Visitor Growth - a write for Friday Writings

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    The Visitor Came 

The day the visitor came 

A fuzzy little guy, brown 

He looked hungry, we fed him 

All vegetables, our surprise 

A hungry guy sort of thin 

We talked a bit just chit chat 

He then proceeded to tell 

Tell of his life's hardships; 

"Born in the wild, jungle home 

But now on city streets"   

We asked him had he a place 

He said "no kind folk, I don't" 

Now family conference 

If you're nice you can stay here 

He has been here ever since 

"One problem, I have four buds 

They've street people too, we five 

Dawny Duck, Frosty Snowman, 

Bunny Rabbit, Teddy Bear 

Nice children, sleep in one bed 

All five of us need a home"

I've another, monkey caged 

I fear he seems to like that 

Swinging in his cage all day 

Passersby come, they applaud" 

Visitor Tig, was the best 

Nice kid and so were the rest 

Even so was the monkey 

But he's not want to escape 

Well fed, much loved, all for free 

     _ _ _ 

Note:  I've rewritten this poem today, January 21, 2023.  If you read it yesterday it had Tig and his friends, along with the monkey, being taken from the wilds before being adopted into the home of the writer of the poem.  I have saved it but now it is much nicer, almost cute, than before.

Monkey friend, November 12, 2007 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=asGhCioHqow

This little fellow greeted us every morning at our hotel while we were staying in HuehueTenango, Guatemala for two weeks.  At the video end we were sharing hands.

 - Photo, Video, and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2023, 2007 and 2023, Respectfully, All Rights Reserved

 - I am linked with Rosemary at the Friday Writings #60, at  

https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2023/01/friday-writings-60-visitor.html?m=1

 

 - This week Rosemary is asking us to write about 'the visitor' – whatever that may suggest.

Dolls and Toys -- NaPoWriM 2022 Day Fifteen

    Be My Paper Doll 

Boys have toys 

That's well known 

And when they grow older  

some they still own 

I don't mean their Porsches 

and electronics 

Ones they might keep for play 

like down on the floor or 

up on a table top 

While others are keepsakes 

of which they never play 

So now I'll tell of mine 

Some I still have some are 

out in a grove 

Like my steel wheelbarrow wheel, 

or rusting behind a barn 

Others were only in my mind 

though I never owned 

That would be the electric train 

I found every Christmas time 

It stays in the store or Sears catalog 

or on my cousin's shelf 

Teddy bears and trucks and cars 

Most every marble I've ever 

had resting in an old crank churn 

The tin monkey that knows 

his multiplication table through twelve 

Six Match Box cars on my dresser 

lined up ready to race and 

my gyroscope in its box  

A wooden box with my wood box and 

My Shirley Temple scrape book 

that Mom and I filled 

An old cast iron taxi my sister 

bought sort of like the one 

I had when small 

There's my Dick Tracy camera 

I'd ordered from Chicago 

And a few others I haven't told 

There's one I played with 

but never owned 

And NEVER WILL 

That's the paper dolls 

Ones like I played with 

while visiting my cousins 

I would cut out clothes for the dolls to wear 

When we ran out then we'd find some more in the Sears and Wards catalogs 

Doing all that was fun 

But now I've no desire for them 

No desire to even play 

let alone own 

There is an exception 

But still, I would be FAKING IT 

That's if a GRANDAUGHTER 

wanted me to play

Paper Dolls 

Oh yes, I forgot to tell of, 

my trusty Red Ryder BB Gun, 

it still shoots 

And my Snow Sled 

hanging on a garage wall, 

we have no snow in our 

Gulf Coast part of Texas 

[My dresser top -- Race Ready]

 _ _ _ 

 - Photos and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2022, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with NaPoWriMo 2022 Day Fifteen for the prompt below, 

https://www.napowrimo.net/day-fifteen-8/ 

 - We were asked, like  "challenge you to write a poem about something you have absolutely no interest in."  That would be PAPER DOLLS.

..

