. 

A Poem for Midweek Motiff

First Hour of My Day

One day after another
are they any different
I'm awake sixteen minutes
before the alarm,

seems there's no snoozing
anymore so I turn it off
and get up

Making the coffee is a matter
of pushing a button,
I prepare it the night before

The TV's on from last night
I dare not turn it off for fear
it won't come on again

My first breakfast is the same
as yesterday and the day
before, the small half of the
granola bar

With the bar and coffee in
hand I settle in the chair
on the left, I always sit there,
my feet go up, network news
just started

Mesmerized I sit chew
swallow and sip
until the bar and coffee are
down, glad I didn't
get up any earlier

Had I done that I would have
heard of the killings here
during the night,
six or sixteen it might
have been,
one police death perhaps

Doesn't count those
killed by car

Watch world threats by bully
leaders, seems they aren't
heeded anymore,
see which country
was invaded while I slept

They talk about coffee being
short--will supply and demand
rule or should we ration

King of Sian takes another wife

and pay the water bill due today

I hobble to the kitchen for
another cuppa, seems I've left
my cane in the loo
retrieve the cane coffee in
hand settle down and wait
for the Mate to awake

Signed, sealed,
first hour of my day
 _ _ _

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I am linked with Rommy in the Poets United   Midweek Motif  at http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2019/10/poets-united-midweek-motif-everyday.html?m=1

 - For more Daily Grind routines for Rommy click on the link above

A Poem of Lament

I want to heal, I want to feel
What I thought was never real
I want to let go of the pain I felt so long
(erase all the pain til it's gone)
I want to heal, I want to feel,
Like I'm close to something real
I want to find something
I've wanted all along
Somewhere I belong
(Somewhere I Belong -- partial lyrics, by Linkin Park)
_ _ _ _ _

For that one and the music playlist by Sanaa at toads:

When There's Nowhere

What will I do
Where will I go
When will I know

Somewhere I belong
even though you've gone

My life is empty without you
I miss your touch and your feel
still I know
Somewhere I belong

Now that you're gone
and I've nothing left to own
nothing left of my feelings
feelings I had for you

But you're not here
and all I have to own

is in this little bottle
I'm taking contents now

And when I awake
there'll be another take
I don't know where it'll be
for sure you won't be

Goodbye now this world
Still even though I won't be
My remains here will be
but I will myself no longer be

You can cry for me now
I'm crying no more

Somewhere I belong
I'm finding it now
but not here ever more 

[Business Insider, 10/10/2019]
_ _ _

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved 
 - I'm linked with Sanaa Rizvi in the Imaginary Garden at  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2019/10/october-when-poets-dream-lament-and-sing.html?m=1 

A Dog followed by a mangy three

Three poems following a dog, 
up and down hills traversing city streets
And if they can't keep the pace 
there will come a kick in the rear 
by giant goose to speed them up

So here are the actors for you
Each a poem in itself
Written on their wheely chests

This poem is a taxicab gaily flying colors 
Color her red for the city snobs
Or yellow for the old and feeble
Green for the purists 
who won't waste a dime, a tree, 
or even a rabbit's foot and some who 
just plain don't like the walk

This poem is a minibus 
hobnobbing for fares of the day
Every morning comes the preacher's wife
riding while the pastor runs
She'll say a prayer for you or cuss you out
which ever her spirit calls
Sitting beside her are six school teachers
who'll argue you blind while you 
sharpen your pencil and think 
The wrestling team is skipping school 
so meet them at the park  

This poem is a cargo truck trying 
to show some pizzazz while at work
The truck chugs along driven by a 
nincompoop who can't count to ten 
Unless its money for then he'll pinch every 
penny making sure you've paid him right 
Today it's sows to market and tomorrow 
a wedding party who's renewing their vows 
Turns out the sows do vows and ladies do market 
They all ride home together, oh what a smell 

The taxicab and the minibus and the cargo truck too
They all get speeding tickets and arrested 
for overload -- the nincompoop pays 
out of his burning pockets 
Dah 
The pastor's wife cries while 
the wedding party pours champagne 
even then the taxicab digs out 
the purple flags 

Purists cry and pet the dog 
in the park 

   [click on the picture for large size viewing]
    _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved 
 - I am linked with Sherry Blue Sky in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2019/02/wordy-thursday-with-wild-woman-hannahs.html?m=1 
 - Go there to read about Hannah's "Boomerang Metaphor Form."  I'm sorry but my metaphors are weak, perhaps you can find a meaning in some.
 - My previous attempt to use this form was posted here, https://jimmiehov6.blogspot.com/2014/07/blog-post_19.html?m=1

