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66 years old from USA

The latest comments that jim has written.

[07 - 14 Sep 2019] - PoetBay's at a major crossroad (Community discussion | Update 2)

Could you explain what sort of work needs to be done, what issues you're facing, and what sort of help you need.



I think this is a poem of faith (that even in the dark the cardinal is red).

Life in nursing home by Ann Wood

My best friend was in a nursing home for seven years with dementia before he passed. He loved his family and friends, but he came to love the nurses and staff, too. They became his real family because were with him all day, every day. They could make him smile when no one else could, and then he would sing some long forgotten song.

And the nurses loved him, the ones that had known him all those years, and cried when he died.

Ornithology and Botany

I love this on so many levels. It makes me happy/sad, which is pretty much how I feel about life.

Lord of...

Another fine poem.

Greta Sails into New York

Such a great use of poetry, powerful, indelible. Excellent, excellent writing.


Friendship, like love, endures. There is truth here, Ken.

The Tocsin

This is strong, Joe. It could have ended many ways. "Forgiven" is a blessing.


So true, so sad, Joe. The same could be said for simple human kindness.

Truth, compassion, kindness—yet, most I know feel these qualities and emotions down to their toes. Most are kind and compassionate and understand the value of truth. We are living through a time when those qualities and emotions are being drown-out, mocked, by the Preacher of Fear and Loathing.

Sorry, to go on so, you've touched a nerve by speaking the TRUTH.

Haiku for Peter Fonda

I second that. Capt'n America and Ulee, he was one of kind.

Husband Moncho helps with Dinner

It's no excuse, but men are idiots. Falling asleep at crucial moments is always a good default position.

You'd miss the little helper. Though, lord knows why.

(I'm projecting a bit.)

The city where I was born by Ann Wood

There is no feeling like going home. You've caught that feeling so poignantly, Ann.

Hope Street (revisited)

I love this. We all have our Hope Street, and the up-and-down memories that go with it.


This has a nice, easy flow, and a very apt metaphor.

I remember learning how to tack. The way forward isn't always a straight line.

China’s Wonders

have you considered stand-up (comedy)?

thanks for inducing a big grin.

I Do Not Approve

I find a remarkable similarity between this and Bibek's earlier writing, highly literary and image-rich.


I really like the way you presented this, the humor and the reality speak volumes.

Ferry to Dublin

I now have an image of the sky at Dublin at dawn where a few minutes ago I had no such image. Thank you.

Thoughts on the news today.

Wise words, Marie. It's all true, especially your thoughts on love and family.

If only tv had an off-switch.

Conversations no1

Babel redux. Bravo : )

Observations of a People Watcher

Two well-told tales. There is an alignment 'twix these stories, and the empathetic fly murderess, that is: caring, observing, feeling, and laughing (at others, at oneself).

Thoughts on Fruit Flies

Joe is right, an empath lives a life of unending introspection. It's exhausting, as you've written. On the other hand, flies are people, too. On the other hand, flies must die.

Hot summer day by Ann Wood

It sounds lovely, despite the heat. Your English garden must be a sight to behold.

The blackbird's ditty

I am afraid that you are like Cowper's fallen colonnade, you represent the art of poetry as we once knew it. It is being cut down, rhyme and meter disappearing, little by little. Once lost it may never be found again.

I am the woodcutter, clear-cutting tradition. I don't feel good about it.

Here's to you, standing tall and firm against the onslaught of modernity. And here's to optimism, another fading commodity, which you champion seemingly without effort.

Five Ways to Destroy Your Life

This is horrifically wonderful writing.

Parent/child 2

I cannot express how much this means to me. I'll let my poem speak for itself.


I like this celebration of weightlessness. It is light itself.

Still skating


Happy men by Ann Wood

Everything you say is true (except the manicure line, I'm not sure about that). You forgot to add how they love fishing and sports, drinking beer, talking endlessly about subjects of which they know nothing. And if they have nothing better to do, they can always start a war, maybe two. But, at least they're happy, or so I've heard.

Overheard at the Workshop

Rhymed poems, I say, are a bore
Reading them is a melodious chore
They sing and they song
All the live-long day long
And what, in the end, have you got
But a song that is lacking in plot
So I concur, rhymed poems are a bore
From me you’ll see them no more
And, as for meter, as you can see
You can toss it into the churning, deep, bottomless, wine-dark sea
Give me free verse any old time
And if by chance it should happen to rhyme
You know it’s a fluke, it's a one-off
And the last line will fall like a brick

Feeling hot, but...

Primal. She hides under the bed . . . waiting (add theme music to "Jaws").

We Have Rain

Good words, Thomas. Cannot give thanks too early or too often.

A Daliesque Rhapsody

I'm tempted to say, "What have you been smoking?" But I won't.

I would say that as well as Daliesque, I would add Dylanesque (Bob, not Thomas).

Surreal indeed.

A walk in the snow

Ah, sweet sorrow! This is lovely, sparkly, romantic, and ends with a soft sigh of loss, and what might have been.

Dream (Inspired by Thomas Defreitas)

I got lost in this poem, drifting and imagining with each line. Very nice!

Empty Hours

This is a gem of succinctness.

There’s Laughs - and There’s Laughs.

Me too, with seagulls out my window. Raucous fellows.


You've taken this trend to heart. You know what's important. I wonder if this idea extents to other parts of life that spark no joy. Like shaving and sit-ups.



This is the second dream fulfilled.

Remember Me

It is good to be reminded to "Remember Me." This is a gentle reminder.

Five in the Morning

I dream of turmoil. I would much prefer to dreams along your lines. The second dream is one with which I identify.

When being tired is the only prayer

Really, this gentle appreciation of aches and pains and rainy days, this appreciate for what you do have, and what others may not have, rings true in every thoughtful way. There are many ways of reaching a sense of peace, this is your way, but it is a good way, and universal in its quiet sincerity.

The internal rhymes are nice. The form makes me wonder why we bother with stanzas.

There is no downside to giving thanks. I like this poem. It is a poem.

A New Art Form

I think it's an OLD art form! I wonder if each negative has an equal and opposite positive. For example, loss of hearing means you can't hear the neighbor's fighting. The vision decline means those facial wrinkles go unnoticed in the mirror, and so on.

But joking aside, this poem says a lot, and maybe it really is an art. You've found a thoughtful approach through being self-aware. And if self-assessment is truly a sonata, that indicates a life well lived. For some it is all dissonance and sorrow.

To S.

This is an interesting approach to getting even. The circling back works well.

Her Name is Elkhorn

Your vista of the plains and river bring forth your most positive, pleasing poetry. Life isn't all positive and pleasing, but when it has happens that it is, it "proves dazzling." The runway model and the homespun girl are wonderfully used. Bravo.

i never knew

Maybe you were too much in the moment to take stock of all that he meant to you, but you know it now.

This is as touching as can be, from the heart.


Named after the Laird Jake?

The Man in the Train Station

This immediately reminded me of one of my favorite writers, Sakutarō Hagiwara, a surrealist. You're playing with time as he does, and disorientation.

As for wishing he was dead, what better place than a train station?

The Cabin

This is great and evocative. I need something like this in my life. I wonder if it's still there.

Happy wedding anniversary to my friend Jim and his wife by Ann Wood

Aww, thank you so much, Ann.
Forty-two years and counting : )