a Poem (I hope) using some Russian Slang

Appy polly loggy

 

Appy polly loggy to Baboochka

Baboochka Dear I am sorry you blub

You are not a devotchka anymore

 

I hurt your feelings now I am sorry

I wish to make amends please forgive me

Dorogoy to me ljublju so very much

_ _ _ _ _

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved - I'm linked with Bjorn in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/12/dorogoy-droogs-come-clockwork-orange.html 

 - Bjorn wishes for us to write using a Russian slang which he found from researching his "Clockwork Orange" book.  You might like to see what I am trying to do at his link above.  I would rather have written it in Pig Latin or German but that was not "Slang" which the Russian is. (Hint, click on a link there called "Appendix")

 - For an interpretation highlight the blank area below until you reach the line entitled, "Labels:"

Apology

 

Apology to grandmother

Grandmother dear I am sorry you cry

You are not young a woman anymore

I hurt your feelings now I am sorry

I wish to make amends please forgive me

Dear to me I love you so very much

My grandfather and I ~~ a Prose Poem

Favorite Grandchild

Doesn't every lass or lad think of being grandma or grandpa's favorite?  Well, I did. And so too probably did my sister and my seven cousins on Dad's side of our family. Whenever I had Grandpa alone I KNEW that I had an inside track with him.  Like the born-again KNOWS he's going to Heaven.  Tell you a couple or three.

First one I remember was when my sister was born, Grandpa came and got me with his pickup truck. He had his stud horse in the back and we would make some rounds that morning.  I really didn't appreciate him leaving me alone while he and the horse walked away.  My first second encounter with the birds and the bees, I was five.

After that alone time with Grandpa I don't remember him much in anything special.   He was always there and I took him for granted.  There was the time he took a toy away from my younger cousin for being selfish by not sharing it with me. "J" had two rather large  cast iron toy Yellow Taxi Cabs, replicas of about 1929 cabs. Grandpa then gave it to me, it became my favorite toy.  Until Dad accidentally backed over it with his tractor.

Grandpa once told my father to have my eyes tested as I was missing too many cockleburs when we were weeding the corn with hoes. My eyes were fine. Grandpa had a couple rows, he rode his horse while we others walked.  Another time in one of our numerous rides Grandpa promised me his 1955 Ford car when he died. I remembered that,  Grandpa didn't.

Grandpa died while I was away in the Army, I was in Texas and didn't go up to Nebraska for his funeral.  If I could leave loving memories with my Grands like Grandpa did for me, this life would probably be worth living twice as much.

Note:  Jim's offspring are five kids, six grandchildren, four great grandkids, and one great-great grandchild. Sixteen so far.
 _ _ _ _

 - Poem copyright, Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Msgaly Guerrero in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/12/weekend-mini-challenge-life-is-ripe.html?m=1
 - Magaly encouraged us to write in 131 words or less in prose form of a situation in the past, in our early life, one that has influenced our lives in the present.  I have greatly exceeded her ideal length, a mini-poem.  And there's way too much to get it edited down much--mine has 319 words without the 18 word Note.

Do you care? That's Thursday's Poem

Like to know

This may be the year I come out

For a long time even my kids

They didn't know, I wouldn't tell

But they figured out they don't care

I don't tell friends most wouldn't care

When the subject comes up they talk

Want to know to them it matters

It might to me as well I'd like

We like to know from each other

I'd be proud if I'm the oldest *

* My coming out will be a revealing of my age.  Not a whole lot of people know how old I really am.  I don't tell. 

 _ _ _ _

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Marian in the Imaginary Garden at

http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/12/revelation.html
 - Marian's post was about coming out of he closet like mine, but for her singer find (Youtube) it wasn't about revealing one's age.

a Poem from reminiscing times with my Grandparents

 
      To Grandma's house

Over the hills to Grandma's house
Does that make sense or ring a bell
For you?  It does to me
some I remember well

Christmas and Thanksgiving  most
Always we'd go.  Turkey perhaps not
I'm not sure she knew how it cooks
All the moms brought some
things but Turkey not

Aunt, mother of the oldest kids
she'd bring duck
I didn't eat duck I think all the kids
didn't although the adults swooned
when it came in the door

Most kids didn't like Grandma's
scalaped oysters but I did.  She made
them in a large tall pot
had soda crackers lining the
walls.  Then

once a year, I don't remember when
like spring or fall, we'd have
fried catfish caught fresh from
the Missouri River   they
were really good, I remember there'd
be yummy oyster stew too

Saturday nights Grandma and
Grandpa would always be home We

liked to come, Mom
would cook something good and
then head over there to
eat with them 
Cousins might come too

Grandpa had TV and we liked the
wrestling he would watch. We liked
TV and we didn't
have one at home.  After big holiday 
family meals us kids watched Howdy
Doody on his TV

Mom and I would eat
breakfast too with Grandma
mostly on Monday mornings when
Mom would bring over her laundry. 

