Super Moon

Last evening cleared, unlike Saturday evening, and I waited after nine until around one AM in my sisters yard in town for the moon and any intersecting planes or birds. None came, well, two actually, birds that is, but I was too slow. So I reverted to my favorite cheat. I image overlaid the moon onto a long exposure of the trees in the VA parking lot. The moon would have been in that location around five AM, but I did not want to fight the mosquito's any longer.
I am trying to quit fighting. I stay so angry all the time with various things. Lately it has been with Facebook and the fellow photographers steady stream of amazing work. Then its the friends and their silence. One thing or another.
Aaron in the beginning of his sermon hit me on the head when he said, temptation can come in many forms, one being the temptation to pride and anger when one does not get the recognition he thinks he deserves. That is exactly what has driven me, a prideful attitude to garner likes and comments, and when they were not forth coming, an anger, a bitterness, a sense of failure.
Granted, most of my work and output lately has been off. Is it any reason? The focus is off.

Flowing Well

Flowing Well
John Clare Stokes

Once beneath the magnolia I remember
as a child a flowing well,
ever bubbling upward clear and pure,
a cool place to linger for a spell.

As a child I listened in the swing
on Mrs Mary's front porch,
I could hear the faint flowing,
clear into tannin black ebbing forth,

a remnant of a lane circling,
remains from a slower time and place,
native lime rock walls of the spring,
relics of a once often visited place.

With years the home of Mary fell,
leaving only her shady magnolia tree,
overgrown became the little flowing well,
lost in Florida beside the Sopchoppy.

Who remains to tell me if there
is yet a flowing fountain trickling
down the steep bank gathering ever
clear where the black snakes whistle?

Now I am old and my memory dim,
long, long since my childhood going,
this one request I am offering,
please help me find the flowing,

carry me quickly to the flowing well,
where I can again taste the waters
beneath Mary's magnolia forever to dwell,
ever young around the fountain pure.

This is another of those all true poems. There actually was, is, a flowing well. It was there in the 50-60's when we lived in Sopchoppy. If I recall, you could drive down to it, down the steep bank off the road. It was a sulphur spring, or pipe, that was always flowing. It was beneath the huge oaks and sweet gums, cool and shady. Some day I hope to be able to spend time in Sopchoppy and take a longer look see.

damsel arise

tonight i took mamma down to Gainesville to stay the weekend with my brother Lewis. it was raining on the way home. i stopped at the New Zion cemetery to check out the name of the person who had the john deere tractor atop their grave, that i entered in the farm bureau photo contest. i came on back from the far back and again, the dove drew me in. it wasn't till seeing afterward, what appeared to be another dove rising from the trees.
today some answers came. out of nowhere, razziel, my old roommate from florida southern sent me an email saying he was thinking of us and praying. i replied. that was good to hear briefly from him. two, Nikki texted me and gave me some info on Landon at Misawa. that helped.
so slowly, things happen.
i am one to want things to happen quickly.
i want the Lord to say, damsel, arise, now, not in the resurrection.
i learned or am learning, that people just are not interested in all my verbiage and carrying on with poetry that i do. i usually do it to elicit a response i hope beyond the ordinary, easy pretty or nice, but it never happens.
today, Tom Sturch, a poet I like, finally replied to something. He liked my selfie of my eye. it was about the only like. he said, greatest selfie ever. I even included what i thought a somewhat profound statement. again, ignored. totally. what's up with people?
too much time on my hands, too little time on their hands. i often forget that i am a bum and not working, but sitting here mostly typing and posting away, way too much for my own good.

Count it all joy

Melanie and I did not ask for or seek to be where we are today. She, working at a prison with two sore toes, me, sitting on the sidelines, watching the moon. But we are where we are, and we trust there is a purpose, a plan behind the upheaval. One thing I can certainly count all joy, is, while life goes on for many, as we see the vacation pictures, the family pictures, the ongoing happy, happy times, if not for this sideline position, I would not be sitting under these heavens praying for you, praying for my son and his wife and their son.
I too would no doubt be off somewhere lost in my own happy, of which I am chief, not giving a moments notice to anyone or anybody, much less praying with any fervency.
I was thinking this morning while mowing the grass of a particular loved one, whom I often looked to for help, who has again deleted their Facebook account, and "gone under". So I was thinking that often, in our mourning of the dead, the lost, we kill the yet living. It is my tendency too, to go underground, to blame everyone and everything for my situation, coiling in like a rattler, ready to strike out at any who would come near.
Even if my son never again communicates again with us, even if my grandson grows up never knowing us, even if I always am destined to moon watch, even if Melanie always has to work at a prison with two sore toes, it will not have been in vain. For, had these trials never occurred, I would never have prayed for you.
So, they say on the 14th there is a super moon coming. The Lord knows I shall be there, watching and praying for you. Counting it all joy.

