Journey with John Stokes

Wednesday, August 6, 2025

In search of

In search of Jungle Jim

John Clare Stokes

I my journey about the countryside

My eyes are always seeking him

Some days the swing is still moving

Into the jungle he’s gone to hide.

Swinger

John Clare Stokes

The old man cannot tell you

How long he’s been a swinger

Clearly recalling the little towhead

Soaring above ole Sopchoppy

Toes dangling over Flowing well

The chickens below in the yard

Scurry beneath Mr Rudd's barn

Thinking him a marshy hawk

As he swoops in low

Honey bees greet him

On their way to Georges hives

Bearing Tupelo pollen packs

Offering him a sweet taste

But he must make haste

Up from thick Bradwell bay

The ole black bear glares

He dares not swing his way

He and panther want him

In the church house nest

The purple martins are circling

In a frenzy of mosquito catching

Proud of their fledglings

And on he swings determined

Making his way past Boam Bluff

Through Buckhorn to Panacea

To see the source of his landing

The pure white Mashes Sands

Swing, swing my little jumpy

The skies are full of wonder

There shall never be a better

Back yonder

As he lands ever so gracefully

Perfect soft touchdown upon sand

Daddy, watch me do it all over again!

Wonder Pony

John Clare Stokes

Since he was but the age of two,

It was for the gals he rode the bronco.

Beyond the eight he took a few,

the springs too strong on Wonder Pony.

And he would painfully climb back on,

Waving the buckaroo hat wildly,

Another Phaeton yipping at the sun,

To the cheering of the buffalo gals.

Such was the true grit of his love,

That well into his sixties he'd mark out,

Cinch the bronc reign about the glove,

Nod to the gateman for a lot of try,

Just for a chance to dance

By the light of the moon.

Dixie Lily

Lily Yellow

John Clare Stokes

To the tune of Donovans Mellow Yellow

it just comes with saffron

saffron's good for me

it just comes with saffron

saffron's good for me

They call it Dixie Lily

(Yellow Rice)

They call it Dixie Lily

(Yellow Rice)

it just takes about fourteen

fourteen minutes to cook

it just takes about fourteen

Enriched dinner for me

They call it Dixie Lily

(Yellow Rice)

They call it Dixie Lily

(Yellow Rice)

Electrical appliances

I'm gonna set out the plates

Electrical appliances

You just gonna have to wait

They call it Dixie Lily

(Yellow Rice)

They call it Dixie Lily

(Yellow Rice)

Saffron added, yeah

I'm just mad about it

I'm just mad about Saffron

Enriched dinner for me

Oh so yellow

For this fellow.

Of Magnolias

He lieth under the shady trees, in the covert of the reed, and ferns. Job 40:21

The Magnolia is on the corner of Rose and Faith in Sopchoppy. It's all that remains of the little farm of Emory and Mary Rudd. Where the Methodist Church is now, once stood their wood and tin home. It was the first place I stayed when a little boy and my mother was teaching 4th grade. The Magnolia shaded the front porch where I spent much time in the swing. In the day before indoor everything, the town was quiet. Cars seldom passed by, and when they did, you knew who it was. You could hear far off sounds. The beating of the drums from Mr Burches marching band, the gurgling of flowing well across the street. The Buckhorn New Mt Zion services, that sounded like a Tarzan show, the Wazui coming. The chugging of Mr Wilber Stricklands tractor. Talmadge Crum calling Henry home from the river across the street, though they lived nearly a mile away, her long, drawn out HeeeenreeE!Sound carried, traveled from Laurice's Standard station on 319 all the way back to Mrs Florida Robert’s off Camellia Street. Mr Emory each morning would have the rats he had caught in the barn the previous night in traps lined up on the steps for me to see. He saved his Prince Albert tins and matchboxes, prized to me. He made me a beechwood high chair to eat from. And it's the bread pudding Mrs Mary made that was the favorite thing. It had to be the eggs we searched for daily, for never has her recipe been matched. There came a day, mom did not go to school to teach. I did not go to Mrs Mary's. Looking out the living room window there was this strange black station wagon the likes I'd never seen. That evening I learned of death when we went over for the wake, Mrs Mary in the front bedroom in the bed, hands crossed, like she was peaceably sleeping.

The sound quietly permeated the entire town, a sound I see to this day.

John Clare Stokes

Tuesday, August 5, 2025

Compromise

Recently I sent most of my digital equipment in for a price. They being B&H wound up offering 2300 for it. Originally I was going to get a z50ll and two lenses but Melanie has a 3000 medical bill so I’ll just get a lens and give her 2000 towards it. What a guy!

Beyond the frame

The Art lives

John Clare Stokes

I took the art from the wall

Set it free

It could not live confined

at least

not mine

Deer slayer mother

I came to this home and upon opening the front door was greeted with this taxidermy deer and fawn. All through the home on every wall mounted deer heads. The lady seemed a prisoner to this son who lived with her and was consumed by deer hunting.