Best Jimmie Poems
I have attempted to capture my favorite major league baseball players in this little shape poem of home plate. Included are (in no particular order):
Say Hey Willie Mays Walter Johnson (Big Train)
Randy Johnson (The Big Unit) Babe Ruth (The Sultan Of Swat)
Tony Gwynn Jimmie Foxx
Ted Williams Maury Wills
Stan “The Man” Musial Johnny Bench
Ken Griffey Jr Greg Maddox
Henry Aaron Lou Gehrig
Roberto Clemente Ty Cobb
Satchell Paige Ernie Banks
Rickey Henderson Carl Yastrzemski (Yaz)
Trevor Hoffman Albert Pujols
Gibson (Bob and Josh) Honus Wagner
Rogers Hornsby Cal Ripken
Robinson (Jackie, Frank and Brooks)
Some favorites I had to leave out…
Christy Mathewson Warren Spahn
Sandy Koufax Tom Seaver
Mickey Mantle Rod Carew
Joe Morgan Ozzie Smith
Mariano Rivera Miguel Cabrera
Pedro Martinez Ichiro Suzuki
David Ortiz Jose Altuve
I’d love to see your faves mentioned in the comments section!
written 24 Aug 2020
Categories:
jimmie, baseball,
Form:
Shape
Sometimes a song can take me back
Make my memories come alive
To a time when love was a way of life
And families struggled to survive
Sometimes I get a little mellow
When I listen to an old love tune
And dream of days long gone
How they passed by too soon
Sneaking my first cigarette
I don’t think that I was ten
And listening to the AM radio
While the Kalin Twins sang “When”
We grew up with real music
That helped us bear our heavy load
When Gogi sang “The Wayward Wind”
And Mitchum told us about “Thunder Road”
Sometimes when I’m down, I think about the past
And a different way of life
I’ll listen to Lloyd sing about “Stagger Lee”
Or Bobby relate the tale of “Mack The Knife”
There were a lot of question and a lot of answers
Some were wrong and some were right
Like “Does Your Chewing Gum Lose it’s Flavor
On the Bed Post Over Night”
Sometimes those songs bring a tear or two
But they always bring me joy
While Jimmy crooned “Just A Dream”
And the Shirelles loved their “Soldier Boy”
When Jim Ed Brown sang of “Scarlet Ribbons”
And Perry said, “Catch a Falling Star”
Dee Clark was calling “Hey Little Girl”
Johnny was thinking “Chances Are”
Sometimes I wish I could return
To the days of my childhood
Just to hear Johnny Ray sing “Cry”
Or Chuck wail “Johnny B. Goode”
Jimmie sang about a “Honeycomb”
And “Kisses Sweeter Than Wine”
The Orlons were meeting on “South Street”
The Chiffons said “He’s So Fine.”
Skeeter thought it was “the End of The World”
Because she lost her one and only
The Beach Boys said “Don’t Worry Baby”
Roy Sang for “Only The Lonely”
Sometimes.
Categories:
jimmie, music, nostalgialove, me,
Form:
Narrative
Lemmie Jimmie is a playa!
Look at him smiling,
walking with his new girl
Why are the other pigtails all hating
on LJ being so happy ...
‘cause he caught the eye of the new girl
Watch Leonard James
affectionately always playing
with his favorite new baby girl
He a playa for sho’ ...
his high school sweetheart wife
oughta know
Categories:
jimmie, fun, girlfriend, love,
Form:
Light Verse
Jimmie Jim my piddling crony was a little toady
Happened to meet a gaudy king who loved a hot toddy
Jimmie’s ass an ace in the hole
Dipped in snail’s pace in the king’s bowl
Said Jim Sire, my daddy, King of Ire, I am your bawdy
Categories:
jimmie, fun, nonsense,
Form:
Limerick
Before “The March on Selma”, before it all began
James Orange was arrested; he was a giant of a man
It was Rumored they would lynch him
So the church gathered and they prayed
But once outside the temple, the authorities were outraged
They were meet with opposition and brutally beaten to the ground
Some ran as they were followed; Chaos was the sound
Three ran inside a café, thought shelter would be found
Protecting his mom from trouble, Jimmie Lee Jackson was shot down
Eight days later he would die; but his death gave us the fight
Our voice no longer silent unified for what was right
We wouldn’t ride the buses, together we would stand
And though their hearts were heavy, they walked hand in hand
Martin came to guide them, to Selma they would march.
To change the course of history, equality of every sort
Dr. King fought for our dignity, Pres. Obama now lives the dream
As we celebrate fifty years later, what does it really mean………
To be continued……………………….
By Patricia Mitchell-Templeton
Categories:
jimmie, black african american, celebration,
Form:
Prose Poetry
In December 1951, I turned ten years old--
Harry Truman was president of the United States,
The Korean Conflict raged on a faraway peninsula,
The Golden Gate Bridge closed due to high winds.
