Saturday, January 16, 2021

Sunday Muse Story --- The Dance

Look'n Back; to see if ... 

The music was playing, a bouncy tune that we all knew.  But I was alone sitting in a chair against the wall.  Most had emptied their chairs and were paired up on the dance floor.

Couples all, jumping, swirling, twirling and bowing.  Boys with girls, girls with girls, a few boys with boys, and a few girls had picked boys.  But I was alone sitting in my chair. 

Good time for me to hit the ladies room, and let tears fall on my sleeve.  As I neared the door I passed a booth with one fellow sitting there alone.  He was sipping his drink, it looked like a Coke, and stirring it with the straw. 

As I was passing by I looked down to look him over, and then he looked up.  I think I slightly smiled and deliberately slowed my pace.   Nothing transpired and the door was near.  

One last glance back to the booth.  To my surprise the guy was up and fast walking my way.   Then I felt a touch on my shoulder and I stopped. 

As I turned, he said to me, "It would be a shame if this neat song went to waste for us.  May I have this dance with you?"

The rest is our history.  Only my diary knows all my secrets.
 _ _ _ 

 - My youngest grandaughter, age eleven, composed and choreographed a dance routine similar to this story, including the backwards look near her end.  Hers had the pair meeting, then dancing and bowing until the near separation.  I have forgotten the tune she used, playing it from her iPhone.  KUDOs to her.   
 - Story Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved 
 - I'm linked with Fireblossom for this week's picture prompt, The Sunday Muse # 143, 
 ÷ The photo is of Tracey Powers as Mary Pickford 

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Wednesday, January 13, 2021

Weekly Scribblings Poem -- for Mary Oliver and Landscape

. . . . . . . . . .

Photo mine, Copyright, 

Jimmiehov 2018 (link)

I love to find old Zombie 
Trees along the roadside. 
 _ _ _ 

Poem, "Landscapeby Mary Oliver (link)

"Isn’t it plain the sheets of moss, except that
they have no tongues, could lecture
all day if they wanted about ... " 

 _ _ _ 

Would We Listen 

If our Mother Nature could speak 

Then I know some tales that she'd tell 

Miraculously made beauty 

Eons or Big Bang creation 

For you for me hard to believe 

Families, campers, hikers, climbers 

For what ever reason they come 

Most will not be disappointed 

Those visitors must please her much 

If she could tell would we listen 

The trees would sing wind in their tops 

They'd sing of rabbits nibbling near 

Deer rubbing antlers on tree trunks 

Flowers below colors so bright 

Yellow, violet, orange and red 

Dismal scenes though, thieves and dozers 

Axes and saws, plows and mowers 

Houses offices parking lots, 

Resident animals hunted 

Lakes polluted water taken  


Remember Indigenous folk 

Their reverence did well for them 

We moved them off, reservations 

We are guardian of all this 

How well are we doing our job 

 _ _ _ 

Mary Oliver had a love for Nature and spent untold hours enjoying being in it and writing about it.  She was one of America's favorite poets.  She died January 17, 2019. 

 _ _ _ 

 - Photo and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2018 and 2021, All Rights Reserved. 

 - I am linked with Rosemary at Weekly Scribblings # 52,,  for Mary Oliver's poem, "Landscape".

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Saturday, January 09, 2021

Sunday Muse Poem ~~ Apple off the Tree

I'd Like to Be: 
Apple in Glass 

Apple apple in my mirror 
who is the most delicious here 
Please say it's me not far from tree 
It's you it's you Jonathan dear 

Apple apple of my right eye 
Mirror mirror please say again 
Slice it as you can, taste of me 
I'm picking you your bite and all 

That dread bite sucks forgive my fall 
I'd like to retrieve what is lost 
The best part of the stolen fruit 
Stolen from you stolen from me 

My dear aunt don't mourn for the lost 
Savor what is left, my beauty 
It won't last long more thieves will come 
One more bite all I want from you 

I'm the family's last must preserve 
Granny Smith's skin so smooth I have 
Dark skin blue eyes and hair so blond 
Features I love, father's, mother's 
That's fine with me my dear auntie 
Please bite my rear where doesn't show 
When I fall again way I'll be  
Apple in the glass you may stay 
 _ _ _   

= Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved 
 - Photo from Carrie Van Horn as inspirational prompt, at

Wednesday, January 06, 2021

Weekly Scribble Poem ~~ She Walked Away


[My Friend's 1934 Ford Coupe*]

I'm Outa Here 

Walking down their course graveled lane 
Suitcase in her hand, face troubled 
She stopped there where we were working 
Working on our thirty-four Ford 

I was under/beneath the car 
I clearly heard her say to him 
You love that blankety car more 
than you love me--take this old car 

