Journey with John Stokes

Friday, July 11, 2025

Suwannee Burning

The highway man artist RL Lewis chose my photograph, Suwannee Burning, to paint at the Gateway Gallery live, then sell as a fundraiser.

Mr Todd

Don't Quit

Harry Todd

When the mountains look high

And the valleys seem low,

It's not time to quit,

It's just time to go.

When life's battle is rough

And you can't seem to win,

It's not time to quit,

But the time to begin.

When your friends let you down

And you know not where to turn,

It's not time to quit,

But the time to stand firm.

When your witness is nil

And your spirit is low,

It's not time to quit,

Just get up and go.

With the world in turmoil

And unbelief in the land,

It's not time to quit

But time for a stand.

When looking at others,

They do nothing but sit,

You still should go,

It's not time to quit.

Jesus going to Calvary

Never flinched a bit,

He was dying for us,

WHAT IF HE HAD QUIT?

Determined to see if what Gator said was true, that the eagle hunts come dawn, I was waiting on the dock at sunrise, the evening debris left, but no eagle. In my field of view, to my left I watched the waning moon for jets intersecting, before me the juvenile alligator upon the log, awaiting him to yawn, to my right, the Osprey in the dead tree fussing but not fishing.

It was then Michael from Suwannee Lake arrived, to snap the gator and pick up the trash. Gator man would be pleased. The Osprey then flew as I watched the moon, the alligator slid off the log and a fisherman in his Rondo Celtic jersey wanted my spot. No eagle. I think the near sighted Gator sees Osprey. We shall try again Sunday. I miss Eagle Eye Bill. He’d know.

Going in circles

Once I was a scuba pro

Deep, deep, deep I’d go

But now I can’t even rake

For a cane the handle take

And with only one fin

I keep returning

to where I’ve been.

American Woman

John Clare Stokes

In the sober dusk of Friday there she was

From disco Moose karaoke was heard

the off note strained sound of Peggy Lee

Calling loudly, softly, persuasive to me

It was not in our dereliction to abandon

all caution to a karaoke Independence wind

Before the siren could draw us nearer to siren

Of the fireworks about to begin,

We were going about sixty five

in a forty five zone.

What about it Ansel?

Did they ask you too Ansel?

In this digital age it’s not enough just to enjoy the image, we have to ask questions as, was that photoshopped? Was it shot in RAW? What camera, what lens, what shuttter, was it A, S,P,M?

I don’t recall Ansel having to say what view camera, what paper was selected, was it dodged and burnt?

It’s just annoying.

Wink. Wink.

On the banks of lake Lona

On the banks of Lake Lona

by John Clare Stokes

On the banks of Lake Lona

I often do sit

And think of the lover

I'll never forget.

It was in the gone summer,

On Lona we'd drift

She wore the red flower

My humble love gift.

On the banks of Lake Lona

Three flowers now bloom

The memory fresh of the one

Taken all too soon.

O lady, sweet lady

Cause me to weep

I'm a sad lonely lover

These faded flowers I keep.

To the tune of On the Plains of Manassas by Bobby Horton

Jimmy cracked coon

John Clare Stokes

It was beneath a Mississippi moon

Perchance in the sultry month of June

That Jimmy with his blue tick hounds

Among the Homewood corn was found

For there were coons in there amongst

them as the hounds bayed all at onest

A sweet chorus heard up on Pea Ridge

lovely Kay turning toward the sound

To doze back off, content her Jimmy

Was out among the prized Coon hounds.

Moon bargain

John Clare Stokes

I made a bargain with the moon

That I’d sit with him in his morning

setting, if he’d offer me some glow

in the coming night.

So I sat as he sank in a hot blue

but what he failed to tell was

I’d have to sit up til after two

just to get some glow above.

The swamp sage

John Clare Stokes

You cannot think yourself some

Yeats or Clare

In love with fairies

In fields of hedgerows lined

Or even imagine

Yourself some Ansel

View camera in tow

Reducing the land into zones

Of tones from white to black

With middle value grey

In between

You will never be the poet

You wish

The fairies he knew you won’t

There are no hedgerows

In this land as Clare knew

Why the landscape is full of color

Contentment in just being you

The greatest attainment.

All over but the shouting

John Clare Stokes

The time for answers to questions

Has gone

Father could have told us

The name of the dog

Where the home stood

Who gave him the Parker

Or the LCSmith double barrels

What specific gravity

Caused the syrup

To candy

What key opened this lock

How do you make the

Blueberries grow

Somethings are beyond

The google search

And mother

Even before her long term

Memory became fuzzy

catching up

With the short term

And the blank pages

Of her long kept dairy

Questions I should have asked

Instead of just sitting

There in silence

Watching wheel of fortune spin.

The road no longer taken

Johnclarestokes

And I said to myself

This is a good dirt road

I said I shall long enjoy traveling

Of visiting the living

To hear the stories of old

Then came the dying on Monday

Then the firing on a Thursday

When all of a sudden

All she had time was to

Hug her daughter

Tell her she loved her

All I had time was to

gather my things from the van

and head home

It was a good dirt road

I shall never travel upon it again.