Triangle

Oh the check ins we make...  finding us dead to square in triangles...  bed ridden with our mistakes...speechless as the wooden words dangle....

Albert

Mr Tom Eutzler, one of the former managers at Lake City JCPenney, gives the late Albert King, the award for Associate of the Year. It was Mr Eutzler who saved Alberts life earlier that year. Mr King was mopping the breakroom and became overcome with fumes from the bleach. He fell and badly gashed his head. It was Mr Eutzler who found him and applied pressure and kept him with us for a time longer. I miss Albert greatly. 

JH

 You know I been a walkin' that Noble Avenue, Lord it seems since a half past two, I got them JH Cheeley walkin' blues, The cotton men ain't a payin', and this ole walker is a prayin', Igotthem JH Cheeley walkin' blues, Them educatin' men a thinkin' like fools, say they gonna up and move the school, I got them JH Cheeley walkin' blues, I  ne'er missed a day of Sunday school, I guess they gonna up and move ole Methodist too, I got those JH Cheeley walkin' blues. Can a man just get him some delivery, I'm sure weary a walkin' for my pizza, I got them JH Cheeley walkin' blues, JH Cheeley blues.

Lapse

a momentary lapse in wildness

in that moment, the white heron glanced upward, as if looking directly at his maker, then it was back to looking forever down into the water for a catch. Perhaps he was saying grace. 

The bus line

 The bus line

John Clare 

There is a bus line

In our minds

A kindly old man

Who loves his grands

Is calling us aboard

We are heading toward

The ole stucco home

Up the holler

Monnie is there

All her brothers

The two sons

The only daughter Clara

Her best friend Evelyn

Even the Looney preachers son

Everyone down to

Alfred up from the mine all black

The old Crumpler to Northfork

Taking us back

To end of line

Prodi gal

 Prodi Gal

Every evening mamma would watch

For her little prodi gal

Long, long lost the innocent smile

Up the lane with a happy hopscotch.

Other side

 Other side

Upon the road of shadow and dust

We journey with a deeply held trust

Of the green pastures upon the other side

Where ne'er the dust or shadow reside.

Clark Samson

 Clark Samson turns Eighty Six

John Clare

The Southern Exposure volunteer stylist clipped

his locks for his eighty sixth birthday party 

Telling him how young he looks

Reminding her of the Clark Samson 

her grandmother knew in the seventies 

Who once she said swooned the ladies

Lately paying for all the toppling 

Leaving the once strong loins krypton weak

the igniting of foxy fires a dim glowing

kept going on the long regime of prescription 

filling

Such were the travails one endures for Delilah Louise 

Pestering him daily lazing about in the faded

suit of Royal and Red saying to Clark,

“Outside lurk the Philistine Witnesses, with 

lustful intent upon your Delilah Louise, coming

to crop your locks!” “You better find some jawbone!”

“Now make a wish and blow out your candles!”

Taking a deep breath and...

Seeing the Philistines...pressing on the call button...

pleading for someone to please bring his walker...

so Clark can amble down the long corridor, out the alarmed door, to the smooth granite columns,

to make his Delilah Louise proud of him.

“These Kingdom walls shall fall! The foxes with their flaming tails shall burn the crops!”

“I see the flames before me!”

Mr Samson, Mr Samson, wake up!

Spitting and gasping for breath, smoke rising,

soon the alarm to trip, not one Philistine in the room, reality and dream as one dream of reality.

Gathered about the bed his lovely Delilah Louise

and the Good Samaritan staff singing,

Happy Birthday Clark Samson, happy birthday to you! The cake was chocolate, the ice cream 

butter pecan, the food of gods and super heroes

and Clark Wayne Samson on this 86th birthday.

For the journey

 For the journey

He could create a name for you

tell you this one is for you

for the journey

For he could see

you seemed to be

right there along with him

You were the one fondly

that told of poetry

along with photography

always with artistry 

It made him happy.

Second

 No one remembers second

It was the year 1984, the month October, the Jasper 10K race. The previous year I ran a 36:25, finishing 6th on the rolling hills out and back, and yet third in my tough age group. 

The following year, as I lined up for the second attempt on the hot Saturday of October 6th, I felt my prospects for a better finish were good. As the gun sounded, Rusty Jones, the shoulder white hair length speedster from Valdosta was soon out of sight. I too was stuck in a lone no man’s land making distance on James Lee, the muscular black hometown favorite. As we entered town on the final mile, I found the strength to increase my lead over a charging Lee. This year I finished 2nd overall and first in my age group with a time of 36:14, a 5:50 pace. Rusty had over a two minute margin of victory. In 1985 we repeated the same order, but my time slowed to 37:26. The last 10k I would run was the Gator Bowl 10K on Dec 21 with a 37:25, 34th in my age group.