I'm leaving you and won't be back 
 _ _ _ 
    When a kid drops out of college there are a lot of pastime things to do.  I had three jobs**, for fun I had a steady girlfriend, dated a few others, and learned cars from Bill, an ex professional race car. driver, who was a quality control inspector in our plant. From what I learned I was able to hop my two-year-old Ford Tudor passenger car up so fast that in street racing it would beat the other modern automobiles.***  
    We had a race car, it was very fast, one that would almost always win the Saturday night "'B' Feature Race."  We, with Bill driving most times, had to hold it back so that in the heat races it would not qualify for the "'A' Feature".    If we raced in that "A" Feature another car with a Chrysler Hemi engine would most often win in a Plymouth coupe.*  
    Sometimes I got to drive, mostly after we blew our engine and it was more than our sponsor would pay for a new one.  So the sponsor dropped us and we got another.  This sponsor wanted us to have a Chevy and he furnished us with a 1937 Chevrolet with a hopped up GMC truck engine.  
    That was what I was driving when a front wheel broke at the far corner.  I went over the dirt embankment and into a dried up salt lake.  I was not hurt and we had the car going again the next week.
    So, ... when Mrs. Bill came out that day, she hardly stopped walking while telling her Hub that she was leaving.  Bill didn't cry that I knew of, cry as I later was to do when my first wife left me for one of her young students (they married and divorced, both within a year). 
    I never saw Mrs. Bill again, I hope she was happier with a fresh start.  Bill recovered very fast and had a steady soon again and that blossomed into marriage
That was another short chapter in my life, his steady had a sister who liked me lots. 
 _ _ _ 

 -> Photos and Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2008 and 2021.
 -> I am linked with Magaly Guerrero at 
 -> For the story part I have 348 words, Magaly wanted no more than 369.  I had used "Walking Away" before on October 6, 2020.

 -> Notes: 

* For more about our racing effort and this car, click here . Our car looked like the coupe above with the fenders cut back to about three inches, the running boards and headlights removed for safety, and stronger bumpers.  Our racing car number, 88, was painted on the doors and on the trunk lid.   

** My three jobs were 40 hours in a watch factory, working part time at a Car Park Garage, and Saturday nights stuffing the ads into the Sunday Lincoln Journal comics.  Eleven years later I went back to school and was awarded three degrees by going ten more years mostly night school while working.

*** Unlike the youth today, I didn't continue stoplight racing for over half a block, except out on the new Interstate Highway which was soon to open. 

 -> On the first Weekly Scribblings of the new year (Jan 6 2021), Magaly will invite us to revisit our Weekly Scribblings selection, and write new poetry or prose using one of our 2020 prompts. Please add the title (and link, if you can) of your chosen prompt to your post. Don’t feel like searching? No problem. Here are some nice choices: 

1. Weekly Scribblings #43: Found Poems and Erasures
2. Weekly Scribblings #40: Walking Away
3. Weekly Scribblings #35: The Joy of Rest 
4. Weekly Scribblings #31: What Makes You Smile?
5. Weekly Scribblings #28: Seeing Things
6. Weekly Scribblings #25: Well, That Was Unexpected
7. Weekly Scribblings #22: It Takes a Bit of Discipline
8. Weekly Scribblings #10: Early Bird or Night Owl?
9. Weekly Scribblings #9: Contagion 

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Saturday, January 02, 2021

A Timely Poem for Sunday Muse

Time's Way

Ten thirteen o three was her time 

She wished she had gone digital 

Flowing hair covered hidden clock face   

Plus digitals need no winding 

Worrying won't be of help now 

Perhaps better off the mantle 

Visitors gagging on their thoughts 

Nice urn for ashes would have worked 

Taxidermists getting richer 

_ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2021, All Rights Reserved 

 - Photo link, Carrie Van Horn at Sunday Muse # 141

Sunday, December 27, 2020

Sunday Muse Poem -- Masks



May bells and masks hang this New Years Day 
Hang from the ceilings, hang in the halls 
New Year's Day--reckon with or we pay 
"Pay the Piper" I'd say or mask falls 

The Mask of Happiness we pretend 
Pretend we must, happy we are not 
The year ends with our world in a mess 
But there's a glimmer of hope we've got 

Though ices flow without seals clinging 
No frivolity there will be because  
The seals are hungry and they're crying 
Masks help them not--hanging in my house 

At home penniless hungry people 
Waiting in line in their cars sleeping 
Food lines open, six, flags on the poles 
New leader, change tune, stop our weeping 

(Goodbye 2020)
_ _ _ _  

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved
 - I'm linked with Chrissa for my above picture inspiration at the Sunday Muse # 140, at

