Chagall

 Marc Chagall (French, born Russia — present-day Belarus; 1887-1985): Song of Songs IV (Le Cantique des Cantiques IV), 1958. Oil on canvas, 50 x 61 cm. Musée National Message Biblique Marc Chagall, Nice, France. © Artists Rights Society (ARS), New York / ADAGP, Paris © This artwork may be protected by copyright. It is posted on the site in accordance with fair use principles.

"The stars were my best friends. The air was full of legends and phantoms, full of mythical and fairy-tale creatures, which suddenly flew away over the roof, so that one was at one with the firmament." (Marc Chagall)

Lily

 Lily

Bouquet boy 

Had a single lily

And he pondered what 

It meant to him

Does it make him melancholy

for the past he sees

Or is it simply a thing of beauty

that he enjoys presently 

Can through it he see future 

possibility

Of hope that will be

It’s but a single lily

That speaks to 

bouquet boy

A ride in Morgan’s Ford

 A ride in Morgan’s Ford

Warner sent me to Ross Hardware once

In the rear there was plenty parking

Down Noble Avenue from the Memorial Hospital 

Waved to Allen Powell at the Motel pool skimming 

High School tardy bell loudly ringing

That pretty blond lady at the crossing stopping me

Past Travis' Standard busily the oil checking

Luther with Goliath at the white parsonage gardening

Near time for a french fried and mayonnaise 

sandwich from Nettie at the Chick Inn

There's Jack Bowman, wonder where he's going?

Carse Oil at forty-six a gallon and rising!

The ole Seaboard Coastline blocks my crossing

Down to two box cars no problem waiting

Time for some stiff dungarees from Lewis' I'm thinking

Those pretty daughters I hope on me waiting

Dread the haircut, hope Mr Bill Griffis

dad's chair is occupied

Oh good! the Night of the Living Dead is showing

Guess Alice I'll hope to be closely holding 

Scary movies at the Arcade are great

Then out to ghost light... what was it I came down Noble for?

Have I attained?

 And have I attained?

Went to an ALF a few years back. I was commenting on a painting on the ladies wall. She asked if I paint? I said I do. And over her bed was a large John Moran framed photograph of fireflies on the Itchetucknee. I said I aspire to him. She said, have you seen John Stokes work?

At first I thought she meant Moran. It made my day to say, I am he. 

I trust it made hers.

First cast

Watertown

Dead Heads

 Dead Heads

By john clare stokes

The boy loved boogers

He couldn't help himself

In the pew, at school

He picked

Like the dog eating grass

It met some nutritional deficiency

In February of '58 his mother

Took him to Dr Head in Crawfordville 

Only Doc in Wakulla County

In a grave manner

The doctor with head mirror

Peered long into his nose

Paused with a sigh

And gave the prognosis;

"You will die if you don't stop picking your nose."

In March of '64 William Duncan Head died.

He was three. Son of Thomas and Flo.

In June of '64 Dr Thomas Duncan Head was found by

His wife Flo

Drowned from an apparent Lake Ellen fishing accident

The overturned inner tube raft the evidence. 

No autopsy was ordered.

He was 43.

The boy lived yet often wondered through the years,

Did they too pick their noses? 

West towers

 West Towers

johnClare Stokes

Earth day found us tracing a trail

far off the path in the Osceola

below in a pine forest in the shadow

of the West Tower like a large

sundial telling us now was the

only time we would ever have

alone as two hands almost met

but moved away, far away to

other loves, other forests,

other towers watching for

the spark of flame that never

came to fire.

Where are you

 Did you know that epic scenes

 were

unfolding all about

your place yesterday?

We knocked and

knocked for you

to come see

You never came

I think you were 

too immersed In

scrolling for

Epic scenes

Admiral pad

 Admiral pad

Johnclarestokes 

Quickly as one could

before the lens could 

compose, the Admiral

lifted beyond the frame

to never be seen again

Toad flax

 The toad flax rolled out a purple carpet 

 The heavens a throne of gold 

 In the midst of royalty I did sit  

As eternal  stories began to unfold

Welcome lily

 Daily I awake to find

 a new lily has arrived.

With every dawning

an old friend has

returned to visit me;

Savor the season of the lily,

the memory it brings

each morning.

Richard Orander

 Crumpler Mountain Memory

My grandfather Richard Orander when he was injured in a coal mining accident in Crumpler, West Virginia, started a bus line from Crumpler to Northfork. This bus from a lot in Gainesville was like the one he had. I superimposed it on top of Crumpler Mountain along with him in the drivers window.

It’s a fast reel

 It’s a fast reel

Yesterday toward later afternoon the house was quiet and the memories were loud. We took our folding chairs and went down to Watertown Lake dock and sat there with them awhile until they subsided a might.