Monday, July 28, 2025
Gold blind
The grizzled old cyclist astride the lug steel antiquated downtube shifter rode directly into the sun, shunning the fashionable Oakley's, loathing the latest aerodynamic time shaving carbon device, speed the last thing he pursued, seeing distinctly in the glare the shimmering mirage of the old nemesis, with the lost friend motioning to bridge the gap, slowing momentarily to allow him to draft in the slipstream of his memory.
Gold train
The grand Brittiany train
Wiggins, Stannard,Millar and Froome
Steeled to bring Cavendish fame
But from the rear one
The Kazakhstan man old
One Alexandr Vinokurov
And from the young Brits steals
The glory of the gold
Gulfs of Gold
We were inseperable, two boys from Sopchoppy, wading in Wakulla waters, from Mashes Sands to Ochlocknee, jellowjackets in black and gold we were.
Still rope swings
still ropes sway, slowly to and fro, in rhythm to flow, ripples circling out, still ropes sway, slowly to and fro, invisible still force, immersing totally, still ropes sway, slowly round and round, harmony found, we all swing down, way down we go, to and fro slowly.
Johnclarestokes
Sunday, July 27, 2025
Smokehouse
Yesterday I came upon another piece of the past that will help me to reconnect to the future. I found the Ison's Nursery and Vineyard
catalog my father ordered his grapes on December 11, 1978. At the time my father was nearly at the end of his two year ministry in Lake City from 1977 to June of 1978. This would be his last church, as he formed the Luther R Stokes Evangelistic Association, purchased an old house on St.John's Street and spent more time in Crawfordville, the twenty-acre property he purchased from Mrs Lucille Towles in the late sixties. Typed inside the catalog was the note: Grapes around garden in backyard, starting at smokehouse: Two Dixie, One Pride, One Chief, Two Noble, Two Jumbo, One Southland, Two Sugargate, Three Cowart. Pictured is the smokehouse, the first out building my father and I built behind the old house. I have the bell on the cross tie in my backyard. I plan on ordering these same grapes from Ison's in Brooks, Georgia and planting them in my backyard in the same order.
Saturday, July 26, 2025
Color of wind
color of wind
john clare stokes
i bend and face the colors
in the wind
enveloping me in the hues
as today a vivid blue
chose to color me
saturating my being
in the wind seeing
the mood blowing
gently then briskly
from ultramarine to
cobalt to a phthalo
as from the west
came the silver gray winds
so prevalent today
overtaking the colors of blue.
Thursday, July 24, 2025
Judy’s tree
Judy's Tree
I have written of Judy's Tree before. Today I took a twenty mile bicycle ride into the Osceola National Forest via the old Still Road, stopping to pay respect to the Judy Tree along NFR 278 or now McColsky Avenue. And who you say, was Judy? Judith Hancock in 1979 became one of most ardent friends of the environment when the DOT cut down a legacy oak tree by Popeye's chicken in Lake City for the widening of US90. "It was a really big, nice old oak tree, and I was incensed, absolutely incensed, because they could have avoided it," she said. "I joined the garden club and fought it, put nasty signs up and tied yellow ribbons around it, but they eventually cut it down." At the suggestion of a Garden Club member, Judy joined the Audubon Society, and the rest, as they say, was history. Judy passed away from cancer on June 28, 2004 at the age of 65, with the Osceola and Florida losing an ardent, tireless defender of things wild.
Several years ago, Steve Williams, a fellow Audubon member and long time friend of Judy and I placed this plaque in the crooked pine Judy when living always would point out as we passed, as her tree.
Castle Hell
Castle hell
I've nearly completed Castle Hell
It was of my own making
Taking brick by brick all resentments
And cementing them in memory
Life's blueprints tried to tell me
Not with resentments
But with forgiveness
Light and airy
But I was not one to follow rules
So I continued to build this
Castle of a fool.
John Clare
He paused at the waters edge.... peering beyond into the cypress swamp....Hearing that elusive Ivory Bill calling....Cross over into the darkness falling....it was not my claim...to receive a poets name....my life has been an eighty mile journey....to find my Mary Joyce...not my choice...the name was given to me....
Sans sons
Those sons of Isaac
And Jacob wrestled with that bike all night
While the squirrel Esau barbecued was out of sight
To a fathers delight
Sea lovers
Sea Lovers
Johnclarestokes
After the smoked mullet and foaming brews
As the morning catch iced on the slimy dock
And as the stinking chum began to stew
Into the ocean the two lovers did drop
Pressed against the rusting rail they clasped
Gulls scattering from oyster shells openly seeping
Lurching out beyond memories of caresses past
Far from the bar the lovers were swept
Throw the Jim Buoy to rescue the down fallen
tumbling couple tangling in monofullfillment
Slowly sinking to Asrai’s calling
Beyond the grasp of mortal help
And yearly we return to gather on the docks
Throw the wreaths to appease the craven sea
As the tide swells and the waves lift
upon the outgoing tide receiving the gifts
We raise a toast to lovers whom oceans need.
Bait face
Bait face
John Clare Stokes
She decided she’d
go fishing Sunday
so she fixed up her face
took a sultry selfie
So far she’s caught
five
Don’t know the limit
Or even if she has
A license