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Sunday, December 20, 2020

Sunday Muse Poem -- Sleepy Writer

 [late singer/songwriter Laura Nyro (1960's plus)] 

 The Late Night Writer 

She writes at night, generally late 

Kids are in bed it's after eight 

Most times it's way later than that 

Hubby and she, in bed may spat 

Then when all is settled and calm 

She peeks at what she's jotted down 

May make sense, often foolishness 

Ideas may come, she's still dressed 

Have a smoke while yet in her head 

Compile her thoughts sits on the bed 

Close her eyes to think, she will nod 

Hot fingers are her wakeup prod 

Quickly she dresses for the bed 

With the pillow temping her head 

Eyes quickly close, bed's her night's home

Finish tomorrow, a song or a poem 

_ _ _ 

Note:  This poem is not about Laura Nyro, rather is about a hypothetical writer much of the like I am.  Many of my writings are done with me sitting on the edge of the bed, way often after midnight.  I'm generally have my P.J's on.   

                                  _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmyhov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Fireblossom for the Picture inspirational prompt, the Sunday Muse  # 139,

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Wednesday, December 16, 2020

Weekly Scribblings #50 -- From Bad to Worse


My Bones 

Down in my bones I feel the ants crawling 

They're all sorts of colors, bakers candy 

Dots they're always running like in a race 

Race they'll alwsys lose to racer back hogs 

Down in my bones, I  feel those racer backs 

Feeling I'd like never ever to stop  

And so when they think I might be tiring 

They squeel, oink oink oink, like they're calling cows 

Down in my bones I feel the cows running 

They come running, got to see what's to eat 

Heads between braces,  mind not stanchion locks 

Eat oats and hay ahead of the horses 

Down in my bones I feel pounding  horse hooves 

They eat everything in sight don't gain weight 

One can ride them all day until they tire 

Tired they let down their guard scabies enter 

Down in my bones I feel scabies chewing 

They chew my skin, drink my blood, gnaw my bones 

Killing them is a science--must be done 

Better crawling ants out than scabies in 

 _ _ _ 

 - Poem and Photo Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights  Reserved 

 - I am linked for prompt inspiration with Rommy at Weekly Scribblings # 50, 

 - Rommy wantd us “to think about how we might finish this sentence, ‘Down in my bones, I feel ______________’. If you’d rather tackle this from a different angle, you also have the option to write about bones in general. It also isn’t necessary to use the exact phrasing.  But you can, if you want to."

Monday, December 14, 2020

Writer's Pantry Poem for Today

Take Note 

Are you a note taker? 

A note believer I am 

First day lectures I say 

To my class, "Take Good Notes 

Your Tests will be over 

the stuff you need to know 

If it's in your text book 

and what I say in class 

but not my corny jokes 

All I say you jot down 

After class rearrange 

Make a study outline 

Fill in holes, stuff you missed 

and things from your book that 

were not covered in class 

Now make a shortened one 

Study what you don't know 

Review in your spare time 

Every student I've had 

Who made an "A" took notes" 

 - You are welcome to visit my Seasonal Posts on "jim's little Christmas tree farm" blog. 

 _ _ _ 

- Poem and Photo Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - I am linked with Writers’ Pantry #50 

 - This is true, I told the above to every class I taught at San Jacinto College, Business Law, Entrepreneurship, and Intro to Business.  

 - Please excuse the photo for having a U of H sticker.  I have an Associate Degree from San Jac and two others from the University of Houston.  All three attained while working full time at NASA Houston.

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Saturday, December 12, 2020

A Sunday Muse Poem -- Is There More

Not the Best of Days 

Not real smooth today 

She missed her alarm 

Set it to "Snooze" but ... 

Skipped her breakfast 'cause 

The dog burned the eggs 

Then ate the biscuits 

Flat tire on her car 

She had to call Jeb 

He was her friend not 

Where they parked was bad 

Had to park in mud 

Jeb's no Sir Raleigh 

There she lost a shoe 

In the mud some place 

Late bell was ringing 

Were things better now 

Team cheering for her 

Run, run, one shoe gone 

Morning was ho hum 

Only six mistakes 

Noon, get her hair done 

Let's change it to blonde 

I've new goopy bleach 

You can try it free 

When lights came back on 

'Twas seen, bleach wash-out 

Her hair a sick white 

We can save the day 

We'll frize just one side

 - You are welcome to visit my Seasonal Posts on "jim's little Christmas tree farm" blog. 

 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - Photo prompt suggestion by Carrie Van Horn at The Sunday Muse # 138,

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Wednesday, December 09, 2020

An "R" Poem for Weekly Scribblings - The Tiger

Tiger Growls or Roars


Far tiger weirdly  

  growls or roars 

Tiger ruler 

  from Afrikar  


Dare our creature 

  saunter our trail 

Trace tracks near our 

  residence.  Grrrrrr ! 