A scary (??) Poem for Friday

To the man in my garage

Dear man in my garage,

You scared the Bejesus

Right out of me

The first time I noticed

Hardly did I give

it a second thought

Come morning though the light

was on, I thought it me and

had left it on night before

But then I wondered if

You'd sneaked in during the day

when I'd left the door open

And I worried a bit

so left kitchen door locked

The second day the light

was on for no reason

During the day I heard

noises from the garage

I dared not go there

I didn't tell a soul

Dear man in my garage

Why did you come

Did you mean to scare me so

You scared the Bejesus

Right out of me

Raining and cold

I don't blame you one bit

But why'd you stay

Warmer in there but

not one bite to eat or drink

Again the third day

Come morning the light was on

I'd checked it the night before

Off

Had it with you

But didn't tell a soul

Scared

About two I went around

to the front, quietly opened

the door and then ran

Like Hell back in the house

'Cause I had the Bejesus

scared out of me

Dear man in the garage

I hoped and prayed all day

That you'd take the hint

and run far away

And if you went you'd go to stay

That night I shut the door

made sure the light was off

And prayed again that you'd gone

Come morning when I checked

the light out there was off

Now man in my garage,

please don't come back any more

For sure you scared the Bejesus

Right out of me

Still haven't told a soul 
 _ _ _ _ 

Hit the road Jack (lyrics)

_ _ _ _

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Isadora Gruye in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/10/creature-feature-out-of-standard.html?m=1
 - Bejesus:  definition (2nd), "—used as a noun for emphasis scares the bejesus out of me."  Merriam-Webster (Google Search)

NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 26, a Poem, Feeling and Outsider Art

 

Feeling

 

I am an outsider which is

different from being an outcast

An outcast is shoved aside, cast away

Either physically or emotionally cast beside the road

 

I'd rather be an outcast than the outsider that I am

Oh they let me mingle but really have nothing

to say with me.  They don't tell me why

they feel disposed to shy away

 

But I have this feeling,
deep down the feeling of truth, I am different

_ _ _ _ _ 

 - Photos and Poem Copyright © 2017 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved
 - Photos: (they are mine, copied from my computer screen as referenced below)
       On the screen were several very interesting drawings of Karin Gustufson.  She gave us permission to use them on our posts, providing we give her credit (much due for these wonderful drawings).  I do give credit to "Karin Gustafson--all rights reserved".
        You can see these and more at the "Outsider Art" link below or here.

- - - - - -

 - I'm linked with  Outlawyer, aka K or Karin Gustufson, at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Outsider Art, http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/04/outsider-art.html 

  --- - - and    

 - also to Day Twenty-six of NaPoWriMo,  http://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-six-3/

NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 11 -- A poem about Songs that Saved

http://jimmiehov.blogspot.com/2011/06/road-trip-six-word-saturday-side-trip.html

Thank you radio

Thank you radio KOIP

Dead skunk in the middle of the road!

A warning indeed 

Would have been a very stinky car for me


DEAD SKUNK IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD - LOUDON WAINWRIGHT III
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Uu5hzc2Mei4
_ _ _ _ _

Should have read that detour sign

A warning indeed!

I'd a been stuck in the mud

Thank you radio KOIP


Marty Robbins Singing Detour
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=khFN4rJvQAw
_ _ _ _ _

 - Photo and Poem Copyright © 2011 and 2017 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

 - I'm linked with Kerry O'Connor at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, The Tuesday Platform, http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/04/the-tuesday-platform_11.html 
 - - - and   
 - to Day Eleven of NaPoWriMo, http://www.napowrimo.net/day-eleven-5/

 - Margaret would like for us to remember Songs that saved my Life.  These songs probably didn't save my life but Surely saved my Day.
 - Radio KOIP does not exist at this time. 
- There were other songs too.  You might have one to tell in your comment?
.

"If" -- a Saturday Challenge poem

If;
If our feet didn't heed 
Our nose's lead 

If mud puddles were pretty, and Mom was nice 
And dogs took baths in clean water 
Mom wouldn't have spanked me that day 
She wouldn't have known 
Or wouldn't have cared
That I was muddy that day, very  

If glass bottles would sink in the stream 
Or snow wouldn't melt so bloody fast
My spring day would have been dreary
What does one learn sailing make believe
We must learn life's lessons
By work and toil, corrections and admonitions 

If we didn't grow up, and all resources were free
And adults didn't mess with our having fun
We could play forever unfettered 
But we can't be that way
So God has the next best plan for us
Grow old gracefully, live childhood once more
 _ _ _ _ _

 Photo and Poem Copyright,
© 2016 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

- - - - - -
[Mom was nice, she never spanked me in my life.  She did chase me with a real broom one day though.  We've been out of pocket all week, fun and family with KP, Mrs. Jim and me in Louisiana for KP's spring break.  There we visited relatives and went to a funeral, enjoyed it all.  (link).]

I'm linked with "Outlawyer" at The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Weekend Mini! (link)
Her instructions are "Take a poem written by someone else.  ... you can think of your source poem as you write ... your life experience, the imagery that speaks to you, your view of the world."

I used this poem as my 'source poem:'

If
by E.E. Cummings, 
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/1597/if/

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.