Rabbit and the Fowls - - a Poem for Friday Writings and a Piece of Prosery for dVerse

 Missing friends

Little rabbit was 

 getting lonesome 

He'd sit by the fence 

 missing his buddies 

“Something told the wild geese 

 It was time to fly.”

Then they all left  

  alone again 

Didn't last him long

 ducks coming in

Quickly making friends 

 Rabbit's alone no more 

 

_ _ _ _ 

 - Photos and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2024, All Rights Reserved  

 - I am linked with Rosemary at dVerse Friday Writings #126 at 

    https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/ 

   Rosemary has asked as an optional assignment for us to write a poem or story (or a few) in only 160 characters including title and spaces. (If you choose to write more than one, please put them all in one post and make sure that collectively they don't exceed our 369 word limit.)  

   I chose not to do that and wrote instead what you see next here.    

.

 - I am also linked with Kim881 at Prosery, dVerse,  her prompt line is above in quotations and posted at 

https://dversepoets.com/2024/05/06/prosery-something-told-the-wild-geese/ 

 

 - Click here for others writing Prosery Flash Writing this week.  I wrote only 44 Words, we could have 144

..

My Box -- NaPoWriMo Day Ten and dVerse Poetics

            [click picture for larger size viewing]

         My Box 

My box was once a shoe box 

I save boxes, this one is a keeper 

My box is large, the kind we all would like 

The box is made of strong cardboard 

This box had contained cowboy boots 

My box had waited to have a touch

T'would be by a rough and heavy hand 

My box was hurt, a clerk threw her away 

My box was rescued, rescued by me 

I feel my box has an affliction 

Towards me for bringing her home 

She likes to be near me when she can 

I keep my personal records with her 

Finance, travel, relationships, and the like 

Grocery shopping she loves, 

rides the cart like a small kid 

My box I gave her a name, Betty Jo   

Dressed her pretty with a coat of paint 

She sits on my writing desk 

Betty Jo likes to make the rhyme 

She has become a helper of mine 

We've grown really attached 

I wish she could talk 

Good night, polish box and go to bed  

 _ _ _ 

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2024, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with NaPoWriMO Day Ten 

    https://www.napowrimo.net/day-ten-12/ 

 - I am also linked with Kim at dVerse Poetics, here 

    https://dversepoets.com/2024/04/09/a-box-of-poems/

 - Click here to read other writer's efforts with Kim's prompt

..

A Tribute -- a Poem for Friday Writings

Photo was AI generated by Bing's "AI Photo Generator" URL 
[Published and Copyright here by Jimmiehove 2024] 
[click on picture to enlarge]

      Tribute to a Good Friend 

Sadie was a good friend of mine 

So was her husband, better friend 

They were parents three children 

Married young, she grew tired of him 

Next single, her new friends were wild 

Still she was my friend, friends with both 

Sadie moved to Austin, afar 

I lost touch, ex kept me posted 

Her newfound friends on the wild side 

Sadie began drinking with them 

Eating way too much with her drink 

She had a heart attack and died 

A different kind of funeral 

The gang met at swimming hole 

There they raised their beer cans to her 

Ashes to the pond, cans followed 

Still think lots of her and her ex 

A loss of a friend who went wrong 

 _ _ _ 

 - Tribute Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2024, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Rommy at Friday Writings #119 here, 

  https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/?m=1 

 - Rommy has asked us to 'find inspiration “In memoriam”: write about a person, place, or thing that is gone.'  Mine is true, the lady's name here I have changed to honor the deceased but not identified by name.  Some of my readers may have known her also. 

.. 

Vinsent Van Gogh -- a Poem for Friday Writings

*[Van Gogh painting, it's photo I've taken of it illustrating in the Olive Garden]  

 

Rosemary has asked us to be inspired by the song, 

‘Starry, Starry Night’ and/or by Vincent Van Gogh.  

