Prodi gal

 Prodi Gal

Every evening mamma would watch

For her little prodi gal

Long, long lost the innocent smile

Up the lane with a happy hopscotch.

Other side

 Other side

Upon the road of shadow and dust

We journey with a deeply held trust

Of the green pastures upon the other side

Where ne'er the dust or shadow reside.

Clark Samson

 Clark Samson turns Eighty Six

John Clare

The Southern Exposure volunteer stylist clipped

his locks for his eighty sixth birthday party 

Telling him how young he looks

Reminding her of the Clark Samson 

her grandmother knew in the seventies 

Who once she said swooned the ladies

Lately paying for all the toppling 

Leaving the once strong loins krypton weak

the igniting of foxy fires a dim glowing

kept going on the long regime of prescription 

filling

Such were the travails one endures for Delilah Louise 

Pestering him daily lazing about in the faded

suit of Royal and Red saying to Clark,

“Outside lurk the Philistine Witnesses, with 

lustful intent upon your Delilah Louise, coming

to crop your locks!” “You better find some jawbone!”

“Now make a wish and blow out your candles!”

Taking a deep breath and...

Seeing the Philistines...pressing on the call button...

pleading for someone to please bring his walker...

so Clark can amble down the long corridor, out the alarmed door, to the smooth granite columns,

to make his Delilah Louise proud of him.

“These Kingdom walls shall fall! The foxes with their flaming tails shall burn the crops!”

“I see the flames before me!”

Mr Samson, Mr Samson, wake up!

Spitting and gasping for breath, smoke rising,

soon the alarm to trip, not one Philistine in the room, reality and dream as one dream of reality.

Gathered about the bed his lovely Delilah Louise

and the Good Samaritan staff singing,

Happy Birthday Clark Samson, happy birthday to you! The cake was chocolate, the ice cream 

butter pecan, the food of gods and super heroes

and Clark Wayne Samson on this 86th birthday.

For the journey

 For the journey

He could create a name for you

tell you this one is for you

for the journey

For he could see

you seemed to be

right there along with him

You were the one fondly

that told of poetry

along with photography

always with artistry 

It made him happy.

Second

 No one remembers second

It was the year 1984, the month October, the Jasper 10K race. The previous year I ran a 36:25, finishing 6th on the rolling hills out and back, and yet third in my tough age group. 

The following year, as I lined up for the second attempt on the hot Saturday of October 6th, I felt my prospects for a better finish were good. As the gun sounded, Rusty Jones, the shoulder white hair length speedster from Valdosta was soon out of sight. I too was stuck in a lone no man’s land making distance on James Lee, the muscular black hometown favorite. As we entered town on the final mile, I found the strength to increase my lead over a charging Lee. This year I finished 2nd overall and first in my age group with a time of 36:14, a 5:50 pace. Rusty had over a two minute margin of victory. In 1985 we repeated the same order, but my time slowed to 37:26. The last 10k I would run was the Gator Bowl 10K on Dec 21 with a 37:25, 34th in my age group.

Lure of redwing

Lure of Redwing

Was it in the blustering, restless wind

the red wing did lift and sing?

Was this the place where our journey ends?

or do we again wing and begin?

The red wing blackbirds were going in and out of the reeds in droves, it was nearly dark and I could hear more than i could see. I held the camera against the kayak as steady as the rocking in the wind allowed and used a shutter speed nearing a second in length, giving movement to the reeds, blending and softening in the sunset.

There was a stream

 I heard there was a stream, or was it a dream?

Itchetucknee Winter 

 In mists obscured, through water flowing  pure

Itchetucknee spring

Lifting on the white wing, over clear stream

Itchetucknee summer

One by one they did come, bumping every one

Ichetucknee fall

It was all a mystery, this Ichetucknee season.

It was in all, a good season for photographing the gem of North Florida. While I did not get there as often as I should, and I have yet to make the winter voyage, there were several pleasing photographs captured in the times there.

Buffalo Gals

Buffalo Gals

Beware the buffalo gals

They come out at night

They come out at night

Beware the buffalo gals

That dance by the light of the moon

That dance by the light of the moon

Beware the buffalo gals

The one with the hole in her stocking

The one who's hat keeps a rocking

The one whose toes keep a knocking

By the light of the moon

There will be a day

There will come a day

Except to Heaven, she is naught.

Except for Angels-lone.

Except to some wide-wandering Bee

A flower superfluous blown.

Except for winds-provincial.

Except for Butterflies

Unnoticed as a single dew

That on the Acre lies.

The smallest Housewife in the grass,

Yet take her from the Lawn

And somebody has lost the face

That made Existence-Home!

Emily Dickinson

Wolf moon

 Wolfie moon

Wolfie is one of my longtime lifetime friends

Wolfie first began his howling at our command

In the watermelon fields out from Williston

Wolfie was young and strong and could toss

them long after Eddie and I were bear caught.

Wolfie went on to work in clothing apparel

Retiring to howl from treehouses in Asheville 

Eddie became a roofer around Wacahoota 

Nights as these I’m wondering if from the

treehouse and from the rooftop they do

not let out a long mournful howl for me?

Magic globe

Magic globe

Johnclarestokes 

I'm getting a days head start

Shaking back to Sopchoppy 

To January 30, 1956

A one year old dreamer

Stirring the snow in the globe

Watching the years depart

Back to when I cried

Boat! Boat!

And Captain Becton

Would slip in 

To sit on the back pew

of Sopchoppy Methodist

late again

from net mending

as father Luther Ray was deep in prayer

at the pulpit

Captain Paul Fred and John Clare 

Could now with eyes closed dream of

Deep sea fishing

off Panacea

Big Adventure

 PARDONED 

It only occurs once a year

I want to give you a heads up

Tomorrow is the day

I grant you a pardon

From your lack of interest

In poetry

In artistry

In trickery

In imagination

In dreaming

I give you a new start

From your void of

Metaphor

Alliteration

Parable

Humor

I free you from your

Humorlessness

Literalness

Narrowness

Idiotness

Tomorrow

You're on your own til then....