At the big ditch -- a Poem for Sunday

Young folk;
at the big ditch

Sunning on the bank of the big ditch

they laid in the sun and talked

They were too young to be romantic

but true romantic they showed

He picked her white ripe dandelions ripe

white fuzzy domes she would blow

She would cool his brow when he sweat

her hanky dipped in the stream

Time to go yellow flowers he picked

bouquet for his sweet young friend

Hand in hand slowly they walked the mile

lingered by her door they part
  

His text on the way home, come morning

meet you at our corner, I'll carry books

_ _ _ _

Photo and Poem Copyright, 2018 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved
 [Photo is my "PrintScreen" copy of Crepuscule by Heinrich Kuhn (1897)]

  - I'm linked with Kerry O'Connor  at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Camera FLASH! , http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/03/camera-flash.html 

See the waterlands ... a Thursday Poem

 

See the water lands;

save the water lands

We trudged to the pier, coffee in hand, trying to make sense of outlines peering through the fog. For certain there was a sun up above, trying to break through the clouds.

The noise of a propeller was competing with its driving motor. Have to put up with that.  And now we could see her.  Mama Cass reincarnation?  We immediately though of her as a Hippie we used to know, only younger.  Her sun bleached hair was to her chest, straggly as usual.  Sandals though, not barefoot as the old.  And where was her yellow dog who followed her everywhere?

We all climbed on and our Ms. Cass gave us a lecture of which I've forgotten every word.  Except I do remember she was holding a sack of marshmallows, there were three more up front by her controls.  She revved the engine and we took off, almost literally as this water craft was air propeller driven.  We were skimming across the water.

We went rather fast until we passed a herd of turtles.  There we slowed and our guide threw half a sack of marshmallows.  Those turtles clamored over to see the fuss, and then to eat.  I think they had been wailing for us; they must have had some sugar sweet teeth.

Off we went again, a left then a right another right and then left.  I didn't know how we would find our way back, for sure I'd tie a ribbon on the tree.  Finally the high spot of our swamp ride, we stopped and Mrs. Cass gave out a loud screech.  Then she smiled as she tossed our the marshmallows.  I think I counted seventeen alligators coming to call.

Our way back was uneventful, we must have made every turn correctly as soon we were back at the start.  It didn't seem long but by my watch we had been out for three sun burning hours.

Let's save the turtles

Let's save the alligators

Politicians won't

_ _ _ _

 

Photo and Poem Copyright, 2006, 2018 and 2018 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

 - I'm linked with Sherry Blue Sky  at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Wordy Thursday With Wild Woman: Being the Change, http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/03/wordy-thursday-with-wild-woman-being.html

 

 - Sherry's instructions are to "Write a poem about the Everglades. Take a serene ride down the river and experience a time out of time. Either poem will be good for the soul."  My ride was in the Atchafalaya Basin beginning in Henderson, Louisiana (https://basinlanding.com/airboat-tours/). 

 

Digging for Gold -- a Poem for Sunday

. . . . . . .

              Digging for gold;

              hard way for riches

                    

1         Stop and blow my nose while I dig for gold 

2         Chilly days and nights freezing buns, no moon

3         Sniffles, rained, Klondike, how I caught my cold 

4         Coughing every moment.  Tough life we've made

5         Soon sure I'll stop and watch you dig for gold 

 

6         Think how rich we'll be when we reach the pot

7         Dig where we last saw the rainbow's end, bold

8         Mansions we'll build to stay warm through the

     night    

9         Wealth isn't pleasing, now we dig for mold  

10       Let us reconsider.  Have we enough   

 

11       We've plenty--others want.  Let them dig for gold
                 _ _ _ _ _

Photo and Poem Copyright, 2018 Jimmiehov, All Rights Reserved

  - I'm linked with Gillena Cox at the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads, Fashion me your words to fold ~ RAINBOWS,  http://withrealtoads.blogspot.com/2018/02/fashion-me-your-words-to-fold-rainbows.html

 - Gillena has devised a "new" form which she calls "Fold".  I think I have written this in Fold form.  It is an eleven line poem with lines five (5) and eleven (11) repeating the ending word or phrase of the first (1) line.  All the other odd lines, three (3), seven (7), and nine (9)  should rhyme with the ending word of the first (1) line.  And if possible make reference to a like of hers, a rainbow - She has published her forms or information of them  HERE and HERE .
 - Photo was one I took while on a half hour walk on the trails in the Green Zone, for flood control, starting at the end of our street.  Fog was obscuring the view of the other side of the small stream that runs through.