Monday, June 2, 2025

ASP


 What an ASP


In his first move as Chief Executive for Photography, Blind John signed an executive order banning A,S,P from all cameras. Now it’s only M.

When questioned, Blind John stated, “ everyone is a photographer or so they claim, we need some of these ASP’s to move into painting and ruin other lesser known fields.”

Yeats


 Michael will unhook his trumpet

From a bough overhead,

And blow a little noise

When the supper has been spread.

Gabriel will come from the water 

With a fish-tail, and talk

Of wonders that have happened

On wet roads where men walk,

And lift up an old horn

Of hammered silver, and drink

Till he has fallen asleep

Upon the starry brink. 


WB Yeats

From The happy townland

Out of our lines


 Out of our lines


Each morning the marks are

scrawled deeply in the sand

Counting the scrapes to

know the end of days.

The lines are drawn

upon the land

Come eve the creatures

in the lines lay

By dawn they scratch

anew the lines

Knowing not why

they nightly erase.

These are indeed

drawing times and 

artists sure make poor

seers as over and over

the lines they trace. 

this is the end.

this is the end.

Ten paces


 Ten paces to the pump

Twenty to the shed 

Forty to the roads edge

Numbers known by the bump

As cattle trails the blind led

Bill and Sally


 Just missed them


Must have just missed them

Bill and Sally usually out riding

Stopping by the lake to show me

where the eagles are perching 


Must have just missed them

Mississippi Family


 Mississippi family


Days lately I think we should move

to Mississippi. But where? I am not

too sure, as like all families, they are stretched out 

from Hattiesburg all the way up to 

Homewood.

Black Friday


 Black Friday


Why not?

All my working years

Black Friday was dreaded

Now for a change

I can half way 

enjoy it.

Homewood


 Returning home


It was the same drawing my father had

This inexplicable yearn for the returning

When they say you cannot I said  I shall

And I plant some zinnias for Lute and Ern.

By Degrees

By degrees

JohnClare Stokes


It was all decreed by degrees

Each man was given a set point

Some for the season of freezing

Some for the season of heating

We never determined the season

Her point of breaking came

Releasing mercury's deadly poison

Hot or cold results the same

Never applied ice in summer

Never offered blankets in winter 

By degrees we slowly blundered

To her breaking point we sent her.


Sunday, June 1, 2025

Palette


 Palette of a Highway Man, RL Butler. 

Message in a bottle

 Do you ever wonder

What will be your last message

In your bottle?

Do you ever wonder

Who will ever find your message

In your bottle?


Turns


Turns

Johnclarestokes 


Life's turns are not

Always at the designated

Points of light and signs

Sometimes

For no apparent reason

We leave familiar paths

Follow hidden trails

Unmarked by blazes 

Dead ends some

Hidden hammocks others

Narrow the way

That pathway


To glorious life