Basketball John

 Basketball John 

I tried to trace today, the beginning of the

Love for basketball

For in Sopchoppy

All I wanted to be was Walt Dickson

Halfback for the Yellowjackets gridiron 

I recall going to a basketball game

In the old native rock gym

The mighty Jackets taking on

The Crawfordville Panthers

Maybe that was the planting

Of the seed

And by the time we moved to

Monticello

Daddy built my first goal and 

Backboard in the back yard

To which Walt and Bart Starr

Aspirations 

Turned somehow to wanting

To be a Hondo Havlicek Celtic 

So when the Fourth grade A

Was scheduled to play the

Fourth grade B at halftime

Of a Monticello Tiger game

I was the go to man

To face the talented 

Bobby and Butch Plains twins

Marc Bishop and I did the

Best we could

And when half time came to an end

I was high scoring man on the losing

B team with three points

Sinking my first free throw ever.

The love of hoops was fully born

The next year when we were to

Move to Wilmore, Kentucky

Just twelve miles south of

Mecca Lexington 

The epicenter of basketball

A Wilmore Cub

I became a Rupp Runt

And have been ever since.

In the shed hangs the original iron

My father hoisted in long ago

Monticello

The goal still glows hot

From years of swishing.

Driving Black Daisy

 Driving Black Daisey 

JohnClare Stokes

I was a bus drivers daughter riding the holler

We rode over the dark coal tunnels far below

To the two story stucco home at lines end we’d go

Our days fares counted out in shiny silver dollars.

We’d often stop along the Northfork route

To rescue a kitty or puppy gone astray 

Hiding them in the basement from Monnie

But really, she didn’t at all mind.

I can still hear daddy’s bus to Crumpler coming

Those bone tired coal miners going home

As in this dream it won’t be long

Up to my warm, warm room I’m climbing.

And I’m sitting upon the first row seat so happy

The blackened passengers of Pocahontas mine

Wake us daddy when we get to our parting time

I promise I’ll count the silver dollars accurately.

I was a bus drivers daughter riding the holler

Awake now! Come along with the kind miners

And what shall we name your kitty purring?

Why of course, Black Daisey, that’s perfect daddy.

Risque

 Melanie told a funny true story. They got a new female doctor new to the area. She was traveling up 75 and kept getting calls, kept pulling over. So she sees this cafe and decided to go in and catch up on the calls. She sits awhile and the waitress said she’d have to order, so she gets a blt. She eats and the waitress pushes her to move on, they need the table. So she leaves Cafe Rustic, or at least that’s what she thought the sign read. She wondered why all the ladies were going about scantily clad.

Garden

 I’ve been working in the garden lately. Not planting any vegetables, though okra, squash, cucumbers are sprouting. I am just hesitant to plant them for the bugs. I have lots of marigolds, a planter of lilies, cherry tomatoes put out one here and there. Have a bell pepper growing. Have lots of spider lilies that need a spot. Strawberries are growing but not producing.There are several morning glory plants growing. The okra is playing out. The sweet potatoes did nothing. All the greens, turnips, beets, kale was eaten by bugs. 

Roscoe

 Roscoe got a cut today. 

Milton

 So sad that weather is the weapon of choice. FEMA the enemy of those in need who aren’t illegal. Power at any price. I pray Trump wins and the House stays in the majority, otherwise if he wins the house will vote no to certify or say he is an insurrectionist.

Hidden Tiger

 Hidden Tiger

john clare stokes

Crouching quietly beneath 

the English Dogwood focused on a resting Tiger Swallowtail

The photographer knew at any moment his presence would be known

So he had to quickly compose and align the fresnel.

Second nature these things he had done for so long.

But one should never grow complacent in his pride

Smug that his lens alone could capture prey

The Tiger discerned the photographer trying to hide

Exposing both him and his 

Haughty way.

Sunday friend

 Sunday friend

The dragonflies are kind

My kind 

They like the sun

Aren’t so fearful they flee

When you encroach 

Their territory

All eyes

And I’m all ears

The departing

 The departing

John Stokes

In the realm of the kingdom

The departing

A separation

Of spirit and flesh

Lone canoeists

Departing

At our given intervals

Some to Shoals

To Succumb 

Some to Gulfs

Distance making

Great clouds of

Boatmen gathering

Rejoining of

Flesh and Spirit

Welcoming the

Ever coming

Canoeists.

Places to be

 Places I'd rather be

Shakertown of Pleasant Hill 

Kentucky

Turn back

 Turn back

Boarding that Jacksonville Greyhound

Suddenly we were on old Marion

Forty-six and the high school graduate

On her first journey out of Local photographer and artist, John Clare Stokes, created this and shared it recently. We put a lot of time and treasure into keeping up the TG Henderson House. This makes me smile. Thanks, John.

Metaphor for mother

 Metaphor for mother

Today i came upon a simple scene

That summed Meme succinctly 

The lamp for her late night toiling

The word for her faith never flagging

The desk for her constant writing

The preserves for her cuisine cooking.