Tonight thanks to my friend Ray Carpenter we added six one year old hens to our flock. We have them in the side pen for now. Will have to make a roost and nest boxes. Also, Ray said we would have his goldfish and koi.
My sister and I went to vote today. Trump of course. I also finally got my photos from the Gallery for the art show.
Upon the walls of the dead
They scrawl in their sin
Seeking the Grateful Head
No world for old men
The fat they stare back
In the slaughter stalls
In one morbid whack
The fatted calf falls
Who are these bastards
Depraved Roman ones
Void of the redeeming Word
My son, your son, we shun.
It’s been fifty plus years since
this white boy dribbled up
The Red Devil court
Breaking again the press
passing off to Kenneth
or Calvin or Penny
never winning many
He still wears the
Mr Basketball award
from graduation ‘73
passes at the top of the key
long before it counted three.
Why do artists
Remain for so
Short a time?
Leaving before
The tapestry has
Faded in the sun
Long before the
Colors glow in
The shade
The jurors
Judge the work
Unframed never
To hang
Now all is
But a bright
Memory
before
time
Fades it away.
Farewell
Soni Fine.
I'm told she pass 'd away Tuesday in October of 2015
John Clare Stokes
Today I heard a knocking
It was at the degree
Of sixty
I knew he'd be coming
Burning day light, you see.
Upon the red Klein
Huret set to zero
A century I expect this time
Toward Moniac we go.
Resting at the East Tower
Huret at twenty five
Over the bars i cower
Seventy-five more I cry!
Sand and pines
Sand and pines
Will it ever end
Red Klein way ahead
Squares I spin.
Parched in a mirage
Moniac and the end
There sits ole Rog
Offering me a fig newton.
To Roger Kosch Sessler
March 22, 1932
October 22, 2011
John Clare Stokes
Take me back to October of eighty one
When we were free from all the devices
just sitting and talking as the day passes
fish frying with hush puppies soon done.
Luther R Stokes Evangelistic Association
1981 Annual outing
Crawfordville, Florida
John Clare Stokes
You entered my intersection
From the left of me
Somewhere in my past
Mr John's taught me
I was to yield to you
I've spent a lifetime trying
To obey Mr John's
Today I let you cut me off
speed
On through
I would have let you.
Sitting watching for jets to hit the moon, i had the camera in my lap when suddenly an eagle flew into the moon and over my head. And i missed it! I rarely see an eagle. It would have been the shot. There were few jets as well.
Judges 4:5.
My thoughts today are upon this journey between Ramah and Bethel, of the places we have rested, paused, dwelt and even turned back in our journey toward Tabor, with Jabin's chariots in pursuit.
I know it’s time
When upon politics i entwine
To load the yak
And sanity soon
Trickles back
Santa Fe
He was the runt of the litter of boxers and Artance Raker of Shadeville gave him as a puppy to my daddy in Crawfordville for he couldn’t keep up and he didn’t have that smashed in boxer nose or those clipped ears. But what Artance missed was lil Goliath had the best disposition and showed it by quickly winning us all. We gave him several pet names, all to which he responded, Bosepbus, Rackisnap, Bo, Bob White, Lithy. He was so highly favored he rode shotgun or else he’d nudge his way into your lap, wherever the family went. About the only flaw I ever saw, or was it, was how, when we lived in Williston, when upon the long chain by the parsonage, and the brothers playing basketball across the street would have the ball stray toward him, he wouldn’t let them get it. They’d holler until someone heard and would come out, crawl under the house and throw it back. I don’t think the parsonage committee cared for him and I recall a few times a brave spokeswoman would say we must get rid of him. Goliath didn’t like those chained up days. When we moved to Lake City, at the parsonage on the lake, growing old, he whined one day to go outside. He immediately ran out and into Alligator Lake, catching an otter. Then, at the old home on Vickers where we had moved after my father retired from the FUM, down with dropsy in his legs, Bosepbus whined to get out, going immediately to uncover a huge frog in the bushes. The next day, unable to get up, Dr Smith cried as he put him to sleep. We carried him up to Crawfordville where he didn’t have to be confined on a chain or small yard and made him a fine resting place under the cool azalea’s where he loved to lay. Good runts don’t often come along. Goliath was one fine giant of a runt.