Lure of redwing

Lure of Redwing

Was it in the blustering, restless wind

the red wing did lift and sing?

Was this the place where our journey ends?

or do we again wing and begin?

The red wing blackbirds were going in and out of the reeds in droves, it was nearly dark and I could hear more than i could see. I held the camera against the kayak as steady as the rocking in the wind allowed and used a shutter speed nearing a second in length, giving movement to the reeds, blending and softening in the sunset.

There was a stream

 I heard there was a stream, or was it a dream?

Itchetucknee Winter 

 In mists obscured, through water flowing  pure

Itchetucknee spring

Lifting on the white wing, over clear stream

Itchetucknee summer

One by one they did come, bumping every one

Ichetucknee fall

It was all a mystery, this Ichetucknee season.

It was in all, a good season for photographing the gem of North Florida. While I did not get there as often as I should, and I have yet to make the winter voyage, there were several pleasing photographs captured in the times there.

Buffalo Gals

Buffalo Gals

Beware the buffalo gals

They come out at night

They come out at night

Beware the buffalo gals

That dance by the light of the moon

That dance by the light of the moon

Beware the buffalo gals

The one with the hole in her stocking

The one who's hat keeps a rocking

The one whose toes keep a knocking

By the light of the moon

There will be a day

There will come a day

Except to Heaven, she is naught.

Except for Angels-lone.

Except to some wide-wandering Bee

A flower superfluous blown.

Except for winds-provincial.

Except for Butterflies

Unnoticed as a single dew

That on the Acre lies.

The smallest Housewife in the grass,

Yet take her from the Lawn

And somebody has lost the face

That made Existence-Home!

Emily Dickinson

Wolf moon

 Wolfie moon

Wolfie is one of my longtime lifetime friends

Wolfie first began his howling at our command

In the watermelon fields out from Williston

Wolfie was young and strong and could toss

them long after Eddie and I were bear caught.

Wolfie went on to work in clothing apparel

Retiring to howl from treehouses in Asheville 

Eddie became a roofer around Wacahoota 

Nights as these I’m wondering if from the

treehouse and from the rooftop they do

not let out a long mournful howl for me?

Magic globe

Magic globe

Johnclarestokes 

I'm getting a days head start

Shaking back to Sopchoppy 

To January 30, 1956

A one year old dreamer

Stirring the snow in the globe

Watching the years depart

Back to when I cried

Boat! Boat!

And Captain Becton

Would slip in 

To sit on the back pew

of Sopchoppy Methodist

late again

from net mending

as father Luther Ray was deep in prayer

at the pulpit

Captain Paul Fred and John Clare 

Could now with eyes closed dream of

Deep sea fishing

off Panacea

Big Adventure

 PARDONED 

It only occurs once a year

I want to give you a heads up

Tomorrow is the day

I grant you a pardon

From your lack of interest

In poetry

In artistry

In trickery

In imagination

In dreaming

I give you a new start

From your void of

Metaphor

Alliteration

Parable

Humor

I free you from your

Humorlessness

Literalness

Narrowness

Idiotness

Tomorrow

You're on your own til then....

71

 Sixty nine from Sopchoppy 

john clare stokes

One is for Bluefield,WV from where I was born,

Uncle Kermit driving mamma that January 30th in the snow storm.

Two is for coming from Vicco in

Kentucky to Sopchoppy in a Packard.

Three is for Mrs Mary and her bread pudding

Four is for Angeline and her red butcher knife

Robert,Sam and me running for our lives.

Five is for my Uncles in Mississippi staying summers happily

Six is for first loves, first grades and Helen Roussey from Panacea

Seven is for John Lloyd crying loudly 

Miss Townsend saying I'd be moving

Eight is for Monticello and Lewis being born

Nine is for leaving the loved two story Victorian parsonage 

Ten is for returning to Kentucky at Asbury in Wilmore

Eleven is for walking April Wells her answer I will forever be waiting for

Twelve is for the long 7th grade journey to Williston

Not believing Bill and Jack were not grown men

Thirteen is for JV Football and long haul fast end sweeping

Fourteen is for down by the Blue Grotto Melissa meeting

Fifteen is for playing point guard with the brothers

Sixteen and finding that Purple Haze a lot of love covers

Seventeen is for the Red Devil Class of seventy- three

Eighteen is for the perfect GPA at Santa Fe

Nineteen is for George Amica and working at Williston Memorial 

Twenty is for Catherine Wilson singing Healing Love gloriously 

Twenty one is for living with Dr ZT Johnson at Asbury

The F in Spanish and returning to Williston sadly 

Twenty two is for the painting the hospital walls a second time

Daddy saying, we can pay for college by cutting the pines 

Twenty three is for repeating a Junior year at Florida Southern

Twenty four for earning a BA degree finally.

