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.”
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
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.
Twenty to the shed
Forty to the roads edge
Numbers known by the bump
As cattle trails the blind led
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
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.
Why not?
All my working years
Black Friday was dreaded
Now for a change
I can half way
enjoy it.
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
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.
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?
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
