I went to the Gateway Gallery to sign up to exhibit again. Sheila the Curator surprised me by saying an artist is pulling out and I could have the larger space. So I did. Now to get work together. We saw the Branford Show. I don’t think it as strong as last year. I’m afraid the mushroom or the dragonfly will win. In your face large.
Like a benevolent old father who accepts
All his children
No matter the offense or abandon
The river seems to take us in
And so we come to partake of
The loving presence
Some just to have a beer and fish
Some to sit and simply drift
One to workout frantically
Just using a means to an end
Few to find a word for a rhyme
The river giving inspiration
All are welcome at any level
No need for a degree in hydrology
Or the fanatical rancorous green
The river could care less
And that is why we love it so
Jon boat drunk or yaking yuppie
It's a river for all levels
Benevolent for sure
But every now and then
Sending forth a gator or a
Swirling current
To take one under
It could be they never quite
Knew the river
But the river knew them
I cannot recall if I wrote this.
Flying up the long Noble Avenue...past that hilltop water tower....into sand hills flew Engine No 2....In the wee morning hour.....Pappa and Landon.....to rescue the family....No blaze could withstand...When in Engine two they did speed....
(Richard Jay "Dick" Alexander)
August 19,1941-July 26,2013
by john clare stokes
The ring was never a final thing
One pinfall in '58 from taking it all
The restless wrestler paid his dues
and took flight over those towering
Seven Mountains to parts known
following friends in a signature move
Laughing with his entire being
Just a cuddly Nittany cub
not really intending
to draw blood
searching for some fun
And here he would come
over the Sand Hole Ridge
up the Front Mountain with top down
around the Spruce with Pleiades above guiding
Speeding through the Long climb
the cold Broad at two thousand feet
with a view of the Pennsylania valley
at Milligan's Knob
the restless wrestler made the Sand peak about dawn
seeing the first light from the Bald summit
and never looking back
the '99 Porsche Boxster purring
toward the fun of Florida
to the friends waiting
away from the pain of Sandusky
and the good memory of Paterno
to sweet Melissa and her tender care
the closest companion the restless wrestler
would know before the dark match came
the fight of his life
his old five moves of doom
not helping one bit
The faithful stage grip
Not giving in
A main event guy he was
The Junior Contender facing
bravely the Lumberjack
not complaining or calling foul
The giant taking advantage of the
restless wrestler with the ring rust
the slow burn of time from the mat
taking its toll
As in the end
the restless wrestler
wasn't defeated
he only took a visual fall
took the pin laughing
wanting more than anything
to speed over those
Seven Mountains again
his Valet Melissa waiting
in the wings beside him
top down
the Pleiades guiding their
way through the night
to friends
the sound of deep laughter
echoing over the
Seven Mountains.
Half the size of a dime, the tiny Phaon Crescent caught my eye. Wonderful little fellow.
In Greek mythology, Phaon was an old man, who ferried the goddess of love, Aphrodite, to her destination. In return for his services, she gave him youth and beauty.
There seems lately precious little time
for just pausing and reflecting
Seems as soon as you settle down
Here comes that old male humming.
Today my brother called at a radio remote from Ocala and put an old high school friend on the line. Lewis asked me when was his birthday? I said December 25th. It was the 24th. He remembered mine on January 30th. Don’t think I could tell any other friends birthdays.
Though best friends, there came a day he went off to school in Sanford, then when he returned, a friend a grade up became his best friend, then the girl in the Trans Am and so to this day.
Ironical my girl today is in Williston at her mothers where we both grew up. So from afar I keep pace with my friend, a month older than ole forty.
Now if only we had Dixie Lily in common.
I came upon the old Ison’s catalog of my father and his order for the muscadine grapes:2-Dixie, 2-Noble, 2-Jumbo, 2-sugargate, 3-cowart, 1-pride, 1-chief, 1-southland. We set them out in Crawfordville in Wakulla County with railroad creosote posts and wires at three levels. We had two overhead arbors as well. For years we enjoyed the grapes, with enough for friends and neighbors to come and pick. When my father sold the place in 2001, it was eventually bulldozed for a subdivision. I
We never replanted when he moved to Williston.
Today, upon seeing Sandy Bird post, I went online to Ison’s Nursery in Brooks, Georgia and ordered a Dixie and a Fry. I may go back and order a Cowart as well.
So now I will ponder where to plant them when they ship in November.
Johnclarestokes
There was the day
It did not take much
The days tomatoes ripe
The days Martins in flight
Three eggs laid
To make the day
Back porch of Pilgrims Rest
Crawfordville
John Clare Stokes
Fog envelopes the narrow lane of sand
Foot-falls in unison go the thinclad
Silently swing the arms in unbroken pace
Ten feet astride in this syncretic place
Tense with slumbered patience, wait!
Watch for one to spring into a break
Unseen events in foggy Floridian sand
The inner aspiring in each breathless man
A five foot lead from the bunched pack
Pace increased to reel in the gap
In sprinted abandon a lean for a line
Spent on empty the ever ending time
What garland shall this victor today adorn?
What of the others dreams in sand born?
And so ends the morning run in sand
Oh with Joe and boys to run once again!
Infinity and beyond
John Clare Stokes
What is it with me and train tracks?
I cannot cross one without the
strong urge to stop and just stare
way down until the two rails converge
I love seeing in the distance
what is crossing
the leap of the pulse to see
the beam of the distant train
approaching
There is a metaphor in there
somewhere
A lesson in eternity
But for now I better move on
The cars behind me are
not too attuned to
Infinity
Once a fellow entered the
Colgate singing contest
He thought he was the best
When he returned third place
I told him he had the best
Third place voice I’d ever heard.
He wanted to fight me.
Seriously.
Once a fellow entered a
Photographic contest
He thought his photo the best
When he won not even an
Honorable mention
I said you’re the best non winning
Photographer I’ve ever known.
He wanted to fight me.
Seriously.
Once a girl put on a lovely dress
She thought her figure the best
When she got not one whistle
on the street
I said, go figure
It kept me out of a fight
Seriously.
Moral of the story
Don’t take things so serious.
And don’t go about
Wanting to fight.
Seriously.