Twenty five is for working as a service writer at Powers with Frankie

To turn down a job in Monticello teaching art convincing me

Twenty six is for wanting badly a photojournalist my career spending

Twenty seven is for Lucille and Lynn Counts hiring me to change mannequins at JCP

Twenty eight is for running 10k's with Forrest and Buddy

Twenty nine is for winning the city logo contest soundly.

Thirty is for canoeing the Suwannee with Bob Jones

Thirty one is for running the first marathon 26.2 miles long 

Thirty two is for meeting a nurse at Shands named Melanie

Thirty three Jesus died but in Whitehurst chapel we were married 

Thirty four and to our garage apartment on Camp came Landon

Mrs Beverly a job in JCP management offering

Thirty five is for that suit I now wore all the time

Thirty six is for Alan Crews his home on Camp selling

Thirty seven is for the Alachua General coming of Jordon

Thirty eight is for jumping on the trampoline under the pecan 

Thirty nine is for the stucco house outgrowing

Forty is for postman Brian and to his Tevis house moving 

Forty one is for winning nationally and to Dallas awarding sending

Forty two is for Rick Bringger and Hambone putting up with me

Forty three is for not taking the job in Albany

Forty four is for staying with family and friends in Lake City

Forty five is for letting Valerie take the job in Ocala

She wanting out of town so badly

Forty six and that sick feeling after telling Calise to chill

Forty seven is for that Friday in April 

I can see it still

We are letting you go, with a gold retiree card

Twenty percent off a tad too hard

Forty eight is for Russell coming to Westside Chapel

Forty nine is for voting with Tom Bart not to build that Grace Babel

Fifty is for Ruth Garner hiring me at Sears

Fifty one and the Weasel is the top commissioned salesman to no cheers 

Fifty two is for the coming end of biking centuries with Roger Sessler

Fifty three is for lamenting the loss of Bobs memory in his nineties

Fifty four is for one last River Run

Fifty five is for the sudden Sears closing 

Fifty six is for the coming of my Grandson Nathaniel Manoa

Fifty seven is for Bill Giebeig hiring me to read meters slowly

Fifty eight is for continual prayer for Landon and family 

Fifty nine is for volunteering down at the gallery

Sixty was for dreaming of being once again in ole Sopchoppy.

Sixty one for driving the Baya van delivering beds and oxygen, then driving to Homewood to Uncle William Clark’s funeral

Sixty two the saddest year for losing my mother

on the day before her 89th birthday.

Sixty three for son Jordon in Korea in the Army

Praying for his safety monitoring the DMZ.

Sixty four for being fired for taking photos then being hired by Ray the same day to take photos.

Sixty five for retiring in a Covid crazed world, while under Biden we downwards swirled.

Sixty six was for becoming a porter of cars, never dreamed I’d end up not going this far.

Sixty seven was for losing Uncle Jimmy in Mississippi, the last of the Stokes brothers missed greatly.

Sixty eight was for a vacation with Melanie and Jordon, Roscoe too in the cold Carolina mountains freezing.

Sixty nine and will this be at last the year, family so long missed will once again come near?

Seventy and a stroke set me back to learn again how to run. But I did return to the Gateway Gallery. 

Seventy one, here I come.

Paths worth taking

 Paths worth taking

You are to read your Robert Frost

How else will you know the path to seek

You are to read your Emily Dickinson

How else to stay the homesick-

Homesick feet.

Fill the Lona

 Fill the Lona Lord

The paddle wheel rests

on Suwannee's shore

Fill the Lona Lord

Brother Fountain 

is counting

on you

to carry him across.

This photograph was taken on the eastern bank of Lake Lona. Lona was once deep and full and they say a steam boat of some sort floated upon it. Rev Fritz Fountain, the interim pastor of Bronson Baptist, a friend of mine from his daughters working at JCPenney with me, lives on the southern bank. That is the reason I used his name, simply taking poetic license that he needs a way across. The western bank is on the Suwannee County side.

It is a take off on the song, Fill my cup Lord.

Resignation

 Resignation 

Again as so many times I’ve followed the light line

up the Rossi Hill, paces once swift within the five minute range, now but a puffing ten at best with pauses to catch the breath, carrying less burden up the hill these days, casting along the line those for many years I was desperate to carry, and that is sad but necessary, they have the burden now unto themselves, I am old, but I am light.

