Come little ones
Come little ones again
Photo bomb my lovely scenes
Walk ahead and break the webs
Wake me from the swampy beds
Thirteen years after
Sunday, May 25, 2025
Roadside zoo
The roadside wonder
Better than the old zoo
Poor ole elephant sad
Monkey being bad
Flinging poo at you
Over yonder
Look!
Leave an offering
On your way
A peanut for the
Gallery
Of roadside beauty
Hopewell
Hopewell
There is a palm
At Oak Lawn
Separating Lilly and James
The palm stronger than stone
Pushing their graves apart
There was the time
Rev. Eubanks stood as that palm
Separating at Hopewell
The hearts of stone
From the hearts of flesh
Saturday, May 24, 2025
Class of none
Class of none
The old photographer was to teach a class
As everyone exclaimed, finally! At last!
He will show us how to use our cameras
Which of these buttons he prefers
Why we shall soon shoot just like he
All masters of this thing called photography
Came the day of this grand class
And one by one they slowly passed
I must go and see my little one play
Excuse me, I'm going to the river today
Another said, thirty dollars for what?
Learning to shoot from an old fart!
So the class was taught to none
And oh, we had great fun.
It's as the old framer wished it'd be
Just him teaching a class with no
Eyes seeing.
Earths Communion
Earth's Communion
The grassy recipients
Gathered round the
Precious liquid:
Drink this,
In remembrance
Of He who
Freely gives
The rain
To sustain
A wind blown Magnolia petal filled with the recent rain.
First date
When Dandy Lyon came calling on Miss Lily
Now remember what we told you, if he gets fresh, offer him a glass of Iced Roundup....
Hawk time
Hawk time
The morning my mission was to procure coffee creamer from the DG. I struck out too early and so I wound up at the lake, where I proceeded to determine to out wait a red shouldered hawk perched, catching him lifting off. He won. After over an hour, when as usual I took my eye off him, he flew. About that time the text, where are you?
Going on hawk time, my bad.
Big Shoals town
Suwannee Sigao
JohnClare Stokes
I know that dwelling beneath
The ground, are the thriving,
Bustling silent towns,
The grist mill grinding up
The corn, the calves upon
The hill being born,
Brick makers firing up
The kilns, the black smiths
Pounding on the steel
The one law in the town
To keep silent
For thieves are seeking
The hidden silver
DeSoto's are ever digging
For the hidden gold
Keep the secret
Of your borders
Worship quietly you
Saturday Adventist
Be as the Methodists
Stoic and silently staid
Not giving away
The place where the
Seminole would wade
To the hidden glade
In silence the shaped note
Song sung.
From lips of those
Told o'er and o'er
Keep silent
Keep still
Until they pass beyond
The ever grinding mill.
Do you recall
In fields of Phlox
Do you recall the first place we stopped
On that Wacahoota trail of Phlox?
It was beyond my every imagining
Seeing one as you there gathering
For in all my former Thoreauian desperation
My only flowers were pressed in books
Drying.
Another collaboration with a Robert Jones painting of his parents and my Phlox. It was Bob who was with me on the trip to St Marks where I found the note in the bottle that soon led to Melanie.
Friday, May 23, 2025
Screen
Screen
"Don't slam the Screen door!" "Close the screen door!" "Don't poke holes in the screen door!" All the old homes had screen doors, the early air-conditioning. It allowed you to keep the main door open so you could hear what was going on outside. Who was driving up, what the children were doing, what the dogs were barking at. I think screen has to rank in the all time top ten invention list for old time southern homes.
Mansion maiden
Mansion on the hill
She wanted all surrounding
To know in uncertain terms
She had arrived in spades
Far surpassing even her family’s
Modest spread
She owned the cattle upon
A thousand hills
Or was it a thousand cattle
Upon a hill
She lost track
And mostly
No one was counting but her.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)