Friday Write - High School Stuff

[Our new Badge for our "Friday Writings" entries.  Designed by Magaly]

  English 10 

English 10 for my senior year 

Tenth grade teacher ordered wrong books 

My grade twelve I sat with sophomores 

Intense grammar, composition 

First year for teaching 

was "Miss P"  

I was her pet, suited me fine 

What I remembered wasn't much,  

"if I chewed gum then give her some" 

Infatuation was not shown 

Four years older than me her pet 

But did I learn what I was taught

College Comp 1 and 2--comped out 

 - - - 

 - Prose Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021. All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Rommy for the inspiration hint, see below, at the Friday Writings #2, at https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2021/11/friday-writings-2-always-learning.html?m=1 

 - Rommy has suggested that we use a subject studied in school as inspiration, tickle our Muse, for writing this week.  I liked them all except for Math Statistics which needed a better refreshing of my Calculus.  

 - I chose Sophomore English which was delightful to me.  In college most of my writing papers received an "A", "B" was the lowest paper grade I received.

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Weekly Scribblings - What would it be?

        

Changeout 

Did you ever wish you could trade bodies

For bigger body parts or for smaller ones 

Nobody wants ours the old wrinkled ones 

Or other blemished or disabled ones 

So we should be happy with what we've got 

"It's the only place we have to live in"** 

But just think of the pleasure we could have 

Like driving of a new car--love that smell 

So that's what we have, thinking and wishing 

"It's the only place we have to live in"

**Note: words of  Jim Rohn who "was an American  entrepreneur, author, and motivational speaker . . . " 

Wikipedia 

 - - - 

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

 - I am linked with Magaly Guerrero for the Jim Rohn quote as in charge of The Weekly Scribbles for this week, #85,  https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2021/09/weekly-scribblings-85-take-care-of-your.html 

 - Magaly asked us to write poetry or prose inspired by the following Jim Rohn quote: “Take care of your body. It’s the only place you have to live in.” Feel free to use the phrase literally or figuratively. 

 - "Emanuel James Rohn (September 17, 1930 – December 5, 2009) was professionally known as Jim Rohn.  Wikipedia 

Sunday Muse - Meditations

 

   Walking Home 

My sales went well today 

I can hardly wait to hear 

Mama's good words to say 

They warm my heart please my ears 

Even Mr. Fiesty sold, 

My yellow canary friend 

Woke us up on mornings cold 

Sad this way it has to end 

Family will eat today 

Mama takes from the money 

Markets, venders, food she pays 

Laugh and eat still funny dressed 

Someday when money's mine 

I'll buy Mr. Fiesty back 

 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved 

 - Photo prompt from Carrie at The Sunday Muse #172, http://thesundaymuse.blogspot.com/2021/08/the-sunday-muse-172.html?m=1 

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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 

 - - - 

 - 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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Weekly Scribblings -- Remember this one? Sure!!

 

                The Cow 

Hey diddle diddle cat and fiddle 

That's an earworm I couldn't get rid of 

Sang it day and night without giggle 

Started the night, rockets on my rear 

Headlines told, Cow jumped over the moon 

That was a thrill to me, almost swooned 

My little dog growled at first, 

But then he laughed at the fun I had 

Going to the moon not yet a fad  

Kitchen suffered loss from fright's pay day

Dishes and spoons, they all ran away  

Never got found, cat and dog grew crazed 

Earworm still warm?   I gave it away 

To cousin of Mark Twain's Passenjare ** 

** Mark Twain, poem, Punch Brothers, Punch;

A Literary Nightmare - Wikipedia

https://en.wikipedia.org › wiki › A_Literary_Nightmare

"A Literary Nightmare" is a short story written by Mark Twain in 1876. The story is about Twain's ... removing the jingle from his mind.  

  _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Magaly Guerrero at the Weekly Scribblings #74, https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2021/06/weekly-scribblings-74-painted-tales.html?m=1

The Nursery Rhyme,

Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle
The cow jumped over the moon
The little dog laughed to see such fun
And the dish ran away with the spoon 

       By Mother Goose

 _ _ _ _ 

I had wanted to write of one of Henri Lautrec's characters but time was against me and I wrote this little snippet instead and worked harder on the Cow poem above.

[drawing by Henri Lautrec]

I am the clown 

I am having a gazillion goblets of fun 

I am Georges Footit, a white-faced clown, owner,  narrator, and producer of the dog and pony show.  We can be found in Tent 203 of our circus during non-show times, and in the center ring halfway through the main production.

I was born in the mind of my maker, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, more generally known as Henri Lautrec.  We've been together for seventeen years.

My pony's name is Kelley, she's a miniature white horse.   The dog is Shep, always Shep.  Most time she is dressed as a baby yellow lion. Neither will bite although Shep pretends she is doing that. 