We had no machine  Those days
I had a private audience with
Grandma,

and she with me 
Grandma was a school teacher before
she married   After that she stayed
at home, had kids, cooked and took
care of the kids

She took care of Grandpa too, washed his
clothes and found him food.  I know she
could cook regular stuff, fried eggs

and potatoes and oyster stew  
Grandpa was the boss,
boss of Mom and Dad, boss of me

But not boss of Grandma.  Grandpa had
three Midwest farms, all close together. 

(My father share cropped on the smallest,
120 acres.  The farm had to provide for
Mom, Dad, my younger sister, and me)
 _ _ _ _

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2010 and 2018, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Sherry Blue Sky in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/12/wordy-thursday-with-wild-woman.html 

 - This is all true.  Sherry wanted us to relate to some happenings or people or places that we were associated with in earlier days.

a Flash Poem for December

 

We came late

 

We came late into the game

Game of life men were playing

We had grown, our dolls did not

But we had learned woman's work

We cleaned we cooked and we sewed

If money was tight we taught

Loved Rosie the Riveter**

She taught us to be ourselves

No more a slave to our man

 _ _ _ _

 - Poem Copyright,  Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved 

 - Photo copied with PrintScreen for Kerry's link below.  Her picture of Jessie Tarbox Beals can be found here, https://petapixel.com/2015/02/22/americas-first-female-photojournalist-jessie-tarbox-beals-with-her-cameras/

  - I'm linked with Terry O'Connor in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/12/camera-flash-55.html 

 - My Flash Writing has exactly 55 Words not including the title.

 - ** Note, Rosie the Riveter, link

 

Man's Loss -- a "Won't Come Back" Flash Poem.

 

Aging or finances the start

Sad day for a fellow I'll tell

Painful for him lasts for his life

A man loses his pickup truck

Loses a part of his manhood

A part of him it won't come back

Remembers like blood on the sheets

When youth departs you're an adult

Not all bad but it won't come back

Dogs, spouses, parents, kids and friends

Die or go away, miss them so

Visit their graves, view their pictures

Sense their presence come back, sort of

Man's machine, part toy, won't come back

 _ _ _ _

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2010 and 2018  All Rights Reserved (the picture was previously posted on my blog of May 12, 2010, at http://jimmiehov.blogspot.com/2010/05/one-of-my-favorite-cars-midweek-blues.html.)   - (I drove a 1949 Black Ford Pickup to high school, the first two years I rode my horse, Minnie.  The one pictured was on my Autumn 2009 NAPA Auto Parts calendar.)

 - I'm with Toni Spencer in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/11/mono-no-aware.html?m=1
 - Flash poems have fewer words than the norm, typically 55, 144, here 150 maximum, when writing with a group.  Toni's words, " I want you to write about the changes and the sadness around those changes... be brief - no more than 150 words.  Try to write in the Japanese style of brevity and minimal description."  I wrote 92 words.

What I've said not ~~ a little Acrostic Poem

 

Lines of four say a lot

Or they can be a waste,

Then I'll say "LOTS" in haste

Shamed for what I've said not.

 _ _ _ _

 - Acrostic Poem Copyright,  Jimmiehov 2018. All Rights Reserved

 - I'm linked with Kim Russell in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/11/weekend-mini-challenge-and-days-are-not.html?m=1

 - Picture (a Field Mouse) is to be found at Kim's Imaginary Garden link above, there posted from Pinterest

Puppy Love ~~ a Thanksgiving Day (Thursday) Poem

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL !!!

Photocopy by PrintScreen
of a Picture by Karin Gustafson at
at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/11/giving-thanks-with-love-poem.html?m=1 
Karin "Reserves all Rights" to her picture.  
Please do not copy it for further use.

They named me Toto

God blessed the day

The day I found them

They were walking by

I crawled under the fence

And followed them

until they noticed

They picked me up

Took me in their arms

That made me happy

Could it be they'd take me

My sisters were gone

Girl puppies go first

But I was left

No one wanted me

Was there a chance

Could they take me

Sweet little girl

Her mother seemed kind

They took me around

My front door loomed

I was trembling

Would they ask my folks

Please please I want to go

Go home with them

Ask they did, they did

Can this wee puppy

Come home with us

We'll take good of her

We'll name her Toto

Feed and love her well

Start of new life for me

Happy family I'd found

And every day I felt

their love for me

Wag my tail Thank you God

for our loving home

Toto is my name

 _ _ _ _ _

 - Poem Copyright,  Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Outlawyer, aka Karin Gustafson in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/11/giving-thanks-with-love-poem.html?m=1 

 - My poem is true. Toto had a nice, happy long life with us. Eventually she died but went blind before that. I almost cried as I was reading Mrs. Jim the poem.