 _ _ _ 

 Dreaming of Van Gogh

Woke up one stary night 

Sweating on my pillow

Had been dreaming of France,

my stay in St. Remy

Been like being locked up

Cold infirmary drempt

There roommate of Van Gogh

Recovering, a cut

His ear had been whacked off

by himself, sharpened knife

We would go for a walk

Sunshine and exercise

Garden beckoning us

The olive trees still there

Why would they go away

Painting subject he loved

Begging both, his and mine

Take some pictures for him

Plans for painting again

Inside the hospital

When he would be alone

and have no walking friend 

The pictures would remind

This grove he'd come to love

Would I please come again

Critique his work for quirks

   (there'd never be any)

(his always pleased the world)

_ _ _ 

 - * Photos and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2006 and 2023, All rights reserved 

 - I am linked with Rosemary for prompt information at Friday Writings #105  at  https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/

 - * Below is My picture taken outside the infirmary where Van Gogh was staying after he had cut off his own ear.   For information of the photo below and more of our stay there in St. Remy, click here. 

  - Vincent van Gogh -- 30 March 1853 – 29 July 1890): 

    https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vincent_van_Gogh  

[Photo Copyright, Jimmiehov 2006]

 

April -- NaPoWriMo 2023 Day 23 -- an "Old Friends" write

   

         Reminiscing; Way Back 

I. 

(The agenda, Jim D and Jim H, Facebooking) 

II.

Well, Jimmie H, how are things going for you way down in Texas?

It's been a long time since we parted, I'm retired and stayed here in Newport Beach.  

Wish we could get hold of Old Rosie, I miss her a lot.

III.

Yes, she was quite a gal.  You were her boy toy before there ever was a name for that relationship. I miss her too.  For an across the hall neighbor, we couldn't have found a better.  

IV. 

I've been reading your posts, I am glad you found each other.  I could have arranged that if I knew you guys had gone a really long way apart.  

Oh yes, I miss you all too, "Miss Rosie of the 50's" is here almost sniffling." 

V. 

Rose, you are making me feel bad, I doubt any of us will ever get together again.  Distance makes good memories but that's about all.  Jim H, could we do something about this, just one more time get-together.  

VI.

Let's pick a halfway destination and a time.  The word "can't" is not in my thoughts if I can help.  All right, Rose, Jim D, how does Salt Lake City or Crested Bute, Colorado sound?  

Choices?

VII. 

(Silence) 

VIII. 

All right, I have memories of Crested Bute, we'll go there.  A date? 

IX.

Any Month that has a fifth Thursday, let's see, next month, Guys?  

X.

(Simultaneously, both Jims) Fine, fine, meet at the motel TBD. 

XI.

Rose, you pick the motel, there's either the Red Rooster Inn or Mama's B&B; and now deep pocket guy Jimmie D, you pick up the Hotel tab.

XII.

(In unison)  Cheers to our old abode!!!

(Silence all, computers darkened) 

                 _ _ _ 

- Photo and Script Writing Copyright, Jimmiehov 2009 and 2023 respective, All Rights Reserved 

- I have linked with NaPoWriMo, National Poetry Writing Month, Day 23 at 

    https://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-three-9/ 

- The prompt deal there, "Now, try to write a poem of your own that has multiple numbered sections. Attempt to have each section be in dialogue with the others, like a song where a different person sings each verse, giving a different point of view. Set the poem in a specific place that you used to spend a lot of time in, but don’t spend time in anymore."  

 - Note:  The "apartment" photo is a hotel on the beach at Etretat, France.  Read about our 2009 visit here, 

..

Saint Peter, here she comes -- a poem for Friday

Eulogy for one I just met 

For a sweet young lady
I only met today
Even before we met
 I knew, as good as gold 
 
 The car she drove told all
Wild at times, purrs sweetly
Thrifty, saved her pennies
Older Mustangs don't lie  

Colored a sooty dark
Matched her hair, soft, black, tamed
No spoilers or mag wheels
Fairly mild mannered two

When she spoke, so polite

Thank you ma'am, yes sir please
Loud, authority sure
Mellow exhausts, throaty
 
Parked curbside here she lies
Prepared for her new life
Heaven bent, now she'll speed
Saint Peter traffic cop

- - - -

 

Photo and poem Copyright, © 2018 Jimmiehov, all rights Reserved

Written for YOU and for the Real Toads in the Imaginary Garden -- 
  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/02/eulogy-for-stranger.html

Photo is a screen print of a 2006 Ford Mustang currently for sale at Car Max,
  https://www.carmax.com/car/15432517?intcmp=COPS_RC_Carpage_15432517

Did I really meet this person? 

An Ode to Mr. Williams

Mr. Tin Man and I discussed

the death of a dear friend of mine.

Tin Man and I traveled our road,

famous yellow road of gold bricks.
 

