TBT
An old view of Falling Creek falls
One of the favorites of the gallery curator was a shot of the falls. I have this feeling today like last year I will be skunked in the Branford Show. I must choose wisely what I put in the Gallery.
Friday, August 8, 2025
Focus John
Focus John
Nothing stokes me more than mariposa photography. Especially flight. Now I shot this Gulf Fritillary at about 3200 at F8 in manual with auto ISO set at 1600 max with a plus one exposure compensation, had the focus set on group.
Well, I would have been capital Stoked had I got the eyes sharp. The new eye recognition mode on Sony cameras would have been welcome.
Granny’s sill
Granny's Sill
Johnclarestokes
Today the sills are sealed
Nothing gets in
Nothing goes out
Not so Granny's Sill
Mostly open
To hear the children
To cool the baking
To lean upon for conversation
I miss the scents inside
I miss the sounds outside
Sills sealed
Sealed away
303
An I-10 prophecy
For the day is near, even the day of the Lord is near, a cloudy day; it shall be the time of the heathen.
Ezekiel 30:3.
And how. If ever there was a time of the heathen, Tis now. Mandates, masks, vaccines, distance, close down, isolation, no singing, brother against brother, love unnatural, infantilism, it’s cloudy alright.
This was 2021 and it’s vastly improved in 2025 though the left still rages.
Send an angel
Send an Angel
John Clare Stokes
Ordered an Angel
Of the guardian variety
Needed one desperately
Overnight it please
Waited and waited
And when she arrived
Seems they thought I meant
Granite and not guardian
Such are the ways today
Even heaven gets the
Order wrong.
Grays
Genesis
In the beginning
O'er the garage we stood
Let there be family
And it was good
Emory Grays Camp Street
garage apartment
First residence
The old child
The old child
John Clare Stokes
The child old
Met within the hall
One from a fall
One to fall
They knew
Who was who
Passing through
In search of
In search of that distant chord
John Clare Stokes
We are drawn to the Song of Songs perchance
to find the love we are seeking
We turn to Yeats and Browning thinking
in some sonnet surely they are hidden We cue the Bach and even the Floyd
for in the chord certainly is found
And yet we have this inexplicable drawing
Near, yet desperately just beyond reach
Bwannah fight
Bwanna fight?
Oh sorry
My Sears Sale Commission day’s
are over
Bwanna photo?
Oh sorry
My driving to the Suwannee day’s
are over
Bwanna suit?
Oh sorry
My JCP Manager day’s
are over
Bwanna scoop?
Oh sorry
My Reporter day’s
are over
Bwanna just sit?
Oh sorry
My wife’s due home
and I haven’t done
a single doo!
Blue Grass state
Blue grass state
John Clare Stokes
Six grade can last a lifetime
It did for the tow headed poet
Never advancing beyond
Mrs Turners homeroom
Hiding beneath the desk
during daily nuclear war drill
Deciding it won’t ever get better
But in that summer of sixty seven
He had to move on
To a state of Bahia grass
Sandspurs and allergy
Not even Ann or Pam or Missy
could make him get beyond
the grass of Kentucky
He’d take to grotto trees
He’d take to canoes down Rainbows
He’d take to sandhill hippies
Even tried to be a basketball star
for that is expected of Blue grass boys
But he wasn’t much good
Maybe for a white boy
Far cry from Truby or Dean
But back to the sixth grade
Recently the poet found where
the source of the blue grass
zenith in life dwelled
Looking in at the sixty something year
old Girl Scout
He slowly backed away
Not to disturb a life looking
so happy
The sixth grader finally graduated
beyond the blue grass state
Thursday, August 7, 2025
Fool for a mule
Ellis and Miss Emma
On Spirit Avenue near the Santa Fe
High Springs
I don’t knock the old fools in love with their mules
I’m one of them too.
Damsels in hand
Damsels in hand
John ClareStokes
I don't think the damsels
Have a clue
The times I hold in hand
And compose lines for them
And if they did
And that brittle heart beat
In unison to mine
What good?
The language of damsels
Is one unwritten
Only the wind sings it
And damsels reply only then
And not to some
Age worn Triton.
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