Wednesday, April 24, 2024

A Short Ode - a Write for NaPoWriMo 2024 Day 24



Ode to an Injured Wild Rabbit

"Wee, sleekit, cow’rin, tim’rous beastie, O, what a panic’s in thy breastie!" 

You've just read in British the first sentence of a John Burns very famous poem It is "Ode to a Mouse".  Poor mouse had been 
partially plowed under a farmer's plow blade 

I will continue this write with his first sentence in mind 

Oh small animal, I am so sorry, this trap wasn't meant for you. Rather for rats running wild. My children made a good find and had brought you to our house. Now we'll get you fixed up, clean, bandage, and splint that bloody leg.  

If you have babies at home I hope and pray that Daddy Bunny will care for them and feed them well. 

The people who set that trap in our hay field should be ashamed and feel sorry for you.  They are poachers breaking the law.
 
I'm hoping with you that the vet will fix you maybe so that you can soon go home, walking again. 
_ _ _ 

  - Writing Copyright, Jimmiehov 2024, All Rights Reserved 
 - I am linked with NaPoWriMo 2024 Day 24 
.. 

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Thursday, April 11, 2024

My Pen -- a Poem for Friday Writings #122, Link and for NaPoWriMo 2024 Day Eleven

        [click on pictures for lartger size viewing]
        
      Ode to My Pen 

My pen, you are a trusty bud 
You're always a ready helper  
Mostly write what you'd never 
never thought possible 
Like a note to mother, working a 
puzzle, stick behind my ear 

Plucked you out of a cup at the bank 
More there but you were the one I saw 
Kind of like love at the first sight 
Even the store with gobs of pens 
Stores have oodles of others to choose 
I know you friends at the bank have me  

Pretty, black with somber green 
Hanging out my front pocket always 
You write so smoothly with black ink 
Black to match your color, goes well 
The clip I let show, how proud I am 
The folks are envious, you are so special 

I lend you out to the Mrs. and others 
I watch every thing they write 
Making sure they give you back 
They like you too, ask for you always 
Kidnaper some are known 
Into their pockets they'd thrust, I won't let 

And when night falls you are the first 
First to brush your teeth, put up your hair 
A special spot on my little night chest top 
You guard my expensive watch and 
ever present chapstick, too draped in black 
Smart phone is always your last bud to show 
 _ _ _ 

 - Photos and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2024, All Rights Reserved 
 - I am linked with NaPoWriMo 2024 Day Eleven, at 
 - On Day Nine NaPoWriMo had suggested writing an ode 'to an object'.  I had something else to write that day, but the idea sounded good.  I'm doing that prompt idea here tonight.  I don't write many odes but like them much.  Here goes . . . 
 - I am also linked with Bjorn with dVerse Open Link #360 at 
 - Click here to see how others have written for Open Link  
.. 

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Tuesday, August 01, 2023

Lovely Onion Cries -- a Poem for dVerse Poetics and Friday Writings


    To the Lovely Onion 

Lovely Onion, why do you cry 

I'm the one who should be crying  
Role to cry, not yours, 'til I die  

You're so beautiful when you're sliced 
Your rings gleaming with joy you serve 
Crisp and ever kept when on ice 

Your tangy taste brought to the fore 
When you're breaded and brown and fried 
Your lovers always cry for more 

Healthy food you match so many 
Vitamins, minerals and fiber 
Salted for sodium and taste 

Lovely onion, I see not you should cry 
Lovers abound in this world you to try 
    _ _ _ 

The fine print:

 -  Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2013* and 2023, All Rights Reserved **
 - I am linked with Melisa Lemay, guest host, dVerse Poetics: Peeled Away, at   
 - I am linked Magaly for the prompt at Friday Writings # 88 ,   

 - Magaly has asked us to write of "poetry or prose, which includes a cliché used in an unusual way.  I opted out on that, but I can't even say "better late than never" because I might "never" do that.  
 - Notes:
  **See my other poems or writes on this blog using or about Onions here, 
     and on my other active blog here, 
    Included above is my recipe for making a delicious egg sandwich using Onions.  Yummy (BTW, notice how I make a square fried egg in the microwave--it fits the bread better) ,
 - To read others using Onions in their works for the prompt, 
    click here
.. 

