You want your crows close
Do you?
Well that is why your crows are far
From you.
Thursday, February 13, 2025
Renoir cat
Bouquet Boy knew his love adored the cats
Something made him recall geraniums too
They said an artist Renoir had just that
In 1881 he shared with those passing through.
It was worth the long trip back
Anything for his love and her cats
Geraniums and cats
Pierre Auguste Renoir
1881
Stokes gets in your eyes
Stokes gets in your eyes
Whenever someone to this day blows smoke up my ego, I think of mamma. Once a member of the church trying to impress mamma, told her I saw your son playing basketball, he’s so good,what was his number again?
It was obvious she never saw me play. Mamma simply said 21, my away ”white” jersey number.
In this photo, in case you don’t recognize me, I wore my number 20 home jersey.
Kayak economy
Kayak economy
The kayak is a good craft
It makes one pair away ballast
And journey with only essential stow.
Calm storm
In two dwelling
In my mind I am always upon the calm waters
Quietly gliding over the sky below in reflected
hues while above the incongruous billowing
of the continual storm hinders the journey.
Mary Joyce
Mary Joyce
Where ever I roam in the evening glow
When ever one wanders into my vision
What ever at the time,this triton slow
Pauses and with Mary Joyce envisions.
Should I
Azalea Plea.
Should I bloom for you
or freeze and fall
life between gray and blue
Saint Peter and Paul.
wailing wall or
curtain call
Bloom not for me
Or Peter or Paul.
Bloom only
Despite us all.
Silent Yeats
Silent Yeats
Johnclarestokes
Last evening sitting beneath the heavens with Yeats
We had long silences and pauses between the
Silence
When he spoke
Pity the poor who know not the poetry
Who must fill the silence with words
I sighed
Oh Yeats, must you too ruin the silence?
Kettle calling
By the fire they were there
Johnclarestokes
There seems to be
Some remnants of magic
In the old syrup kettle
For every time it's fired up
And the warmth is spread
The smoke ascends
It seems there are those
Descending around the glow
The embers are stoked
Without a poke from anyone
These days the kettle fires
In the cold
Are the only way they come.
Con in the loft
Convict in the shed
Johnclarestokes
It evokes a few lines of prose in me
That old wood and tin I once knew
In the cool dark sand among the relics
Sun light glaring in between the cracks
Sounds in the rafters would startle
In reality but a corn snake after the mouse
To me the escaped convict hiding out
And I’d quietly creak up the clasp
Scurry into the kitchen beside grandma
She’d glance down from the stirring, say,
“Why boy, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”
I didn’t venture much into the dark din
Every now and then I’d bravely peer in
Listen for the rustling from the rafters
Never told the Sheriff I knew where the
convict was they were after
Free to this day in the shadows hiding out.
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