Light Guard

by john clare
And who stands before me
peering to the gates above?
Have you the code
to enter into this portal
of light ?
No code?
Shall I let you through
if but for a little peep?
What manner of man
are you
Who dares come
before the light
guard, asking for such grace?
Should I let you glimpse
Then all your kind
will come and
soon erect booths to
sell flights to light
Those of higher status
than you will come
and expect to be
moved at once
to the front.
No.
Return to your shadow
land and learn the proper
code to enter the
land of light.
Few there be that find it.
I trust you can.

Before we wake

by john clare


We wait for what we do not want to arrive,
hide from Him who pursues,
flee that which would make us alive,
wondering why we do as we do.

It has been told be still my soul,
take no thought for your life,
Lily's neither toil yet they grow,
sparrows fly free from strife.

Can one unfold and just bloom?
Lift without the tethered wing?
Find light in the darkest gloom?
Walk on shards and sing?

Then when He whom we flee arrives,
pursued at last our lives to take,
in the moment we were alive,
must we die before we wake?

Sandhill Cranes with Hawk

Sandhill Sleep Over

Yesterday afternoon I spend the good part of two hours at Alligator Lake observing the resting Sandhill Cranes, on a stop over on their journey through. There were hundreds in the dry lake bed, small flocks flying from one group to another, calling the entire time, I suppose gathering friends for the flight.

Sandhill Cranes

Abe the Christian

Today at 10am Abe Lincoln is speaking at the First United Methodist Church on being a Christian. My first reaction to this, not really delving into the subject, it to say, another myth foisted upon a gullible and dumbed down Southern society. But then, I am sure after 203 years, ole Abe has had time to grow in the faith of Lee and Jackson. My thought is, if you have to convince folks you are a Christian, you probably aren't. Did Lee or Jackson go about trying to convince anyone they were thus? By their words and actions they proved their metal. Lincoln, by his actions to me proved otherwise.
I guess now I have to go and see for myself, see if this Abraham Lincoln was not only the be all to end all, but now a Christian.

Memoirs of Whitfield

Whitfield's Preaching

from the Family Sabbath-Day Miscellany by Charles Goodrich, 1847.

