Journey with John Stokes: 2026

Wednesday, November 4, 2026

Escorts

Escorts and Greeters

Keeping the skeeters

At bay

Keeping me company

Along my way

The slivered light

The first light of dawn

Breaking through the mist

Comes as a morning gift

As we lift in song

A praise for the day given

As a friend so well says

To be again among the living.

The cattle know

It’s not of the natural order for

These metal Cheetahs who speed

Upon the grey hard trail

To slow and watch them grazing

It sends them stampeding

Escaping this threat

As down the asphalt trail

Comes another cheetah

Honking his terrible call

Move on! Move on!

Cheetahs do not pause

We are made for speed.

Escape route

I tried to rouse you

Your escape route

was taking off

You said, let me sleep in

I’m in no shape for

Escaping.

Blindside

I could not see the tree for the no see Um’s

But it seems it was all in my vision

For I was told, it’s as clear as any autumn

day, why do you see bugs, when there are none?

Farewell

Farewell to frog

You thought the lake was inclusive

Big enough to hide you in

All was swell in this lovely swamp

Why it’s such a nice day for sunning.

Beauty be not

Beauty-be not caused-It Is-

Chase it, and it ceases-

Chase it not, and it abides-

Overtake the Creases

In the Meadow- when the Wind

Runs his fingers thro’ it-

Deity will see to it

That You never do it-

Emily Dickinson

c.1862

Gulf Fritillary among the iron weed

Before the fall

John Clare Stokes

We envision ourselves forever with the young

The race we can still line up and run

And maybe some are given feet ever strong

Others, we are just grateful to limp home.

Little Shoals

Suwannee

Upon slipping on the slippery rocks and having to crawl up the bank and limp back to the vehicle

Fields of summers all

fields of summer's all

by john clare stokes

in the fallow fields of fall

there lies a long lost ball

kicked over the goal of old

when the uprights were two

and the boys I am told

were measured by feat

but tonight around the

trampled tiger head

we name the fallow field

after the one

who lost the ball

took to alcohol

sat beside the Madden

Super ones

and to Jesus late

did come

So future bums

who make it big

can gather round

the purple tiger

and aspire

to have a fallow field

named for them.

October over

The month of birth and death is gone

Into November we are moving on

Time for the cane grinding to begin

time to guard the persimmons ripening

from the nocturnal possums

time to boil the Mason jars for the syrup

time to check the Gravely for stale gas

Making sure it still cranks on

Thanksgiving morning

time to send someone down to the IGA

for the pancake batter and bacon

we don’t want to subsist upon cereal

when the time comes

The glory

And so I rest within

the glory

And let the light

tell it's story

In the dark

of the cold wilt

To despair the

tendrils tilt

Still, still we dwelt

For the light felt

The opening of the glory

The entering of rest.

John Clare Stokes

Martins mail

John Clare Stokes

Martins Taylor of route seven

When was the last time

You checked your mail?

That moon you ordered

Arrived at last

The song you needed

Came

The paperboy even

Delivered the good news

For a change

Martins Taylor

Check your mailbox

Sunday, November 1, 2026

O November

John Clare Stokes

How long has it been in the turning of the mill

that in the back yard rests in the November chill

And who shall turn when alas the sons are gone

Will the one once known come to carry on?

Friday, October 30, 2026

Ogden Road

Ogden Road treatise

Seems I’d keep the Suwannee scene long

It was my favorite scene i said

And the poem was one particularly fond

But neither inspired or led

To the heights I dreamed

It so seems I dwell in a land alone

Those tell me do not post these scenes

And so I do not seek the places drawn

The joy of inspiration it brings

They are tucked deep within the confines

I shall not help the blind again see

They will just have to grope darkly.

No crows

Outer Limits

Through no fault of my own doing

Yet then from all the fault of my doing

The crows have deemed me outer limits

No matter the signals of peace sent

Crows know faces and it’s my thought

one was watching the day the rooster died

and he flew to tell the murder of the deed

A fate awaiting them should they near

I feign to imagine what other deeds they’ve seen

Telling the crow world of one so craven

Perhaps I shall wear a mask when in the yard

Attract them again in some future new generation

But they pass on the story to the offspring

The cock crows thrice and I am cowering.

The well-prepared long distant voyager...while this photograph was taken on Low Lake Road in the early eighties....it could have been taken thirty years later...for little changed...the same bike...the same shorts, shoes and jersey,huret mileage counter on the front wheel, mirror, pockets full of tools and snacks...the only piece of equipment updated was the helmet....and it too was dated….Roger Sessler was an icon to me and so many....never changing...always there....faithful....a friend.