Chasing Light

Tuesday night following the men's meeting I was on my way home chasing the setting sun. It was a losing battle as I could never position myself for a good shot of the large cloud in a vivid red. This was a quick stop on the Tustenuggee Road and shot from the window. Fortunate there were no cars behind me. Cars behind me always test me as they are invariably in a hurry and do not understand why I am poking along.
It was a long trip from Ken's house on Pinemount, to 90, to Bascomb Norris, down 47, across to Tuskenuggee at I-75 on 47, over to Watermelon Park and home via Price Creek, all for this one quick stop shot. That's how it goes, chasing light.

Burning Daylight

I have been three days running riding the bike, trying to return since a layoff or practical quitting since the passing of Roger Sessler, who pretty much I could count on to show up for a ride. And they were not just the ten mile slow rides I am struggling through lately. Seventy and more. Up to Moniac in Georgia, just to see the pretty clerk. Down to Wellborn where we would stop for a drink and ice cream, catching up on all the store clerks lives.
When I first started out with Roger, he was patient, yet stern, scolding me when I followed too close, did not maintain a good draft, did not signal properly, was too abrupt in my moves, etc. He was not one to linger and go my pace, it was up to me to keep up, and he had no problem leaving me.
In the later years, it was Roger who was now the slow one and we would linger, waiting for him to catch up after struggling up a hill. I recall the Horsefarm Hundred's we rode, where I struggled to maintain his pace, falling out on the side of the road by mile twenty-five, hobbling through the ride alone. And to Rogers last century, him to struggling last with Teri Harty pacing him.
There are so many whom I miss, who no longer ride or are now too fast for me the slowing one. So I ride alone. It is best that way, for I often have to coast and glide along, catching my wind, adjusting my seat that is oh so sore, until hopefully the old muscles will respond and once again carry me to Moniac and maybe even another Horsefarm One Hundred this October in Roger's memory.

GracePrideDay

Vera of the church of the holy rollers passes out distracts

You are not cordially invited to attend, unless you fit in, the first annual church of the only way grace pride day parade. We will feature floats and marching teams mocking about everything we deem not worthy of our definition of what a true church is. We will have O'Steen impersonators on hand, smiling and squinting to the spectators, tons of cowboy church horses and riders, floats throwing money from the wealth church, folks handing out free healing cloths from the health church, a tongue speaking band accompanied by clanging cymbals, and on it will go...bringing up the rear will be the true outcasts, a great float of witnesses, certainly not members of our group, but nevertheless, the many,many not associated with Sturgeon or the impuritans or the fellows on our radio only waves or the Armenians or the catholic or the fundamentalists or the methodists or the presbyterians and even not the Baptists who do not see things our only way. Great fun! Plenty of Pride on hand. Plenty of mocking to keep you knocking on our door, begging to fit in.

Cowboy Church

The smug are at it again. Making fun on facebook of other churches. This time, the Cowboy church. Sure, they probably have Armenian ways, they are probably in "error" in many areas, but what purpose does it serve to mock them? To make fun of them?
I have been guilty of making fun of Joel O'Steen in an equal manner, using a take off on his philosophy of your best life now with, your best camera now. It's in good fun, I am sure, like these folks thing theirs is in good fun...but again, to the weak brothers, it only serves as a stumbling block, confusion.
Our pastor, Aaron Turner believes the cause of Christ is much better served by dwelling upon His love, his call, making people want Him, not spending time mocking others.
I too will try and be careful of what I put out there for all to see. Like I say, I am guilty as charged as well.

He was dear

Beginning August 11th, this photograph will appear hopefully in the Farm Bureau annual photo contest. It is one of those, judged on Facebook by the viewers likes, like that infernal Ken Rockwell contest. Just a heads up to watch for it and like, if you will.
Taken on the 30th in the cemetery off CR241, I forgot the name. I will return and get the information off the grave, who it was buried there.