My mother developed melanoma in her left leg.
In December of 1956, I turned fifteen years old--
Dwight D. Eisenhower was president of the United States
The Korean Conflict was over,
Asian flu reached pandemic levels, and,
Elvis Presley purchased Graceland.
My mother died on a hot July 1957 evening in our home,
And our lives changed forever--
For, you see, our mother meant the whole world to us.
Elizabeth Agnes Allport Hankins was only forty-two-years old
when she passed away, leaving three children:
my sister Lois, the oldest at twenty-two,
my brother Jimmie, the youngest at ten,
and me.
Two communities mourned the death of our sweet, Godly mother
who for a little over five years, through suffering and pain,
cared for us kids and taught us how to care for ourselves, for
“After I’m gone,” she would say, “You’ll need to know this.”
We never heard her cry,
We never heard her complain,
We never heard her express fear.
We never heard her question her faith in God.
For years, no matter where I was living, I would always return
on Memorial Day to visit my mom’s grave in
that old, overgrown cemetery in the West Virginia hills.
One Memorial Day, I suddenly realized something I had not before.
My mother never has lain deep in that cold, stony ground--
She forever lies in the sweetest, Godliest depths of her children's hearts,
She is still watching over us just like she always did,
and, because she is always with us,
We need never go back.
FIRST PLACE WINNER
Written on March 28, 2021
For the “Mother” Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
Categories:
jimmie, love, memorial, mother son,
Form:
Narrative
My first amendment right was never fought for overseas! It was Martin Luther King who was beat to his knees! It was Fanne Lou Hamer who gave me permission to speak! It was a war on Sunday but only in American streets! It was four little girls bombed in Birmingham that fought for me! It was Jimmie Lee Jackson killed by a state trooper, it was Recy Taylor raped by 6 white men that were set free! It was Claudette Colvin who wouldn't give up her seat before Rosa Parks wanted to rest her feet! It was Ruby Bridges and the Little Rock 9 but no US solider died for me! It was Mose Wright who said “their they be!” Black soldiers segregated begging to fight to give blood for rich greedy white, but not me! Returned home and couldn't get a bite! Separated on the battle field and in Georgia latrines! It was Red summer when white soldiers pummeled blacks in the streets! Negros hung for wearing uniforms and you say you fought for me? Meager Evers shot down in the streets, Emmet Till till today crying out I can't breathe! How arrogant of you say you fought a war for me! You fought 3 wars before I could even vote! my people had to take to the streets being beat by ex-military who turned cops with sheets! No war over oil benefited me! In the words of Brother Ali, I leave this "Listen I'm in no position to judge a young stud Tryn'a use the military to come up Cos self preservation is the first law of nature" just stop saying you fought for me when my ancestors blood cover American streets! They the only people that fought for me! How can you fight for some rights that was supposed to be Naturally given to me?
All Rights Reserved by Man-o son of Afrikka Redemption!
Categories:
jimmie, africa, america, black african
Form:
Note
Pete Barnhill was befriended by the late great Johnny Cash.Both were around 13 years of age at the time.Pete learned Johnny his very first chords on the guitar.The rest is history......
PETE BARNHILL - MY TRIBUTE
Pete Barnhill was born with a withered right hand.
All his life he fought a crippling disease.
His old Gibson flat-top, could play a mean tune.
Incessant infiltration of the breeze.
As a polio child, he was teased at school.
Mass of metal worn on his right leg.
But a friend was made, back in those school days.
And a lesson we should never forget.
Pete taught Johnny
in a shotgun-shack
a tub-thumping rhythm like a train on a track
among the cotton-fields
in the Dyess land
where the folk were poor
and the dirt was manned
A bedrock for bedlam down that old dust road.
Playing Jimmie Rodgers tunes and the songs of Hank Snow.
That railroad rhythm, came from Pete's goldmine.
Hear that embryonic baselines now, on Walk The Line.
Kindness is a language, that the deaf can hear.
Kindness is a Language, that the blind can see.
When a gift is gone then another comes along.
Lessons learned from Johnny for you and me.
Categories:
jimmie, health, old, old,
Form:
Rhyme
Somewhere tonight
Somewhere tonight they will sing from the heaven above.
Playing the music of the great for all to hear.
Good old Hank will sing your cheating heart he is so lonesome he could cry.
Patty Page she will take the stage with a song only she could sing.
While Bill Monroe gets ready to play with Conway and the boys.
They sing with joy and welcomes the newest
As little Jimmie Dickens belts out a song .
There is no rest for the best.
As somewhere tonight they all will sing.
As the sky fills with song may they all R.I.P.