HAPPY THANKSGIVING TO ALL !!!

Places that Heal, a Poem for Saturday

A man's retreat must have wheels

The day before had been hard
He strapped on his helmet, it
signaled his path to freedom
Two wheels, point 125
liter powered his Vespa

The path to Old Mexico
was beckoning him that day
He'd forget troubles at home
hard with four kids and a wife
These two were but kids themselves

Customs passed, over the Bridge
Around town, sunny Juarez
Dogs bid him hello, ever
so often one would growl
Women doing the clothes line

They all waved or barked, could they
remember him from last month
Open road, breeze in his face
Passing shanties kids and dogs
Could they be as free as he

Come evening he'd be back home
The kids would hug him tight, glad
Mom, she would shrug, "Supper's done,"
"Glad you were free for the day,
you work hard and need relief"

Fifty years later retired
Old Mustang treated, top down
Toward the beach they went, speeding
The pony played that bright day
Fifty to a hundred ten

Seems both needed some relief
Mustangs should not be confined
Clear their lungs, treat their Old Man
Up and down the sandy beach
She loved the sand in her skirts

Come evening they'd head for home
Love each other as they could
He was her second owner
As was his wife to him, let
out to pasture just one day
.
.

. _ _ _ _
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 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov Photos 2010 (link) and 2013 (link),  Poem 2018, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Sherry Blue Sky in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/11/wordy-saturday-with-wild-woman-places.html
 - Top picture, http://jimmiehov.blogspot.com/2010/11/national-motorcycle-museum-midweek.html
 - Bottom picture, http://jimmiehov.blogspot.com/2013/08/six-word-saturday_30.html

a Flash 55 'poem' for you

Love hate relationship

When I'm hot she is cold

She is rich I work hard (15)

Last night I had a dream

Wrestled my head from her

Herod's daughter had asked

For it on a platter (20)

Silver platter it was

Though now I have them both

my head and the prized plate

Dreamt relation should end (20)

_ _ _ _ _

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved
 - Photo is a PrntScr copy from Kelly's post, see link below

 - For inspiration I'm linked with Kerry O'Connor in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/11/camera-flash-55.html .  Kerry would like to see 55 Words poems, making it a Flash 55 Poem.  This one is exactly 55 words (my count is in brackets at verse endings.

 - By writing this 'poem' I am also helping to send our love and support to Hedgewitch, during her time off from hosting (instructions were in Kerry's post linked above.

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)

A Poem for Thursday -- October Wind

 

October Wind 

October wind swirling 

Leaves, red yellow and brown 

Valiant, colour classic 

They try to follow wind 
.

Despair displayed they fall 

Plunging, gutter awaits 

Branches cry, murmuring 

Not what they were born for 

.

Comes new day new tenants 

Little girls with dried sticks 
Write notes in the gravel 

Here lie trees' brave soldiers 

Their struggle not in vain 

Winter home for squirrels 

 _ _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018, All Rights Reserved 
 - I'm linked with Sanaa Rizvi in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/10/get-listed-october-edition.html?m=1  -
The writer (me) was to use four of these words, I chose five:

• lucid                    fiery                  twilight               silhouette                     despair
• touch                   plunge                frost                   goldcrest                      wind
• sleep                   colour                 aspect                murmuring                   coffee
• gravel                  leaf                    october                branch                          notes

A Poem for Another "Fussy Little Form", the Tritina

Drifting where we mustn't go

Spining trees drifting mist wind gently blows 

Harder by midday trees lost in the mist 

Yet they hold their fruit squint against the wind 

We huddle cuddle against still cruel wind

Passion knows no end leaves around us blow

Blowing leaves midst of fruit juices we kissed 

Missed the mark ever turns to rain not mist  

Drifting where we mustn't go trees in wind

We pick our fruit before wind harder blows 

Where blows love's light mist to rain, a hard wind

 _ _ _ _ 

 - Photos and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2010, 2016 and 2018, All Rights Reserved 

 - I'm linked with Marian in the Imaginary Garden at http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/10/fussy-little-forms-tritina.html?m=1 

 - Marian presented the 'Tritina' poem to us. It is a three verse, three line each structure and ends with another line.  The first verse endings are 1,2,3 withe the following verses ending per the second and third lines of the chart below. The final line must contain the words,  1, 2, and 3 in that order. I cheated once, at least, and used one rhyming end word instead of repeating the correct word again.

1-2-3

3-1-2

2-3-1

- The birds are a part I cropped today from a Harbor Picture I took at the Harbor at La Serenta, Chile in 2016 while the tree photo was taken by me near Quebec City, Canada, in 2010.  I posted it that year, 2010 in a poem, "Joie de vivre [Joy of living] ", link.