All creation

 The turmoil without 

John Clare Stokes

All creation groans in travail, 

to see the birth of the coming, 

seas and stars and moon and

men aligning for the day,

whispers heard above the wind

flickering seen upon the horizon.

Messing with the dead

 its the way of oaks...to slip up on graves...their roots slowly tickling...the blissfully sleeping folk.

The turmoil without

 The turmoil without 

All creation groans in travail, 

to see the birth of the coming, 

seas and stars and moon and

men aligning for the day,

whispers heard above the wind

flickering seen upon the horizon.

Color of blood

 Color of blood 

Johnclarestokes 

It’s the way with artists

poets

the mystics among us

Pouring their heart out

thinking they have ruptured

the vein to seeing

when all that is said in the end, 

Did you use 

Cadmium red

or alizarin crimson

for the color of the blood?

Ensign Stokes

 Luther Ray in the Navy at Camp Elliot, Calif with Joseph Andrews and Howard Harding during WW2. Luther, a medic, in a paperwork glitch, missed being assigned to Pearl Harbor, instead was stationed in New York.

The long ride

 The long ride

Johnclarestokes 

And the boy and the old man

Made ready for the long journey

The boy looked ahead

The old man behind

The boy didn’t know the way

The old man did and so they went.

The new order

 The new order

Johnclarestokes 

We plant the trees in ordered rows

we make a place for the fledglings to sing,

in time to come. How shall we know?

By those who are yet singing here

By the vane that drinks from the springs

By the moon the ever guarding

It has to be the guarantee

that singing will forever be.

After Wendell Berry

Nabbuco

 Libretto

Nabbuco

chorus of the Hebrew slaves 

Verdi

With composite by Salvador Dali of Nebuchadnezzar and me.

Fly, thought, 

On the golden wings

Go settle upon the

Slopes and the hills,

Where, soft and mild

The sweet airs of our

Native land 

Smell fragrant!

Greet the banks of

The Jordan

And Zion's toppled 

Towers...

Oh, my country, so

Beautiful and lost!

Oh, remembrance,

So dear and so fatal!

Golden harp of the

Prophetic seers,

Why dost thou hang

Mute upon the

Willow?

Rekindle our

Bosom's memories

And speak to us of

Times gone by!

Mindful of the fate

Of Jerusalem,

Give forth a sound

Of crude

Lamentation,

Or may the Lord

Inspire you a

Harmony of voices

Which may instill

Virtue to suffering.

Eclipse of 2019

 It seems but a dream

The long night of your bleeding

And what of this wound

Was it a portend of doom

Or one of healing

The lunar eclipse from 2019

John Sauls

 John J Sauls migrated to Alachua County  from Orangeburg, South Carolina where he married Mary Jane Robinson. Born in 1825(1840  by other accounts),  John left his farm in Alachua County and enlisted in Brooksville, Hernando County as a  4th sergeant in Company C(Hernando Guards)(Wildcats) of the 3rd Florida Infanty on July 19, 1861. He was promoted to a full private in May 1862(reduced to ranks)  then furloughed to Hernando County and died of disease on Feb 3, 1863 in a Lake City hospital where he was buried in Oaklawn Cemetery. His wife Mary applied for a widows pension in 1903. His is one of the few marked headstones of many unknown  CSA markers.

Bob

 At ninety

For Bob

A good journey

Never to marry

The painter

Runner

Photographer

Treasure hunter

Is losing 

The memory

Of where went

The Kodachromes

The way home

Friends gone

Living alone

We sit silently

Wondering

Whatever would we do

Without TV

And I have not the

Heart to say

TV was obsolete 

When you were

Eighty.

Out alone

 Out alone in the winter rain,

Intent on giving and taking pain.

But never was I far out of sight

Of a certain upper-window light.

Robert Frost, The Thatch.

Steichen

 Steichen

On my wall hang two Steichen’s

You say, o my, of the great Edward?

The photographer?

I say no

Of the late Karen

All colored in markers 

Within the lines

Worthless by all estimates 

Priceless by one 

Recipient

Who thought enough of him.

Jordon

 Jordon at Big Shoals, Suwannee River.

Happy Birthday

Jordon

Today has come

The birthday of our son

So thankful there is one

With adventures yet to run

Yes we love our 

Stormy bank Son!