Categories:
jimmie, blessing, death of a
Form:
Free verse
Not On The Menu
Sister girl don’t judge the brothers at
The zip mart with oily stained jeans
And dirty fingernails, judging him not clean
Turning your head,
Sighing with dread
Thinking he got a nerve to look your way.
It doesn’t look like he has a good pay.
You stick up your nose
Shifting your hips to that not for me pose.
To get outside and pass his ride
And it’s a Jag, a Benz, or a Dooley truck
Or a rusty pickup
Pulling a sponsored racecar in stride.
Rolling your beautiful brown eyes
at the man wiping sweat from his brow.
Your mind start counting and you go wow!
The fella with paint spots pass by you in a van.
With another right behind it
Both with the name Painter Dan.
Sister girl standing there with Apple bottoms,
Oscars, Liz, and Jimmie Chu, Vera Wang
Hung on your shoulder with your BS and BA
You’re beautiful and fly and you are definitely a Miss Thang
passing up the brother in the Honda and Toyota
Who’s going to night school to get his MBA.
Sister girl, sister girl, don’t judge a book by it’s cover
I’m a straight up hard worker, a good man, a good lover
Sister girl, sister girl look around.
You are over looking the plumber, small businessman,
and technicians…We want to lift you up not bring you down
You are passing over good men because we
are not on your menu.
Don’t meet your specifications
No where near meet your expectations.
Suave sister girl who go down your list
gotta have that, gotta have this
Drive a Lex, a Benz, make over 100 grand
who finally gets what she wants
Her suit and tie man
Who doesn’t show an ounce of love
Compassion or kindness,
And doesn’t have a plan.
He has a gold Rolex with a dollar in the bank
Sister girl, sister girl, how does he rank?
Don’t judge me by every other.
I’m a straight up good man and will never be undercover.
I’ll have your back in good times and bad.
Oh, and by the way I will be a great dad.
Sister girl, sister girl so what are you going to do?
Hmmm and hah about me until you turn blue.
Listen up sister girl. I may not choose you.
Categories:
jimmie, appreciation, boyfriend, humor,
Form:
Light Verse
THE FIRST TIME I SAW YOU JIMMIE. MY HEART FELT SO MUCH LOVE AND WARMTH. YOU ARE MY FIRST SUMMER LOVE, FALL LOVE, WINTER LOVE AND SPRING LOVE. MY HEART FALLS LIKE THE PETALS OFF A ROSE AND SINGS LIKE ROBIN'S BIRDS FALLING IN LOVE THE FIRST TIME.
OH, JIMMIE HOW I LOVE AND ADORE YOU. YOUR KIND WORDS ROMANTIC WORDS YOU SAY TO ME. I FEEL SO MUCH OF YOUR LOVE. YOU ARE MY SUNSHINE OF MY LIFE AND THE SPIRAL OF MY LOVE.
I LOOK INTO THE STARS AND NIGHT. I IMAGINE YOUR EYES SHINING DOWN ON ME. I CLOSE MY EYES WISHING UPON A STAR THAT YOU WERE HOLDING ME IN YOUR ARMS. OH, JIMMIE HOW I WISH YOU WERE HERE WITH ME RIGHT NOW AND FOREVER.
Categories:
jimmie, i love you, imagination,
Form:
Bio
Jimmie’s dad was bent and wise, a man that life had rode by—
But Jim still recalled his words when he would laugh and half cry:
“Life’s a fragile balance between honor and what’s true—
A rare, livin’ miracle like a winter moon that’s blue.”
Jimmie started busting sheep when he was only six—
His dad taught him to ride and shoot, and do those fancy tricks.
He grew long and lean on that ranch and helped with the chores—
And rode the broncs and young bulls then, keeping track of his scores.
His name was Jimmie Moon, but his friends just called “Blue”—
‘Cause kids like him were few and far and his heart was strong and true.
He had wisdom beyond his years – he had seen the light—
He never did the easy thing; he did the thing that’s right.
It came as no surprise; he married a girl named Liz
Folks knew was large with child that was another man’s, not his.
But that was fine with Blue and he still followed his star—
Ranching now part-time and riding bulls in the PBR.
“It’s not like the ol’ days,” smiled his dad, not being funny—
“Then bull ridin’ was for buckles – now you’re talkin’ money!”
But just as Jimmie Blue Moon was on the edge of fame—
September 11th happened and stirred within a flame.
Though his family begged him not to sign and go away—
He enlisted in the Army just the very next day.
Sure enough, his service to a cause became a fact
And he was sent far off to war in a place called Iraq.
Then months and years rolled by as Blue only rode iron tanks—
Never forgetting his wife and child, for which he gave thanks.
Then came a Christmas season when Blue’s ranch was deep with snow—
A knock on the door brought news Blue’s wife did not want to know.