One day as we were walking Shep started to growl and began to dig at the bushes near us.  I tried to get her to come away but nothing doing.

We called the police and when they came a man wearing a bandana mask crawled out from the bushes.  A short search found his gun under a rock.  It was loaded and cocked, ready to shoot.  

But the crook didn't shoot dogs, he loved them like his own kids (who hated him and his ways).  The crook's name was Harri and Mr. Lautrec said he could join our little act. 

  from, as background reference,

Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec - The famous draftsman

The Circus

"One day early in March 1899 Lautrec awoke from the intoxication extolled in Baudelaire's poem to find himself in an unfamiliar room. The door was padlocked and the windows barred, and a male nurse kept watch over him. He was, in fact, in the Folie-Saint-James, at 16 Avenue de Madrid , Neuilly, near the Bois de Boulogne, a beautiful eighteenth-century mansion situated in the middle of a large park, which had been transformed into a retreat for the mentally sick. 

"He had decided that he should prepare an album of works on the theme of the circus, which his friend, Joyant would then publish. This plan had one great tactical advantage: one of the symptoms of Lautrec's illness, was his loss of memory. If Lautrec were able to recall in precise detail the most famous circus attractions of the previous twenty years, the psychiatrists would surely be obliged to admit that they had been mistaken in their diagnosis. 

"In his circus drawings Lautrec captured the comedy and pathos of the situations as well as their movement, sound and color. In the circus world Lautrec's favorite model was Georges Footit, a white-faced clown (image left). 

And after these drawings the specialist: patient quite calm, could undoubtedly be maintained, but ... Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec was still sick ..." 

  found (go read some more of Henri's life in relation to his art) at http://www.vangoghreproductions.com/gogh-friends/toulouse-lautrec.html 

Henri Lautrec was born at Albi, France.  below is our son standing near the entrance to the museum which holds many of Lautrec's drawings and paintings.  

Read more of Henri in the link above and read of our Holiday tour here, Our Spring 2009 Europe Holiday 

[large picture] [super sized] [click on any picture to get the large size]

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Weekly Scribbling Poem ~~ Taking a Look Back

. 

If I only . . . 

If I would have turned back for a picture 

I've said that how many times I don't know 

But today a change took my life in tow 

I'm so glad I did, found so many things 

So many precious  things I would have missed  

A tree, four more, emerging from my past 

http://jimmiehov.blogspot.com/2006/06/friends-again-and-couple-of-nice-gift.html

[cypress trees on the left, there wee more] 

.Cypress trees, our hotel, St. Remy, France. 

Tall, gorgeous trees, under which we played boule 

The Misses and me, I would always rule  

There in Provence,  the old town of Van Gogh 

Town where he left an ear, was committed  

His loved olive trees loved by Jesus Christ 

We stayed there a week, toured Provence real close 

We left no lingering mark though it marked us  

https://jimmiehov.blogspot.com/2006/04/biscuit-biscuit-while-staying-at.html?m=1 

 _ _ _ 

 - Photos and Poem Copyright,  Jimmiehov 2021, 2006, and 2021, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Magaly Guerrero for writing prompt (see below) and sharing for Weekly Scribblings # 54,    https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2021/01/weekly-scribblings-54-hindsight-is.html?m=1

 - Magaly, prompting, would like us to create new poetry or prose inspired by the phrase, “If I knew then what I know now”. We can include the actual words in our contribution, but it’s not a requirement. 

The Pig

The kids are coming 

The kids are coming, that's what Grandpa said.

Grandpa had been uptight, climbing the walls.

But Grandma was tearing up, really sad.

Grandpa hadn't noticed, counting his balls.   

Grandpa hadn't liked this new holiday.

Never before was a day, freedom lost,

honor White Pigs Day. The president made

mandatory celebration, dang laws.  

Honor the pig? Really a day off work.

Well, the kids all came, the grandchildren too.

Yes, there had been a pig, white spotted York.

Saved the nation from Coffee Party new.  

Those mad men and ladies he slew, no few.

The ones who didn't die went underground.

Soon to be gassed they were, Presidents do.

Honor The Pig, accolades all around.  

Grandpa pretended his day to enjoy.

He'd rather playing golf, losing more balls,

than give homage to The Pig, mangy boy.