Over the top

Tonight upon traveling to town to Winn Dixie, I detoured at Lake DeSoto downtown. I stopped to photograph the sunset, with a neat Aurora Borealis above the clouds. I realized the limitations I am up against using a sub par camera. I am just too lazy to drag the D3100 along which is much more difficult to achieve suitable exposure for me. Then there are the dust spots in the upper portion of the frame.
Today Carlton Ward posted his equipment he is taking on another extended photograph trip. Where do these guys get all the money to afford all this expensive gear? In sarcasm I posted on his page my Canon S110, two batteries and the little jobo tripod. I said, this is my Thoreau kit of quiet desperation. I am sure he saw absolutely no humor in it.
I just want one decent camera to carry. I do not need an arse---nal. Again...thou shalt not covet.
You can see the one photograph from the sunset tonight on my John Stokes page. My brother Lewis used it for his cover page.
Until then, it had gotten one like.
The photograph of the day for me though was of Kimberly Johnson taken at Olustee back in February. The light was grand behind her, highlighting her hair. I waited patiently for her to exhale in the cool morning, to catch her breath. Rhesa Collup called it steampunk. It only got ten likes. To say the least, I am most disappointed in the photographers, poets and artists that I have as friends. Seldom if ever do any comment or give insight or suggestions. They are too busy promoting their own daily work. Here on this blog as well. I go to the settings page and it shows one visit, maybe two. I wonder if its not my own visiting and so no one is even pulling the page up. Allow me to continue my chronicles of narcissism voyage...
On the John Clare poetry page, I posted what I thought was a good, thought provoking poem contrasting Eden and Sodom, our journey back to Eden, through the Son of Man. It got the usual one like from Melissa and that was that. I deleted it. 
On Fine Art America, I got the stats today and the same. One look from China. China? Good grief.
Neither of the two people who said they were going to order did. I knew that would never happen, but there was hope.
On a brighter note, I sold two note cards and a print last week at the gallery. That was $39 for the print and 2.75 each for the cards. I am on my way. Over the top. All downhill from here.

Realm of Pashtun

Too often my sarcasm enters and I am driven from the purpose. The purpose should be one purpose, to bring glory to the Creator of this realm.... The Lord God Jehovah. But, I stray from the path, seek adulation and self glory. I covet, I want all the likes, all the comments, all the attention. And when it does not transpire, I resort to the sarcasm, the bitterness.
I cannot tell myself often enough, that I had better get over it. Get over the fact that very few people will ever adulate you, give you attention, comment or even like. They are busy, busy with the very same task in their own lives. We are all in this struggle to draw the glory away from ourselves and onto the Great ONE.
So, if you find yourself here upon this blog, looking at these images, and you are wondering or even looking,
well, I am trying, as I have said many times before. I am no DM,CW,M or whatever you great photographers initials are...I am a jcs....always will be jcs....with the little canon, the low end nikon, trying...just trying to find a way to divert the jcs to the great JCIAM.

Thou shalt not Canon

These three photographs do not exist. I created them. I used the camera's image layering to combine two photographs into one. The moon was inserted into all three. Trickery to elicit a WOW!
It serves to illustrate my frustration. I covet. I covet other photographers work. Their equipment. In this case, a particular photographer on the panhandle who shoots with the venerable pro camera, the Canon 1Dx with the equally venerable pro lenses.
The other day a friend asked what camera do I use? I was almost ashamed to tell, as on their counter rested the Nikon D7000 with the 18-200 lens. Oh, the D3100 I said, and rambled off a series of apologies. They looked at me kind of half crooked I perceived. Oh.... entry level amateur camera.
I did not tell them that I do not even use that 90% of the time, but mostly the even lower Canon S100 point and shoot.
Oh, I know, its not the camera. But darn it, I find myself telling myself every time I see one of these masterful photographs....sure, sure...if I had that Canon or that Full Frame Nikon, I too would be cranking out daily works of art....
But I do not think so.
Some people are just born to be on the cover of National Geographic at age ten. Others, like me, will always be on the bottom of Parakeet Monthly. God is not particularly interested in photography so he has no problem toying with us, giving top of the line Canon's to jerks and clerics equally....
Like the talents...some hide them in closets, others turn them into 30x40 fully wrapped canvas gallery prints.
What am I doing with my little Canon S110 talent? The best I can dag nabbit!!!!!