(continued)
Categories:
jimmie, angst, confusion, cowboy-western, faith,
Form:
Cowboy Poetry
Dear Jimmie, where ever you are,
I want you to know that I do fail to notice you by far.
You ill-treated me to no end when no one was there,
Around my mother or anyone you would not dare.
When I understood, I labeled as a coward at his best,
I often think about your anger towards me as you rest.
Praying to God about the son you left behind,
He turned out like you over a period of time.
Very abusive to women and others he meet,
??That devil??…I will defeat!
As I grew to understand that what you did was not cool,
Your intact being so cold and cruel.
Why were you so filled with rage I must ask?
Relationships…and marriages should be a Blessing and not a task.
I guess you never learned to love anyone you met,
A sadistic cycle…I am willing to bet.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my son with ALL of my heart,
Through my loving mother’s quest to help me with him, we grew apart.
Now born, living and descended from your evil soul,
An inquiry from him about you I pray remain untold.
“Rest In Peace” I would NEVER say to you…
The pain and hurt you caused me my mother never knew.
Seeing you again is certainly not something I wish,
Forgetting what you done is something I can not accomplish.
Because I see you in my son each and everyday,
I pray to God…that that vicious cycle will go away.
I will not say thank you for my son…because it was God
...and God alone,
I will love him dearly until I am dead and gone.
So again, as I live life I will continue pray…
to God that my son will change 1 DAY!!
Hell,is where you should be…
Thank God there was NEVER a you and me!
Your son's name is J***** jus' in case.
Again, I never hope to see you again face-to-face!
Seems your family tried to cover up why you took your own life,
But it came out that your father, abused you, G**** and your mother B*****, his first wife.
It sad to know that you were probably molested like[ our] son by YOUR dad,
When he died, I was not sad.
All I could think about was that he hurt everyone around him and you were the worst end result,
And that he was born and raised to be a monsterous adult.
How for back in the family this abuse go,
With him gone, I guess we will never, ever know.
If you are listening from above,
The ONLY thing I regret is that you were never taught to love.
Sincerely Yours, "Jackie"
Categories:
jimmie, death, mother, son, god,
Form:
Bio
All of a sudden (upon
immediately arising refreshed,
whar these lovely
bones did not ache
getting shut eye lasting
amply time for
fatigue to brake,
long enough for tear ducts
to generate sandy granule
size piece smaller
than a Jimmie
sprinkled atop piece of cake
an inexplicable fanciful
notion gripped me
to circumnavigate the globe
(then during or after
write a poem or journaled)
possibly like Sir Francis Drake
who lived (circa?1540 –
28 January 1596)
alight to adventure found
yours truly though
no longer tired
i.e. once adequately
rested and awake,
(despite sleeping respite
did reckon asthma
second daily nap
no...no...no...,this not "FAKE)"
ah ran to the community room,
cuz sigh did hanker for coffee,
sans one of the (perky,
finely grounded, Earthy)
residents, who faintly resembled
a (Lake Woebegone)
Minnesotan from Land o Lake
did brew, filter, and invoke love
said coffee she did make,
tubby extra sure boundless energy
would keep me alert for:
long day's journey into night
and while walking briskly
(this took about a bajillion
orbitz round the sun,
cuz ah...unfairly small feet
for this opaque
grown man hoop ping to partake
of sipping a hot cup of Joe,
(despite the outside temperature
feeling like a bajillion degrees -
courtesy of global warming)
mouth (analogous to
the dog of Pavlov)
started to salivate
for desperate caffeinated
thirst to slake
after a couple swallows...
ah (no idea why butta)
Zarathustra channeled
thru me didst spake.
Categories:
jimmie, 12th grade, 9th grade,
Form:
Free verse
In Nashville, all those tourists visit Broadway every day;
They buy those Dolly Parton posters there;
But the record shop of Ernest Tubb won’t seem the same no more—
Sing “Adios” to Ernest Tubb—he used to walk that floor.
Inside there’re old brown photographs displayed upon the wall
Of Jimmie Rodgers, and Roy, and Kitty Wells;
On his radio show he helped some kid name of “Elvis” get a chance—
Sing “Adios” to Ernest Tubb, and his Western-Country dance.
Across the street is Tootsie’s Lounge, where beer and memories flow;
Nearby, the Grand Ole Opry used to play—
Where “E. T.” helped Loretta face that famous microphone;
Sing “Adios” to Ernest Tubb—he’s the best friend Nashville’s known.
He was Lone Star lean and lanky, with a voice like Texas sand—
And he used electric guitars, `way back when;
Instead of wasting tears tonight, let’s everybody sing—
Sing “Adios” to Ernest Tubb…he made that dance floor swing.
Categories:
jimmie, history
Form:
Ballad