The President? The Pig? Coffee Man galls? 

Spring Garden; Lonely Little 
Texas Bluebonnet, © 2020
- - - - - -
Originally posted March 20, 2014

Photo and Poem Copyright, © Photo 2008, Poem 2014, Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

I'm linked today with Izzy at the Real Toads, The Challenge--Out of Standard 

Now. March 28, 2020,I have linked again, to Sanaa Rizvi in the Writer's Pantry at
 https://poetsandstorytellersunited.blogspot.com/2020/03/writers-pantry-13-april-here-we-come.html?m=1 

Izzy's Challenge:
Invoke your reign over the calendar and write a poem which takes place on a holiday you invented.  It can be to canonized your personal hero who does not have a holiday already, or celebrate an event that you feel deserves it’s own time in the limelight. Or just make up some crazy nonsense, like the Day of the Seventh Head of Matilda.  You know, shake hands with your imagination.

I have one rule and one rule only for this prompt--your poem must take place on your holiday, not simply be about your holiday.  This means you will need to invoke a narrator and some sort of setting!

A "what I am" Poem for Midweek Motif

What am I?

What I am is what you see
Not always what I liked to be
All alive see Red differently
What they learned on Mama's knee

Red is the same in chemistry
How each has seen from infancy
and now it makes no difference why
Grass is green blue is the sky

What I am is what you see
Not always what you'd like for me
Things are different if it's a crime
Bad is bad but some is worse

Remember I'm not your slave
If you don't like how I behave
For you then changes I might cede
If I don't then one could leave

What I am is what you see
Please keep me for eternity 
 _ _ _ _

- Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2014 (link) and 2019, All Rights Reserved
 - I am linked with Susan at Poets United Midweek Motif, http://poetryblogroll.blogspot.com/2019/11/poets-united-midweek-motif-authenticity.html?m=1

The elusive man never seen -- a Poem

Thou Fat Man, a Cryptid?

doest thou really cometh
[see below for Cryptid definition]

The children are making their lists

the Mothers are getting rest

For once kids are good to behold

They perch quietly to hear more

Come November late October

Standing in line, parents in tow

waiting their chance to tell the man

He's dressed in red does all he can

Tries to make them think he is real

He's fake and most for that don't fall

Real Mr. Claus lives far away

Has never been seen, that we say

_ _ _ _

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018 (Santas) and 2019 (Poem), All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Isadora Gruye in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2019/01/your-lesser-known-cryptids.html 
 - and also with Anmol (HA) in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2019/01/the-tuesday-platform-departed.html
  [larger? click on picture]
Isadora's words: "Getting comfy with less popular (emphasis mine) cryptids
A cryptid is an animal presumed to exist by people, even though there is no valid scientific evidence to prove it is real. And oh sure…there are a few that come to mind right away: bigfoot, the lochness monster, yeti, chupacabra. Those cryptids get all the attention, all the fan fare."

My Santa Claus is very well known, yet not ever seen my man.  He came to mind tonight and I can't get rid of his image until I wrote this little ditty here.

Mothers - a Poem for Friday.

Weary this day sigh in relief
Sticks for the stove porridge to heat
Wood chopper not no axe for she
Mothers expend their energies
Always they have children to feed

Her fire is warm children are fed
Stories to read mother well read
Their teeth are brushed now off to bed
Children at peace their prayers said
Mothers world wide their prayers inbred

 _ _ _ _


Poem Copyright, 2018 Jimmiehov,  All Rights Reserved

I'm linked with Fireblosom at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/05/fireblossom-friday-edward-emerson.html?m=1

NaPoWriMo 2018-18 -- Day 18, a Poem, Breathe ...

 

 
Start, 
Breathe in: 

Fresh air 
and sunshine 
They make a pair 
Both help us sustain 
For Oxygen 
D vitamin 

Stop, 
Breath out: 

Go for a walk 
Such a pretty day 
A chance for us to talk 
Then what you say 
We can toss 
A rock  

(or two)
 _ _ _ _
 

- Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved 

-  I'm writing for Paul John Dear  at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Write Here, Write Now, http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/04/write-here-write-now.html?m=1

  - I'm also linked to Day Eighteen of NaPoWriMo,  http://www.napowrimo.net/day-eighteen-4/.  If you click on 'PARTICIPANTS SITES' link at the top of their page you
can read the poems submitted by other bloggers