Gold rush
Johnclarestokes
I’ve told for years my life as a prospector
How for so long the gold I have mined
Of journey time upon time to the end of line
The wealth untold with a full heart to gather.
Saturday, January 24, 2026
Still life
Still life
Johnclarestokes
We arrived to the end of flowing
Not wanting to stir the still
So we just back paddled knowing
In time we’d enter that eternal chill.
Friday, January 23, 2026
Ah day
Yes, I caught your gaze
In your gentle passing
The slow hand raised
In a wave
What was that you
Were about to say?
Ah day, I must move
On my way.
Thursday, January 22, 2026
Esther Moore
Esther Moore.
Answer me this first. How can one simply type a name in and not have it revert to Demi Moore or some other person? Annoying.
Rode out yesterday to Esther Moore's old homeplace. Esther never married and lived on the old home place most of her life, first keeping her parents, then her sister. She passed away this past April in her 90's. Even though the sign said "No Trespassing, Beware of Dog", I said, "Just a few quick shots". Sure enough, greeting me on the road as I left was Wayne, not too happy looking. I explained how I knew Esther and how we used to come out and plein air paint the old buildings. I apologized for trespassing and asked meekly if ever so often I could come out and take some photographs? Thankfully he said I could and I gave him my card. As my wife said recently, "Someday you are going to wind up in jail or shot." Don't tell her I almost did yesterday!
Who would ever
Who would ever
by john clare
Who would ever dream
the day would come when
Kodachrome would no
longer be made
That Nikormats of metal
couldn't even be pawned
The slides would mold
and the images degrade?
They said they would
last for fifty years
And so they did
Softly focused and
slowly composed
Suwannee scenes splotched
The memory of the day
faded as if never
were we there
But I swear
We were
Who would ever
dream?
Wednesday, January 21, 2026
His Eye
His eye
John Clare Stokes
Was this the eye of prey
Watching the sparrow perch
To pounce and suddenly slay
Nothing but Cheshire smirch
Was this the eye of friend
Watching the sparrow sing
To stay the sudden pouncing
The eye of loving wing
Or was it the eye of One
Who watches every tiny thing
Staying the claw from coming
To little wings.
Tuesday, January 20, 2026
Lulu
Lulu Slave Cemetery
John Clare Stokes
In the near ghost town of Lulu seven miles out from Lake City on SR100, a quarter mile down on the left past the now closed general store, there is a sign. The sign marks the location of the Mt Zion Slave Cemetery. In years gone by, there once was a lone caretaker of the graves, the Rev Joseph Anthony Sr. He could often be seen faithfully and lovingly in his bent position raking and keeping the encroaching brush from enveloping the few graves. And then in October of 2000, Rev Anthony passed on to his reward. They carried his casket from his house approximately four miles south of Lulu on CR241, all through the streets of Lulu, so old Joe could see his beloved Lulu one last time. In 2009 Lenoria, his daughter was buried, who had taken up the care. Joe was a cotton picker. They cared for the graves of the cotton pickers. And the weevil and the briar march on.
Learn
Learning curves
I’m learning a few things about avian photography. One, being close to the subject covers a lot of issues. You can’t pull detail from a bird a half mile out. Two, I think pixels do matter. Though I’m shooting a 24mp camera, it’s still an amateur camera. They tell me you need at least 40mp and full frame. Glass matters. I’m shooting a f5.6 zoom. The way to go is primes. Primes are fix focus lenses, say 500mm only. And why not? All my zooms I shoot at full power anyway. I’m wasting my money.
And that is the final thing I’m learning. It takes a camera case full of money to achieve the results I’m after.
71
false side of the moon
john clare
after nearly
(in nine days)
Seventy-one years
Of musing
I have come to
The conclusion
I have done
Everything wrong
Listening to Floyd
In thirty-three
When all along
It was supposed
To play in
Seventy-eight
Backwards even better
To reveal the
Hidden meaning
To life
I so missed
Playing along
Musing at the false
Side of the moon.
Christmas 1987
"We sleep, and at length awake to the still reality of a winter morning. The snow lies warm as cotton or down upon the window-sill; the broadened sash and frosted panes admit a dim and private light, which enhances the snug cheer within. The stillness of the morning is impressive...The wonderful purity of nature at this season is a most pleasing fact. Every decayed stump and moss-grown stone and rail, and the dead leaves of autumn, are concealed by a clean napkin of snow."
-From "A Winter Walk" by Henry Thoreau; First published in The Dial,
I took a walk that morning in 87, I only wish I had walked longer and recorded more, as it was a once in my lifetime snow in Lake City.
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