There was nothing in the appearance of this extraordinary man which would lead you to suppose that a Felix would tremble before him. "He was something about the middle stature, well-proportioned, and remarkable for a native gracefulness of manner. His complexion was very fair, his features regular, and his dark blue eyes small and lively. In recovering from the measles, he had contracted a squint with one of them, but this peculiarity rather rendered the expression of his countenance more remarkable than in any degree lessened the effects of its common sweetness. His voice excelled both in melody and compass, and in its fine modulations was happily accompanied by that grace and action which he possessed in an eminent degree, and which has been said to be the chief requisite in an orator." To have seen him when he first commenced, one would have thought him anything but enthusiastic and glowing, but as he proceeded, his heart warmed with his subject, and his manner became impetuous and animated, till, forgetful of every thing around him, he seemed to kneel at the throne of Jehovah, and beseech in agony for his fellow beings.
After he had finished his prayer, he knelt a long time in profound silence, and so powerfully had it affected the most heartless of his audience, that a stillness like that of the tomb pervaded the whole house.
Before he commenced his sermon, long, darkening clouds crowded the bright sunny sky of the morning, and swept their dull shadows over the building, in fearful augury of the storm.
His text was, "Strive to enter in at the straight gate, for many I say unto you shall seek to enter in, and shall not be able."
"See that emblem of human life," said he, as he pointed to a shadow that was flitting across the floor. "It passed for a moment, and concealed the brightness of heaven from our view---but it is gone.  And where will ye be, my hearers, when your lives have passed away like that dark cloud? Oh, my dear friends, I see thousands sitting attentive, with theirs eyes fixed on the poor unworthy preacher. In a few days we shall all meet at the judgement seat of Christ. We shall form a part of the vast assembly which will gather before his throne, and every eye behold the judge. With a voice, whose call you must obey and answer, he will inquire whether on earth you strove to enter in at the straight gate---whether you were supremely devoted to God---whether your hearts were absorbed in him.  My blood runs cold when I think how many of you shall then seek to enter in and shall not be able. Oh, what plea can you make before the Judge of the whole earth? Can you say it has been your whole endeavor to mortify the flesh with its affections and lusts; that your life has been one long effort to do the will of God? No! you must answer, I made myself easy in the world by flattering myself that all would end well, but I have deceived my own soul and am lost.
"You, O false and hollow Christians, of what avail will it be that you have done many things---that you have read much in the sacred word---that you have made long prayers---that you have attended religious duties, and appeared holy in the eyes of men?  What will all this be, if, instead of loving him supremely, you have been supposing you should exalt yourself to heaven by acts really polluted and unholy?
"And you, rich man, wherefore do you hoard your silver? Wherefore count the price you have received for him whom you every day crucify in your love of gain? Why, that when you are too poor to buy a drop of cold water, your beloved son may be rolled in hell in his chariot, pillowed and cushioned about him."His eye gradually lighted up as he proceeded, till, towards the close, it seemed to sparkle with celestial fire.
"Oh sinner!" he exclaimed, "by all your hopes of happiness, I beseech you to repent. Let not the wrath of God be awakened. Let not the fires of eternity be kindled against you. See there!" said he, pointing to the lighting which played on the corner of the pulpit, "tis a glance from the angry eye of Jehovah! Hark!" continued he, raising his finger in a listening attitude, as the distant thunder grew louder and louder, and broke in a tremendous crash over the building, "it was the voice of the Almighty, as he passed in his anger."
As the sound died away, he covered his face with his hands, and knelt beside his pulpit, apparently lost in inward and intense prayer. The storm passed rapidly by, and the sun bursting forth in his might, threw across the heavens a magnificent arch of peace. Rising, and pointing to the beautiful object, he exclaimed, "Look upon the rainbow, and praise him that made it, very  beautiful it is in the brightness thereof. It compasseth  the heavens about with glory, and the hands of the Most High have bended it."

Joe

by Minnie Erwin

(The following poem was submitted by Stanley Blake of Berry. Joe a beagle hound was raised by Blake's Blue Grass Farm Kennels, which went out of business recently. Joe was sold to an E.F.Tully of Southbridge, Mass. One February day, Mr. Tully went hunting with "Joe". When he failed to return after two days, a party was sent out to hunt for him. They found him frozen in the snow, and over his body, standing guard, was "Joe", stiff with cold and well-nigh exhausted. ed)

From an old-yellowed newspaper clipping. The photograph above is of my father on his death bed with his dog Rowdy. After my father's death on March 12th of last year, Rowdy was given to a friend of my sister, an older gentleman who has a farm, of which we are told, Rowdy is quite happy.

No soldier with a sword and plume
No famous man was he,
But just a simple beagle hound
Of common pedigree.
Yet in the books the angels keep
Of noble deeds, I know,
There is a broad and unblotted page,
That bears the name of "Joe".
His master to the wintry woods
Went forth to hunt one day
The wine of life was in his veins,
His heart was light and gay.
New rabbit tracks in plenty
Crossed his pathway to and fro;
His gun was ready in his hands
And at his side was "Joe."
But death was lurking
In the depth of dell and dingy dark;
His aim is always straight
and sure.
The hunter was his mark.
Above his master's silent
shape
Fast stiffening in the snow,
The faithful beagle mounted
guard-
Devoted, patient "Joe".
All day the bitter cold prevailed,
The sentinel of the dead.
All night the stormy weather
beat
Upon his drooping head.
The hoar frost gathered on
his coat.
His freezing blood ran slow,
But still he kept his lonely
watch-
Poor, loyal, loving "Joe".
Three times around the clock
The hour had marched before,
was found
The hunter in his frozen
sleep
Beside the dying hound.
And tears from eyes that
never wept,
Unchecked, were seen to flow.
And fall in pity's gentle dew
Upon the form of "Joe".
Among the heroes that have
died
At duty's post enrolled,
This comrade, constant to the
end,
This dog that had a soul.
And when beyond the mystic
gates
Of life and death we go,
God grant us all as true a
friend
To mourn for us as "Joe".

