Vincent you’re the man

 Vincent van Gogh (Dutch, Post-Impressionism,  1853 - July 29, 1890):  The Sower (Sower with Setting Sun), 1888. Created in Arles, France. Oil on canvas, 162.5 x 204.5 cm. Kröller-Müller, Otterlo, Netherlands.

“As for me, I shall go on working, and here and there something of my work will prove of lasting value - but who will there be to achieve for figure painting what Claude Monet has achieved for landscape? However, you must feel, as I do, that someone like that is on the way - Rodin? - he does not use colour - it won't be him. But the painter of the future will be a colourist the like of which has never yet been seen. But I'm sure I am right to think that it will come in a later generation, and it is up to us to do all we can to encourage it, without question or complaint.” (Vincent van Gogh, letter to Theo van Gogh, May 1888)

Gulf Hammock

 Gulf Hammock Thanksgiving

In the early 70's before my father began our tradition of making the Ole Homewood cane syrup, we would attend the Thanksgiving dinner in the Camp C of Gulf Hammock.

Ornate austere

Elaborate Austerian 

Times I desire an austerity void of any embellishments, hard hewn pews with white washed walls and shape note hymns sung A cappella, while  times I yearn for ornate icons hung below stained glass hues with light streaming through the smoking incense to the chanting of a choir of psalmist’s.

Widows lock

 The widows lock 

For years the smokehouse lock 

was home to the black widow

Long gone the old lady

Still she stings in my memory.

Faithful to

 Like the gospel or a work of art, I cannot make anyone fall for it. I can only remain faithful to the calling within me, passing it on, be it in poverty or obscurity, in the grand theme of Vincent and Theron, faithful to the drawing, the painting, the images of beauty.

Fire flies

 

Deer Stands

 A dear stand

As you make your way

To temples you

Call holy

For it jives with

Your perceived way

Got all the 

Trappings

Down pat

You may as well

Be worshipping

The Holy one

From a deer stand

What part of

He ain't in your pew

Don't you

Understand?

Upon passing by the Mormon Tabernacle 

Polarizing

 Polarizing 

Now that verdict has come

In the wake of the prosecution

There are some

I miss slightly

Who took flight

From me

When it was learned

I was pro self defense

With just a turn of glass

Gone the glare

Gone the flare

What was obscured

Becomes clear

Vivid in hue

A nation not blue

But going solid red.

Mary’s Tree

 Mary’s Magnolia

There is a special tree in Sopchoppy

Where if you peer through intently

Before long the bricks will fade

And you can smell the fresh batch of

Bread pudding just made.

Bob White

Bob White

John Clare Stokes

November mornings I hear the bob white

whistling in the kitchen and know 

that soon the cane syrup

will be hopping by the noon light,

the amber sweetness compared to Berts

down in the woods of Mt Beasor, 

out from Sopchoppy, 

with Mrs Cora teaching Clara the art of

fluffy biscuits for the Methodist preacher,

with a little help from Mary Rudd above,

while little Jumpy climbs high the pummy 

pile to claim king of the mountain,

only to be cast down by Robert his best friend

to muster the strength to climb again,

as over the green stamp plates grace is said,

the syrup poured reverently over the hot biscuit,

and later in the night while awake in his bed,

the little boy quietly whistles for bob white,

knowing he will soon answer in the cold

starry November Wakulla night.

Long beyond

 Long beyond the years of the journey home

Long beyond the tears of the loved ones

Long beyond the memory of those gone

Long beyond the breve of the song

They will gather to circle around

They will assure the eyes cast down

They will never here be found

They will scatter as leaves upon ground.

Song of thorn

 Song of Thorn

john clare 

In the birthing stall

 An annunciation 

Born! Born! 

The child of promise

Comes

To proclaim 

To place within

The thorn

The whispering song

Not my home

Not my home!