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Thursday, March 09, 2023

Raring to go, Spring is here #2 ~~ a Poem for the Friday Writings



Spring has sprung; 
  where are the wildflowers

Spring is for the flowers to shine 
Wildflowers are special to me 
Old ones, young ones, wherever found  
In the fields or up from sidewalks 
In the parks or at garbage dumps 

No matter colors I like them all 
Purple violets, wild pink roses  
Yellow dandelions in grass 
I'd pick one or make a bouquet 
'Twould be for my mom or good friend  

I loved my friends girls and boys, but 
“Write love letters to wild flowers” 

I picked this clump of clovers beside the sidewalk 
leading to downtown Killarney, Ireland
                    _ _ _ _ 

 - Photos and Poem Copywrite, Jimmiehov 2015 and 2023, All Rights Reserved  
 - Top Photos Copyright, Jimmiehov 2015 (URL) 
 - Botom Photo Copyright, Jimmiehov 2011 (URL) and 2008 (URL)
 - I'm linked with Magala for the Prompt phrase at the Friday Writings #67 at  
Notes: 
 - Magaly has invited us to create poetry or prose inspired by a line from our own Marja, “Write love letters to wild flowers”.
 - You can find my 2015 "Raring to go, Spring is here #1" by clicking here where the Texas Bluebonnet photos stay 

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Saturday, October 08, 2022

Morgan Freeman - a short Iregular Ode in Tribute


 Morgan Freeman place in my mind 
Forever you're my favorite  
Favorite male actor laureate 

Chauffeur supreme I remember 
Driving Miss Daisy everywhere 

Never complaining movie wise 
Assigned an undignified role 
Yet awards galore say, "Bravo"
 _ _ _ 

Addendum:                                    
Old man of my generation 
While you're still working I'm retired 

Upcoming movie: A Good Person
 _  _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2022, All Rights Reserved 
 - I'm linked with Carrie at the Sunday Muse #231 for the picture prompt at 
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Tuesday, October 12, 2021

Weekly Scribblings - They're Keepers

 

   These shoes . . . 
    (an ode to these shoes) 

"These boots are made for walkin'" 
An old country western song 
"... gonna walk all over you"
Hush Puppy shoes made to walk  
 
Walk you did, these shoes of mine 
Dusty trails and dusty roads 
Paths in Israel, Jesus walked 
Precious now, these shoes of mine 

I don't wear you anymore 
Nor wipe road dust from your soles 
The paths of Jesus you've crossed  
So many times that summer 

Revered you sit on my shelf  
Where you've been my mind returns  

 - - - 

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved 
 - I am linked to Magaly at The Weekly Scribblings #91  for the prompt below at https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2021/10/weekly-scribblings-91-personal-symbols.html 

 - Magaly asked us to "write poetry or prose inspired by personal symbols. Not a symbol that holds the same meaning for everyone, but something special to you."
 - I have not worn these shoes since we returned from our Holy Land Tour in 1980.  They sit on the top shelf of my closet for me to see up there and reflect.

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Saturday, July 31, 2021

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 

 - - - 

 - 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. 

 - - - 

 - 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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Saturday, April 11, 2020

Day 11 of NaplPoWriMo 2020 - Ode to a Weed


Ode to Wild Milkweed 

Oh Milkweed plant prettiest weed that flowers
Whose blooms are the brightest orange of all
Your lineage is one of the hardiest
Great great grandparents hoed out of the corn
Your line has survived and gained prestige

You beckon the Monarchs from afar
On their treks from Old Mexico they stop
Your sweet smell pretty blooms they can't resist
While those butterflies stay their eggs are laid
You graciously host them and their cacoons

Then beautiful Caterpillars do roam
over your limbs over your body
Gracious again you give your leaves their food
While their mothers continue path to North
Die on their way praise your name in Heaven

Those worms turn to Monarchs like their Mothers
and take their places at the north
Oh compassionate weed of the wild
You'll have time once again more leaves to grow
And milkweed plant prettiest that flowers 


 _ _ _

 - Poem and Photos Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020,All Rights Reserved
 - I am linked with Kerry O'Connor in the Imaginary Garden at https://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2020/04/april-2020-days-11-15.html?m=1 
 - and with NaPoWriMo Day 11 at http://www.napowrimo.net/day-eleven-8/ where I used mainly their prompt, a particular flower for inspiration.  I chose the Wild Milkweed which attracts the Monarch Butterfly.
 - I am also linked with the Writer's Pantry at https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2020/04/writers-pantry-15-all-about-that-love.html 

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Monday, October 28, 2019

An Ode -- Poem for the Quince

Photo from Wikiedia
[click to enlarge, once or twice]
"Still-life of quinces"
Vincent Van Gogh

Ode to a Fruit

Oh that I'd eat all the fruits that I like 
Apples oranges and grapes my delight
Some are strange like the yellow fellow Quince
Not real pretty eating raw makes one wince

But baked in a pie they are O so good
A wide slice will be sweet soft and gooey
Find them in France growing near St. Remy
Van Gogh painted himself a bowl of them 

Oh that I'd eat all the fruits that I like 
Eat them raw but for Quince in pie I'll bake
 _ _ _

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Kerry O'Connor in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2019/10/kerry-says-what-is-metamodernism.html?m=1

 - Kerry wrote of the scientific principle of "metamodernism" and of it's place in poetry.   My writing today makes a 180 degree turn around which sort of fits in.