Sisters Schmidt

Found in the leaf of the old devotional book,from 1888, Golden Words for Daily Counsel, the death notice from 'near this place',of Anna Paulina and Jessie May Schmidt, aged twenty-one and eighteen. They died four days apart. How many long years have they gone forgotten, this faded clipping the only remnant of two lives lived but for a short while?
Who were these young ladies, and what was the cause of their deaths? And the owner of this book, Robector(?) Perry, were you given this while upon a bed of recovery from the Philippine-American War?
Questions that still go uncovered. My friend Carmelo Echevarria did some research and thinks the girls lived in Cedar Key and Jacksonville. I am not certain. Again, I enlist any help from genealogy buffs in helping to find the two sisters who died so young, only four days apart. 





From the book:

Life is a leaf of paper white
Whereon each one of us may write
His word or two, and then comes night.

"Lo! time and space enough," we cry,
"To write an epic!" so we try
Our nibs upon the edge, and die.

Gently begin! though thou have time
But for a line, be that sublime,---
Not failure, but low aim, is crime.

J.R.Lowell

Near this Place

by John Clare

Yesterday word arrived of your long time passing,
Your sister just four days before you passing on.
I wish there was something we could have done,
How did we know your lives were so short lasting?

Twenty-one and eighteen were your young years,
Called on before the wedding gowns were worn.
We would have come before your final morning,
But so far was the journey and many the tears.

No time to drink from the deep wells of love!
Know the blushing rush springing from inside.
To one another your sweetest secrets confide,
Sharing between you things not spoken of.

Or was it the fevered brow that took you from us?
Two sisters confined to beds just feet apart?
Sharing their last longings with weakening hearts,
Had we but known we would have come.

A century from now will they turn the old page,
To discover the yellow clipping tucked away?
Will they wonder who dwelt in Near This Place?
And why you passed at such a tender age?

On this day two bouquets for the sisters gone
Forgotten until the page was opened again
Anna and Jessie at last these flowers we send
Someday we too shall come, the story known.

Home before dawn

Maille of Lace

by john clare

With drochels of lace the grand army marches again,
Upon Olustee's piney fields the long ranks wend.
Folded in breast pockets, recalling the parting day,
Hovering mists shrouding in sand the aiming gray.

What crow calls to warn of this looming surprise?
Who shall close the eyes upturned to blue skies?
Oh Olustee! The day we marched through your pines!
Be kind my friend, the darling you hold once was mine.

On the field of molting rosin a red cross arises,
Cannon's thunder raining cones from the skies.
In dawns scream rose the battalions terrible yell,
Sickles harvesting man after man as they fell.

On pungent turpentine fields a victorious foe,
As nearer, dearer her perfumed lace grows.
Yet from arms of love one by one they fall,
Oh Olustee! Maille of lace protecting all!

Olustee Week

This week-end is the Olustee Battle Re-enactment in Lake City and at the Olustee Battlefield. This year I have sent in early for press credentials so hopefully I shall be able to capture some compelling images. I would like to try and stay beyond night fall, to photograph the ball, and again, dawn's first light, but I am not certain I can without camping out, of which I have not prepared.

How he huffed

End to Spring

2.12.12 Mizpah

Whom having not seen, ye love. I Peter 1:8.

The trust we put in God honors Him much, and draws down great graces. It is impossible not only that God should deceive, but also that He should long let a soul suffer which is perfectly resigned to Him, and resolved to endure everything for His sake.
Nicholas Herman, 1666.