Surprise surprise 

  tiger's our friend 


(My Christmas Tree blog updates about twice a week, ) 

 _ _ _ 

 - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

 - I'm linked with Rosemary for Photo and Prompt at the Weekly Scribblings # 49

 - Rosemary asked us ro choose a letter and use it often.   Please read the self history she wrote of her experiences with letters and her learning and use of them .

 - I chose the letter "R" and used it 43 times in my 10 four syllable lines and the title.   Every word has at least one letter "R".  I did take a few liberties with my use.


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Sunday, December 06, 2020

A Poem for the Sunday Muse -- Deserted

Needs of an abandoned home 

Order me a bucket of paint 

And a quart of wood stain 

Make my house look so nice 

Some pink gingham curtains 

Shades to pull keep out the bright sun

Rugs beds and furniture 

Air conditioner and stove 

Food in the pantry 

Soup cereal flour 

Coffee and sugar 

That'll start us a home 

Or I'll stay here alone 

Sleep in the corner 

Under some blankets from my cart

That I found by the road 

Then I'll keep warm 

If, until, when you come 

What is the dog doing now, on the right? . .... . . [large picture] [extra large]

 _ _ _ _ 

 - Poem and Photo  Copyright,  Jimmiehov 2020 and 2010, All Rights Reserved 

 - I'm linked with the Sunday Muse # 137 for the top Photo Inspiration,

Tuesday, December 01, 2020

A Blursday Poem for Weekly Scriblings -- Every day is Blursday

   [click photo for larger]
(My Day today 'virtually')
(59F and Raining at 5AM) 
(I'll be hanging out at the 
Blue Dot--another long Day)

Days of the Week;
 my how we change (not)

Every day is Blursday 
For nineteen years 
I've been 
calling them Saturday 
Except for Sundays 

Nineteen years and three months
I retired from twenty-two years 
of teaching 
Since for all that time I've been
thinking of them as Saturdays 
I have to mark the calendar
like a prisoner does
to keep the days straight 

But now the COVID has come
along.  A thief in the night 
It kills and maims, you name  

So we all hide 
Hide when we've nothing pressing 
hiding in our homes 
hiding our faces when we're out 
trying to keep the monster Corona virus 
from spreading  
Worse than all Saturdays is this 
new Blursday  

A writer's note:
Before teaching my working life had started:
1) three years - factory work 
2) five years - U.S. Army
3) nineteen - Aerospace Engineer at  NASA. 
(I finished college part time, eleven years, three degrees, while at NASA)
 _ _ _ _ 

 - Prose Poem and top Photo Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 
 - I am linked with Magaly Guerrero* for her neat prompt and bottom picture at Weekday Scribblings # 48
 - I chose 2. Blursday, see note below, as a prompt word/idea for this writing
  - NOTE:  **Magaly "invite(d) us to write new poetry or prose where the central theme revolves around one or more of the following five words:  
 1. Allyship (n. active support for the rights of a minority or marginalized group without being a member of it),  
2. Blursday  (n. a day of the week that is indistinguishable from any other),  
3. Covidiot (n. a person who disobeys guidelines designed to prevent the spread of Covid-19),  
4. Doomscrolling (n. the action of compulsively scrolling through social media or news feeds which relate bad news),  
5. Virtue-signalling (n.  the public expression of opinions or sentiments intended to demonstrate one’s good character or the moral correctness of one’s position on a particular issue)." 
 - The list of her new "words' grew lomger overnight, see them all at the link above 

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Saturday, November 28, 2020

A Poem for Sunday Muse -- Days in the Life

 Goldie in a Glass Cage 

Her wish had almost come true

All her life she had wanted 

Little fish wishing to be 

A mermaid in her glass cage 

So excited she had been 

The day her new owner came  

Most fish had hoops, toys and trees

But Goldie of these had none 

They fed her well gave her smiles 

She dreamed of fine play-ponds, but ... 

Exercise had no meaning 

Swam back and forth--eight inch cube 

Then, sigh, came her fateful day 

Relief she thought out she went 

Another room, deep white bowl 

Harshly dropped and all went dark 

Gushing currents through a tube 

Seemed forever all was dark 

Had the end come?  It did not 

Lonely dark ride, shines glass cage 

So when they put you away 

You'll be mere toilet bowl stuff  

Better than making cat food

Mermaid was not, kept her gills 

 _ _ _ _ 

  - Poem Copyright, Jimmiehov 2020, All Rights Reserved 

  - I'm linked with Chrissa for the prompt photo at the Sunday Muse # 136

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