My friend Mr. Williams and I

traveled another road, his path.

A good man, family, friends, job, and

golf were on a path that he shared.
 

He doesn't walk that road any more,

Tin Man suggested, write an ode to him.

- - - - -

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

An Ode to Mr. Williams 

Everett Williams was a dear friend of mine

We played some golf and we talked up a storm

He loved the do-overs, his Mulligans**¹**

I read and shared with him that a driver

for older persons might use their three wood

Then straight down the fairway went his drives

National Senior Games found him at third place**²**

He played his age, he was ninety-five

Everett died on June Seventeen this year

I learned of it through Googling on his name 

Surprised was I, we hadn't contacted

since his final Christmas card for last year

We had moved away, a hundred miles north

But still we played golf on the cooler days

His favorite pose was with a club in hand,

leaning over a pond fishing for balls

The last I knew, Everett was still driving

He drove to the grocery store, to his church,

and to his favorite golf courses

He'd bought a new car in two-eleven 

Everett was proud of his home on the creek

and loved to tell of his blue-bonneted lane

Once he invited a lady friend over

"Come see my blue bonnet pictures," he said

I asked him, had he any etchings to show

This age-old pick up line he didn't know

He once was the water commissioner,

office he held eight years when he was young

Everett loved politics, he volunteered

one time to be my campaign manager**³**

Everett was a widower for six years

His wife, Elma, died at age ninety

They'd been married for seventy-three

He loved his kids, was proud of seven grandkids

He was a fireman for thirty-eight,

he retired his volunteer job as chief

He loved his church and was a deacon there

I will miss my friend Everett, a good friend

My regret is that we didn't play more golf,

a lot of golf after we moved away

- - - - -

Picture of Tin Man and Jim on the Yellow Brick Road and Poem Copyright, © 2014 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved
Everett Williams picture was on his obituary published by the Jeeter Funeral Home (link)

 [click on a picture for a larger sized view]

Today I am linked with Susie Clevenger at the Real Toads, the Yellow Brick Road

Notes:
**1** Mulligans in golf allow a golfer to have another hit in place of his previous bad shot (link)
**2** Everett place third in the 2013 Summer National Senior Association Games, golf men 95-96 (link). For about 30 years Mr. Williams has been using his three wood instead of his driver.  Before that his hits off the tee were going all kinds of places or else he would miss the ball.
**3** I ran for a newly created Justice of the Peace position.  I won the primary but lost in the general election 49+ percent to my opponent's 50+ percent.

Dear Friends

[view from our back porch, early in the morning]

[please click on picture for larger size] 

 .

Dear Friends;

or, hit the highway, please 

.

I'm writing you today

because another year is here

that I won't be there,

to visit with you 

.

It's been a while,

your crops are in,

why don't you take a break

and come see us? 

.

We can do Houston in, like 

take a ride up the Ship Channel

on the Fire Inspection Boat. 

.

We can visit a museum or two,

Houston has over twenty-five
Restaurants a plenty too, eat ourselves silly

.

Or we can play a round or two of golf. 

Again Houston has a plethora of these,

so very many of the 1041 courses in Texas. 

.

And we can keep you busy

with other things, exotic shopping, picnics,

or go to the beach, to a park or two of the many,

and so on and so on.  

.

But most of all I'd like to see you all, here. 

We are getting old, our bones are tired.

Driving isn't as much fun as it used to be,  

.

and to be really honest,

it's your turn to come down to our place

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

- - - - -

Today I'm linked with 'Herotomost' at the Real Toads, Lost Art (link)  

He thinks that letter writing is a lost art and has asked us to write a letter to a friend, a business, or most anyone.  I chose this one, but the message is correct to all my friends who live elsewhere, "please come stay a spell. "

 

Saturday Centus: Isadora and Xenter Say Goodbyes

For today "Saying goodbye was harder than she thought..." is our Saturday Centus prompt word group.

Here is my story in 107 words as required (could have been less):

- - - - - -
It seemed the week had barely started and now she was to leave. Saying goodbye was harder than she thought...

Isadora's visit with Xentor was a nice respite. But time had gone so fast. If only she could hide away in one of his closets until her ordeal was over.

First, clean her house before the sheriff took it away. Five payments behind and empty cupboards faced her.

On the way to the car, Xentor slipped her a small heavy envelope.

