Mary had a flowery Raleigh
Flowery Raleigh
Flowery Raleigh
And everywhere that Mary went
The flowers were sure to follow.
Saturday, August 23, 2025
Scent of a rose
Scent of a rose
‘Sero te amavi, Pulchritudo tam antiqua et
tam nova! Sero te amavi.’
S. Augustine
While awaiting the hummingbird, I took a double exposure of the rose. First focus on the rose, second focus on the background. The result to me made the rose look as if it had an aura of scent.
More the dream
Monday comes and it so seems
How can we as Sunday so sing?
When all are in such states of despairing
Then along comes the Zebra long wing
Life then turns less harsh
More the dream
Smile upon us
Smile upon us
Smile upon us August moon
like you did that time in June
upon the wind wafted our tune
as beneath you we did swoon
In threes
Three in a row
Today is Melanie’s biological father’s birthday, William Randolph “Skebow” Eatman. He died in a welding accident. Born in 1939, he would be 85.
Tomorrow Melanie’s grandma Pearl would have been 109, not out of the question since Helena Powers too is doing well at 108.
Aug24,1915-Oct16,2002.
Then on the 25th is our estranged son Landon Randolph birthday. He was named for Skebo’s father, also William Randolph. Born in 1988, he is 36
Spare us
Spare Us
Blind John Magoo
spare us
this new found hobby
of photography
You’ve lately taken up
running about the yard
snapping everything not
bolted down and that too
if it does not elude
moving rapidly from being
a hobby to a full time
venture to then retiring
after a month long career
of being a top notch
photographer of everything
in the yard perceived dear
but to others simply
drear
famous for the time
in the mind
accolades coming our way
as everyone simply is amazed
at the meteoric rise we made
from a yard hobby to the
cover of National Geographic
all in the month of August.
Friday, August 22, 2025
Fleeting
Fleeting
john clare
sit with me
in ninety-nine degree
humidity
atop a drain field
the view is grand
sans the yard debris
from years of accumulation
growing each year
less dear
as the memory fades
and the lure of youth
no longer bides me stay
and play torture
content for the time
given to steaming situations
to wait out the fritillary
intent upon being elusive
invading his comfort zone
sit with me
in ninety-nine degree
memory
mounds of my making
views of neighbors yards
their accumulation
equally as dear
to them as mine
one content simply to
sip the tall neck
giving up on the belly swelling
surrounded by his goats and
chickens
not understanding his neighbor
who sits atop his drain field
wondering if the sun has
not gotten to him
listening to the other neighbor
yelling at his granny
and in the distraction
comes the fritillary
and he misses his shot.
Williston
Though we missed greatly again(three weeks) worshiping at the Church of God, nevertheless we were in and among you today, observing and commenting on remembering when, of who lived there, how we would have loved to afford Good Samaritan, of the old pharmacy vase, the egrets circling, a girl in red at a classmates grave, of needing to bring the weed eater and blower and on and on, of two who finally got an apartment, of one we loved so who once lived in them.
At the light we look in the vehicles and think we could know that person, and probably did, years ago. It was once that way along Noble avenue.
To be patient
To the patient
Yesterday we must have sat two hours waiting for the hummingbird to feed on the trumpet vine. One of the few times she came, I was focused on a chicken in the yard. It’s akin to waiting for an airplane to bisect the moon.
Difficult to stay focused.
What obscure thing?
What obscure
Thing shall we share
Today with the misses?
Things the masses
Have no knowledge of:
We would tell of sweet
Things, how we strained
The juice to boil it down
To its essence,
Bottling it up still hot,
But I think not.
It would only remind
Of some old time
Who gives a damn
That once the cane
We did grind?
Willie Mae
Scars away
Johnclarestokes
The twentieth was your birthday
Willie Mae
You would of been a hundred and ten
Willie Mae
But you only got sixty-six
Sadly
You held the little scalded boy
Willie Mae
Pulled that cord on the stove
Willie Mae
Full of boiling water he did
Sadly
Wrapped him in that gauze
Willie Mae
Made them scars never go away
Willie Mae
Made that little boy shy
Willie Mae
Doctor said he wouldn’t use that arm
Sadly
What did Doctor Head know?
Willie Mae
The little boy became an artist
They say
Used the scalded left
Willie Mae
Doc Head drowned in Lake Ellen
Sadly
Inner tube fishing
They say
The little boys now sixty seven
Willie Mae
One more year than you lived
Willie Mae
It seems just like yesterday
Willie Mae
He thanks you for keeping him
Gladly
He thinks of Sopchoppy days
Willie Mae
And those scars just fade away
Willie Mae Porter
20Aug1915
17Sept1981
Thursday, August 21, 2025
Letter from a 2nd grader
"Mr Roussey, it's your daughter Helen's hand I ask. You see, we sat beside one another all year long. We plan to live in Sopchoppy in the play house out back. John Lloyd is going to be our best man, and her sister Dawn the maid of honor. We plan on inviting our teacher Mrs Townsend. We learned so much from her in second grade. I've yet to break the news to Debbie McKenzie, maybe Daniel her brother will break it to her gently. My daddy, the preacher at Sopchoppy and Crawfordville Methodist circuit we will ask to do the wedding ceremony. We hope Nena and Randy Anderson will sing. We have arranged for my Uncle Jimmy from Mississippi to pick Helen up in Panacea, drive her over to meet the family. He’s just of age to drive daddy’s DeSoto. I have an older sister Paula, she is best friends with Joan Sanders, Jackie Lawhorn and Henry McDonald. We have a dog named Bobo and my mom Clara teaches the fourth grade at Sopchoppy Elementary, so you see, I hope you agree with the plans we have made and by third grade we can marry in August when Jimmy and his brothers and sister comes for the summer. Sincerely, John Clare Stokes.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)