The Bison were passing
Or was I dreaming
I was an ancient Indian
In the twilight hunting
John Clare Stokes
Savor when we dreamed of walking
down to the out going tide
finding the first shells waiting
with little ones at our side.
Oleanders
The little boy knew one who longed
for the bouquets from a long gone son
So he went down to the year 1888
To gather some in her longing state.
Oleanders
Vincent Van Gogh
1888
“Paintings have a life of their own that derives from the painters soul.”
John Clare
Do you recall the early times
when you were sort of mine
The day languishing on
awaiting to walk you home
Today to the memory
I ordered some thin mint
Girl Scout cookies
The little wild eyed beauty knew
She saw right through me
To the corner of Lexington and Main
and I didn’t have to explain
It was April in February
Not at Winn Dixie
But Fitches IGA.
I watched the first half of the SB, by then you knew the outcome. I then watched Michael Savage on Newsmax and then All creatures great and small on PBS. By then it was 40 to 20 something for the Eagles. I never saw any DOGE commercials. As usually most of the commercials, halftime and anthem were terrible.
Poetry in image
And should I enter sharply defined
How would you know it is i
But as I enter hidden in sublime
Would not you know immediately
I've arrived
Every house a little pink house
With plenty of greens just outside
Lots of cotton candy in the field
And grass to park on rebelliously
Goats galore to worship with
Come Sunday
See, in my world
I’m quite happy.
Last night we went to Alachua to get the car keys we left in Williston Sunday. We ate at the Conestoga with Billie, Rochelle and Diane. Mel paid. I drove home.