Also known as Brother Lawrence of the Resurrection(c.1614- 12Feb1691) served as a lay brother in a Carmelite monestary in Paris. Christians commonly remember him for the intimacy he expressed concerning his relationship to God as recorded in a book compiled after his death, the classic Christian text, The Practice of the Presence of God.

Step UP

by john clare

In a timid step we tip toed over the egg shells
Taking care not to break any at all,
Kept a safe distance from the bombing range,
Watching for the planes in case they fell.

She said, "Step up to the plate!",
Assuming she knew the rules of our game.
Eyes shut, we flinched to meet the coming fate,
Just when we heard falling,
"You men are all the same!"

In our fields of dreams lays a rubber plate,
We brush and keep it safe from home.
Step up and knock our homers,
Way beyond the bombing ranges,
Going, going, GONE!

And in the breaking of the plate,
It's the price we pay to rid the dust.
The settling down we really hate,
Just dust, but bombs dropping on us.

Come Jimmy

by john clare

Come Jimmy it's time you see
The team is loaded for tonight
We travel down to Cedar Key.
Orville has the boys prepared
Missy can sit up here with me
Mamma will not mind
Come Jimmy, it's time.
When we get to Otter Creek Crossing
We can stretch our legs
Then down through Rosewood
And over those narrow bridges
To the old gym of native rock.
Come Jimmy, it's time you see
For tonight we play Cedar Key
They suit only seven to our ten
But never mind the odds
Those Shark's play as men
Never tiring in their pressing job.
Come Jimmy, it's time you see
It's a long way to Cedar Key
You can say a prayer for the boys
I know they need it bad
Devil's all full of lustful joys
I know you understand the lads.
Come Jimmy, it's time you see
The boy's defeated Cedar Key
Orville coached his cigar out
We played on a prayer and a shout
Gideon's Demon's tumbling rock walls!
Come Jimmy, hurry you see
They block the bridge from Cedar Key!
Have you seen Missy?

Between the Two

Between the two

Before the crying over the dying had even ceased
The celebration of the budding of the bloom had begun
The dirge and the hearse upon one limb
The parade and the gaiety upon another one,

And I am left standing awkwardly between them.

The newborn bud beside the dying leaf.
In haste to grow and go on to new life
In haste to end a season so terminally brief
One as life giving scalpel, the other as murderous knife.

And I am cut in my love between the two.

Mourning the dying of the leaves from the trees,
While rejoicing in the coming forth of the new
For who can recall the life of but one who leaves?
Or stay the bud that unfolds before you?

I believe in the winter I shall forever dwell
No bud or leaf between and all is well.

by john clare

Contrail upon the trail

I've gotten up off the forested floor

I

Assez vite

Why wait the Spring
Go ahead and sing
You who bloomed
Much too soon
Giving us a song
In the winter long
Your time came
You sang and sang
Few heard a word
No early bird
Or butterfly emerged
At your urging
Weeks from hence
When glories cover
the fence
And hummers alight
in Springs delight
I shall remember the day
Brush the leaves away
And thank you for blooming
In the cold,cold gloom.

Looking unto Jesus

Be Kind to clouds

The clouds crowd for but a glimpse of the earth bound below, but they cannot linger long upon the sight for on they are driven by the rustling winds, always to the cloud pens and then to the cloudy arena where they are prodded out and the four winds bid to herd the clouds through their vastly expanding heavenly ranges. And so for some they are sold to storm and thunder to cast asunder those below, while others are twisted and branded into tornadic fury even worse. Yet a few, a very few escape from the herd and hiding by morning concealed in the lingering fog, stay long and gaze upon those below, shading and enveloping them from the sun that comes, exposing them to the rustlers of the wind.
Be kind to the clouds that gently speak with you by making all sorts of words for you to decipher. They once were the fiercely driven hurricanes tearing over the open ranges.