Isadora didn't open it until she was on her way. Voila! Cousin Xentor had saved her day! Inside the envelope were 200 bright fifty dollar bills.

- - - - -

Photos and Story Copyright
© 2012 Jimmiehov
All Rights Reserved

- - - - -

°It is Saturday Centus day. Jenny in her blog, ...off my tangent... , has challenged us with writing a 106 word story using these seven words, in order, "Saying goodbye was harder than she thought...".
°That is 100 of our words plus the seven she has required. She did allow less, but I made it to an even 107.
°Jenny also had a picture of a child waving goodbye that we could use or we were allowed to use our own. I opted to use this one of my friend, Juan and his friends. The Ford Model T belongs to Juan. It trolls along at a steady 30 mph on the highways.
°You can find more writers signed up at Jenny's blog, ...off my tangent.... You can also go there to find instructions for writing your own post.

One Single Impression: Trembling

Brother Ray—Tribute to a Trembling Man

He was trembling when I first discovered him.
It was at church one Sunday, a church new to us.
The preacher asked him to say the final prayer of the morning.
That man prayed and prayed
but I could not understand a word he was saying.
He was trembling so badly.

As the months went on by I became used to this man,
Brother Ray, praying there in church;
his prayers so many could not understand.
It seemed however that quite a few
could understand this thin man of God.
Only thing was I could not,
he was trembling so badly.

I took it on myself to know this fellow.
He was in his early eighty's
with a severe case of Parkinson's disease.
On Monday nights you would find him at church visitation;
visiting every new prospect and member, as he would say.
To those homes he would go, trembling so badly.

At about age eighty-seven or so
his visiting partner and driver for sure retired
and moved away to Louisiana.
Those Monday nights now we sorely missed our Brother Ray.
Seems not one soul would step forward to help.
Were they afraid of his trembling so badly?

I felt sorry for Brother Ray so on one Tuesday afternoon
I stopped at his house to visit with him.
It wasn't planned but the words came out of my mouth,
"Brother Ray, I could take you church visiting
with me on Monday nights. Would you go?"
"Oh, y y yes s !" he said trembling so badly.

We visited together for the next ten years.
He taught me how to pray.
He taught me how to love the Lord so much more strongly.
He taught me how to tell others of what a gracious Lord we have.
And lo, I became able to understand every word he said,
even though he was trembling so badly.

Now every year Brother Ray would go hunting with his son.
Brother Ray would always shoot a deer—
no one knew how he did that, he was trembling so badly.
He told me of his family and of his wife long deceased.
He missed her so badly; I'm thinking how she could
have understood his every word
while he was trembling so badly.

At age ninety-seven he fell and broke his hip.
He recovered but couldn't get out to visit any longer.
Soon he moved into a nursing home.
All the residents and staff loved him dearly.
Some there could understand his speech even
as he was trembling so badly.

The last time I visited him was in the funeral home.
Brother Ray had died at age ninety-nine.
He always talked of reaching a hundred.
Now he talks with God there up in Heaven.
I know them both and do know that
God understands his every word.
I think my Brother Ray still trembles so badly.

God has made him whole once again but even so,
out of habit now, he may be trembling still, so badly.

Poem Copyright
© 2010 Jimmiehov
All Rights Reserved

Prompt suggested by Nancy Bea Miller at Genre Cookshop

Find more poems at One Single Impression using "Trembling" as prompt

.

Happy Birthday Tammie Lee

we love you dearly
happy birthday Tammie Lee
your poems rate with me

Tammie's birthday is today.
Her blog is Spirithelpers

One Single Impression: Junction

Billie and Joey

Billie and Joey were joined at their waist;
never was found one without the other.
Billie was always happy no matter,
it seems she'd always wanted a brother.

Billie liked to be alone with Joey.
Her love was for her two year-old brother.
A language of their own they would speak;
Joey never would talk with his mother.

Becoming three it seemed there was no hope.
The doctors said they'd seen sight this before.
Billie was always happy no matter;
praying Mother asked for better by four.

Then came the day a new lad came along.
He had eyes of blue, was tall like her dad.
Joey, silent as before, said he'd go.
His being was only in Billie's head.


Poem Copyright © 2009 Jimmiehov
All Rights Reserved

Find more poems at One Single Impression
"Junction" as prompt was
suggested by Jeeves at Silence is Poetic .