Jordon Stokes

Big Shoals

Spot of bother

 A spot of bother

Johnclarestokes 

I do not have the latest Lincoln, but I ain't gonna let that bother me. My tag is so expired, I lost it, but that’s no bother. My camellia's grow too far to pick above me, but that don't bother me. My bricks don't quite match, but it doesn't bother me. My roof only leaks when it rains, and thats not a bother. My yards all weeds, the mower was stolen, but why bother? You could have it as good as I do, but i ain't gonna bother you with that.

Just don’t want to be a bother.

Barred

 I'm a bar hunter

And what is the comment I get? Focus. We'll, you missed the purpose entirely for the lack of focus. You need to become a bar "barred" hunter and perhaps come off some of your sharp focus.

Driving Miss Daisy

 Your purpose

Before you expire

Find a mug

That doesn’t make

You look Daisies

Chauffeur

But then

Had I a Daisy 

I’d grow lazy

Waiting all the day

For her to say

John Boy

Crank the

rolls roy.

Rossi rains

 Rossi rains

The ditches soon became swift streams making their way downhill to the Price Creek which in turn sent the waters to Alligator Lake which in turn with its dry falls sinks and Rose creeks eventually meandered its way toward Itchetucknee who sent the Rossi rains on to the Santa Fe who in time offered them to Suwannee who never satiated in its flow finally gave an account of its work to the Gulf.

Aristides freeze

Aristides Freeze

The day upon the walk I carry no carrot

Why Aristides strides to the fence 

Rubbing his mane he nudges the pocket

Never leave Aristides in disappointment!

What call ye

 What call ye?

I’ve known those

who n’er took up

brush, camera or pen

and they were the

best of artists among men

I’ve known those

who took up

brush, camera and pen

and I could hardly call them

artists among men.

I’ve known a few

who truly were the artists

of brush

Camera

Pen

These the men

I thank God

to have called

my friend

Gold rush

 Gold rush

Johnclarestokes 

I’ve told for years my life as a prospector

How for so long the gold I have mined

Of journey time upon time to the end of line

The wealth untold with a full heart to gather.

Still life

 Still life

Johnclarestokes 

We arrived to the end of flowing

Not wanting to stir the still

So we just back paddled knowing

In time we’d enter that eternal chill.

Ah day

 Yes, I caught your gaze

In your gentle passing

The slow hand raised

In a wave

What was that you

Were about to say?

Ah day, I must move 

On my way.

A rich man

 

Esther Moore

 Esther Moore.

Answer me this first. How can one simply type a name in and not have it revert to Demi Moore or some other person? Annoying.

Rode out yesterday to Esther Moore's old homeplace. Esther never married and lived on the old home place most of her life, first keeping her parents, then her sister. She passed away this past April in her 90's. Even though the sign said "No Trespassing, Beware of Dog", I said, "Just a few quick shots". Sure enough, greeting me on the road as I left was Wayne, not too happy looking. I explained how I knew Esther and how we used to come out and plein air paint the old buildings. I apologized for trespassing and asked meekly if ever so often I could come out and take some photographs? Thankfully he said I could and I gave him my card. As my wife said recently, "Someday you are going to wind up in jail or shot." Don't tell her I almost did yesterday!

Who would ever

Who would ever

by john clare

Who would ever dream

the day would come when

Kodachrome would no

longer be made

That Nikormats of metal

couldn't even be pawned

The slides would mold

and the images degrade?

They said they would

last for fifty years

And so they did

Softly focused and

slowly composed

Suwannee scenes splotched

The memory of the day

faded as if never

were we there

But I swear

We were

Who would ever

dream?

His Eye

 His eye

John Clare Stokes

Was this the eye of prey

Watching the sparrow perch

To pounce and suddenly slay

Nothing but Cheshire smirch 

Was this the eye of friend

Watching the sparrow sing

To stay the sudden pouncing

The eye of loving wing

Or was it the eye of One

Who watches every tiny thing

Staying the claw from coming

To little wings.

Lulu

 Lulu Slave Cemetery

John Clare Stokes

In the near ghost town of Lulu seven miles out from Lake City on SR100, a quarter mile down on the left past the now closed general store, there is a sign. The sign marks the location of the Mt Zion Slave Cemetery. In years gone by, there once was a lone caretaker of the graves, the Rev Joseph Anthony Sr. He could often be seen faithfully and lovingly in his bent position raking and keeping the encroaching brush from enveloping the few graves. And then in October of 2000, Rev Anthony passed on to his reward. They carried his casket from his house approximately four miles south of Lulu on CR241, all through the streets of Lulu, so old Joe could see his beloved Lulu one last time. In 2009 Lenoria, his daughter was buried, who had taken up the care. Joe was a  cotton picker. They cared for the graves of the cotton pickers. And the weevil and the briar march on.