The beauties

 The desolate, deserted trees,

   The faded earth, the heavy sky,

The beauties she so truly sees,

 She thinks I have no eye for these,

    And vexes me for reason why.

                               Robert Frost

Poetic Paths

 Poetic Paths

Johnclarestokes 

You are to read your Robert Frost

How else will you know which path to seek

You are to read your Emily Dickinson 

To stay the homesick-homesick weary feet

Bob at 101

 Bob would be 101.

Shiver to timber

 Old Town trimmed   Paddles stoked with remember  Tonight from shiver to timber  We paddle into forgetting.

From shiver to timber

This still evokes warm memory from the time my son Jordon and I loaded down the Old Town and paddled upriver on The Suwannee at Cone Bridge to camp at the sand bar. This was at Cone before embarking.

Crosswalk wins

 Yesterday if you recall, the cones were victorious over the cross walk. Today, the cross walk was back in control, the cones cowering. I so detest cross walks.

Bar chase

I'm a bar hunter

This photo was posted on the Happenings page and it was said it needed focus. Really? I felt the added motion of the background with the relatively in focus barred sulphur butterfly was just what was needed to convey the elusive nature of the sulphur's, always eluding my chasing for a frame. Bar is a play on word. I do not often explain these things obvious to me but I suppose not to some.

Jesse’s tree

 I wish I was in

Jesse's tree

St John's Street

Pano mode

I dreaded laughter more than blame,

I dared not sing aloud for shame,

So all unheeded, lone and free,

I felt it happiness to be

Unknown, obscure, and like a tree 

In woodland peace and privacy.

John Clare

The progress of rhyme

Tampa to New York

 I dreamed of

Being on the

Tampa to New York

When a lovely lady

Came outside and said’

“Let me know when

You’re ready for breakfast”.

And Tampa to New York

Was but a one thousand

And six mile memory

Wild Nights

 Wild Nights- Wild Nights!

Were I with thee

Wild Nights should be

Our luxury!

Futile-the Winds-

To a Heart in port-

Done with the Compass-

Done with the Chart!

Rowing in Eden-

Ah, the Sea!

Might I but moor-Tonight-

In Thee!

Emily Dickinson

Eclipse

 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

In reedy swirls

 We do not waltz upon

ball room floors

but glide upon mists

in reedy swirls.

Ron’s God

 In search of water

Back in the day several years ago, my then photographer friend Ron Pinner, wanted to do a series with me, In Search of Water, with me in the kayak in various locations. This one was on the now paved over Railroad Street. I never saw all the photos for Ron got angry at me for making light of Oral Robert’s 100 foot Jesus and blocked me. He said God told him he was going to kill me if I didn’t quit. Why does Ron’s God say such things?