I woke this morning from this dream
That out back the grass was again a pool
That old dreaded feeling again arose
That the war on algae had presumed
With chlorine jugs and leaf rake in hand
The fight was on again.
That out back the grass was again a pool
That old dreaded feeling again arose
That the war on algae had presumed
With chlorine jugs and leaf rake in hand
The fight was on again.
Loved his style of such exuberant joy and glee
Our once unclad model offered fleurs to me
Sure bought back painting with cold sweat frenzy! https://www.legacy.com/us/obituaries/gainesville/name/leonard-kesl-obituary?id=18797762&utm_source=webshareapi&utm_medium=share_button&utm_campaign=wsapimobile_beta
Pieces
Wallace Stevens.
Tinsel in February, tinsel in August.
These are things in a man besides his reason.
Come home, wind, he kept crying and crying.
Snow glistens in its instant in the air,
Instant of millefiori bluely magnified---
Come home, wind, he said as he climbed the
stair---
Crystal on crystal until crystal clouds
Become an over-crystal out of ice,
Exhaling these creations of itself.
There is a sense in sounds beyond their meaning.
The tinsel of August falling was like a flame
That breathed on ground, more blue than red,
more red
Than green, fidgets of all-related fire.
The wind is like a dog that runs away.
But it is like a horse. It is like motion
That lives in space. It is a person at night,
A member of the family, a tie,
An ethereal cousin, another milleman.
Forever it seemed William was after me to paint him a shrimp boat scene. And so as a young teen I did and sent it to him. Roses father a master wood craftsman, made a frame. I never got to see it hung in prominence like the still life's did I painted for Grandma Bernice, who proudly hung them in her kitchen. The shrimp boat was finally taken from the mantle and relegated to the guest room floor. Grandma Boykins to the dumpster no doubt when her home was sold. And so many others sent out over the long past years, lost,relegated, the frames of more value than the work. I wish I could of said, like a Monet or Van Gogh, they would have made you wealthy as much as they certainly enriched my heart giving them.
John Clare Stokes
The service was particularly uplifting
All the high notes they were hitting
It was so heavenly soaring
Gulls came from afar Spring tangles shadow and light,
Branches of trees
Knit vision and wind.
The shape of the wind is a tree
Bending,spilling its birds.
Wendell Berry
By john clare
You must forgive me as I am too easily ensnared by the past
Trapped by a boyhood some sixty years ago
I know I should avoid the circle of sand
Baited with Tonka trucks and other lures
But every time I step right in and soon I'm caught
Not kicking and screaming but blissful in the live trap
Gorging upon the surrounding steam shovels and bulldozers
With little desire for a catch and release to reality.
And is it any mystery we Pappa's build our own sand traps
Scatter about choice toy bait
In hope of luring over a grand one
From the no trespassing fences our own keep them in?
Keeping from the traps of sand they so want to
Be captured in.
by john clare
Why did you bring your Lexus
To get your meal today?
Was it simply to show
How the Lawd takes care of YO?
And what of ole Walkin' Earnest?
He came via foot three miles away
I noticed that as you sped away
I'd like to take that Lexus one day
Take it down ole Walkin' Earnest's way
Tell him, Look here Earnest,
look what the Lawd bought
YO today.
Enough this calm hypnotic flow
Deep quiet lost in silent okeefenok
We paddled on determined
When all of a sudden
A deafening roaring
Blessed roiling turbulent rage
That night in fits we laid our heads.
For over an hour I waited
Beneath the hanging shoes
No one came so I
Decided to chew some sorrel
A natural high
Wilson from the South Pacific
Was called upon to tell of his
Long ordeal drifting
In the ocean
The kids were not interested
Boring!
Soon Wilson they were
Kicking.