 - My inspiration was from reading "an Ode to the Quince"  published in "The Tree Hugger", October 19, 2019, click here , by Melissa Breyer, managing editor (her Bio). Wikipedia article

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Friday, April 21, 2017

NaPoWriMo 2017, Day 21 -- an Ode,


 
To My Memories
 
My lips are sealed, there are things I cannot tell
Sealed not by birth nor by surgery or accident
Sealed only because some things need not be told
Not by promise to anyone except a promise to myself
 
Some for money will say things that needn't be told
Others for release of bursting head memories
Perhaps I'm selfish, I do enjoy reliving those moments
If that was a sin then is it still a sin to savor them now
 
If my reasons for keeping mum are for none of these
Then you might ask, pray why won't you tell
And if you do ask I'll say my reasons I just won't release 
Keep these to myself, smile or cry, I will enjoy and mourn
 
_ _ _ _ _
  - Photo and Poem Copyright © 2017 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved
 
 - Notes: 
 - - 1) The photo was taken while I was at one of my running away places (this may be true or 'truth embellished')
 - - 2) Many of my poems are purely hypothetical if they relate to me or to my feelings, others a mixture of being true or untrue.  This one is more truth than fiction.
.
 - I'm linked withat the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, “I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream”, http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2017/04/i-have-no-mouth-and-i-must-scream.html 
  - - - and   
 - also to Day Twenty-one of NaPoWriMo, http://www.napowrimo.net/day-twenty-one-2/

   
 - The instructions from Magaly: "I’m not exactly sure how old I was the first time I read “I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream”,  by Harlan Ellison ... Can you imagine yourself being full of ideas and words and feelings and wants and urges and needs… and not being able to communicate them? Have you ever pictured yourself living in a world where you are not allowed to speak? ... (here she added 'we could add "for fear of punishment"'--which definitely did not apply to mine, at least anymore) ...  I invite you to create a new poem inspired by the title of Ellison’s short story ... "]

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Thursday, September 15, 2016

Adi is gone ~~ a "We miss her" poem (reconstructed)




Of the day Adi died

Close the door, you're letting the air conditioning out
I need someone to talk to. With if you see fit so to do
I've been thinking of Adi dear dog, how she died.  Final day
Adi, love of my life, had been having seizures really bad

When in one she'd become incontinent poor soul laying there
She scared the bejesus out of us, thinking this time she's dead
But in a little while she'd get back up not knowing what went
We took her to her doctor that day, would be her final one

Her vet gave us some choices, take her home, let her die there
Put her in the doggie hospital, then to a nursing home
Our other choice, put her to sleep so deep she would never wake
We chose the latter.  The vet said she'd be back when we're ready

The vet returned, two needles in her hand. First would calm our dog
I held her paw, stroked her neck. She lay there, so trusting was she
Tears were in her eyes, the other needle came.  She'd like to stay
Our eyes were teary too, even the vet's, friends saying goodbye

Friends we were, us for seventeen years, the vet for several 
Adi and I were partners, registered pet therapy pair
Her friends at the home would miss furry friend, their dogs never came
But I would miss her most, I loved her most, my eyes tearing now

There on the doggie table Adi said her goodbyes, I saw
Holding her paw, feeling it quiver, then her eyes said it all
Through her tears she whimpered, "I love you guys." I hugged her then, the last time
"I'm going to God's Doggie Heaven, I'll see you when you come."



 
Adi died September 12, 2012 -- I miss her so very much, still today
_ _ _ _

Photo and Poem copyright, 2008, 2009 and 2016(Poem) Jimmiehov, All rights reserved
Photos copied from 2014 post which used 2008 photos,
http://jimmiehov6.blogspot.com/2014/11/carpe-diem-escape.html
These and more Adi posts on this blog.
http://jimmiehov6.blogspot.com/search?q=adi
 _ _ _ _

I'm linked with 
 

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Thursday, June 30, 2016

A "Weeds in the Garden" poem

. 
On Being a Weed
 
I am but a little weed in my soul
Being adopted, domesticated,
potted.  Now 'weeded' and cultivated
 
They call me a flower. Little daisy
Do wash your pretty face, ears, and behind
Don't play with naughty boys, act a lady
 
Go to Sunday school with your grandmother
Learn the memory verses, then tell grandpa
Be nice at school, learn perfect penmanship
 
Grow up to be ladylike, what they want
I'll follow their rules, daisy I'm not.  But  
I'll act my own weed-at-heart when I'm grown   
_ _ _ _
 
Photo and Poem Copyright © 2012 and 2016 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved
2012 Photo was a part of this Jim's Little Blog post:
.http://jimmiehov.blogspot.com/2012/09/two-shoes-tuesday-4-secret-midweek-blues.html 
It truly is a wild flower, a weed.  It grew, must have been from a seed,
 in this pot. I did not pot it.  I leave it alone and it comes up every year,
blooming about two or three times each.
 
I'm linked with at The Imaginary Garden with Real Toads,
Weeds in the Garden (link).  She wants us to have a 'Weed' poem.
.

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Wednesday, July 16, 2014

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.

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