Ole Camp C

Between two fires

John Clare Stokes

We once were among those

Who spent their autumn days

between two fires

Of Alfred and his tall tales

the Fugates and Smiths with

the old upright in between

in harmony we would sing

as the hounds would join in

for that evening

all would chase the venison.

Moon ache

John Clare Stokes

How many years shall it take

to heal the everlasting moon ache

Years the waxing and waning arches

over the prayers pleas and petitions

Silently in a nonchalant cold aloof way

the moon sets yet the ache goes not away.

Low Lake Sunday

Low the lake

We were on our way from forty-nine...upon the intersection of Low Lake and Bulb Farm roads...the old Spanish style church was still standing....eventually crossing US90 and going into Wellborn...stopping at the Jiffy Store for the drink and ice cream...Roger would catch up on his girls....he knew all the clerks.....Bob and I would lag behind...Roger kept an up tempo pace on the Vitus....I had the yellow Cannondale...Bob the Super Sport Schwinn....we finished up at Bob's no A/C trailer off Turner Road in Lake City...it was a typical Sunday afternoon ride of over forty-nine miles to forty-nine and back....Roger like the church no longer stands…the Jiffy now closed and the girls gone...Bob... was lost in a world of fading memory...making it to age ninety…..mostly spending his last days reminiscing...along with me at past seventy and rapidly keeping their pace....

Thursday, October 29, 2026

Downy

Downy Boy

I think if I were with wings

I would not be affiliated

With the pileated

His fiery, flamboyant red

His constant cackling

Nor the crow

A know it all

Nor the red-tail hawk

Again

Always having to squawk

And I feign to diss

Their purpose

Their ways are just not for me

And I'd be hard pressed

To find a bird that's best

Perhaps the Downy

Not too showy

Just a tad of red

Common and looks like a miniature hairy

Of which I am not

Often mistaken for a

Sapsucker

Who drill the parallel

Holes in living trees

To feed on sap that

Drips so gewey

Or perhaps a turkey

But not a Jake or a Tom

Always looking for some

Oh, just little, quiet

Downy!

Veils

We live in what we deem

Sunlight bright

But it’s just the glare of night

We do not see clearly at all

We peer as through a veil

A glass of deepest hue

There is a certain kind of light

We perceive beyond the night

Faces close as can be pressed

For but a glimpse

A drawing near to

the figure of one blessed

Who dwells within the light

Of His own eternal glory.

Road art

Passing the angel art on the fence yesterday, the poem from this day in 2009 immediately came to mind:

Sephiroth Sonnet

Dear Yahweh send an Uriel this night

From the southern heavens fly our way

From your Holy presence flaming light

Take our prayers to your heart we pray

On heavenly heights one mighty stands

With precious healing sent from our God

Grant us mercy to our outstretched hands

Bud anew upon this dry and withered rod

Come Michael, O warrior of God grand

Smite this plague that thirsts to kill

Blood of the Lamb, cover this dark land

with celestial healing may lungs so fill

Come Gabriel, Come Michael, Uriel do sail

Oh Holy God, may your heavenly glory prevail!

One night stands

John Clare Stokes

For one night we allowed ourselves

to return to the field of play

bringing the ball up the court

for the brothers in red

Galloping down the field in

the loose fitting jersey

Splitting wide in the homespun

Cheerleading uniform

Heading up the hill in the Charger

out to ghost light frights

Not daring to ask her out in our shyness

Taking a half century to muster courage

But by then what does one do

when all the places to go are gone

even the very school and the home room

to return to on Monday

Your friends anxiously waiting to ask

What did you do

How far did you go

And you lie and of course say

All the way to State.

Upon the 50th high school class reunion

Wednesday, October 28, 2026

Pan the man

Little Pan

To us he will always be

Our Little Pan

He will grow into a man

Put aside flying with

Tinkerbell

In a far off land dwell

But we will never

Cease to tell

Of the magical dust

Little Pan once

Sprinkled over us.

Tuesday, October 27, 2026

Sopchoppy swimming

Swing Lo, Swing Sopchoppy

My brother Lewis years ago swinging into the Sopchoppy

River across from our parsonage in Sopchoppy. Lewis wasn't born until we moved from Sopchoppy to Monticello in November of 1963. My sister Paula and I both learned to swim here. It was quite an accomplishment we thought to be able to swim to the dock across the black waters. My father rarely swam, the only time I recall him in water was at Blue Springs and even then he wore long pants in the water. My mother likewise was not a swimmer, only once I recall her getting in the Sopchoppy with me in her black one piece and black inner tube. We were probably the only kids not allowed to swim on Sunday when all the town seemed to gather in front of the house. Now the swimming hole is grown over and totally unseen from the road. What then seemed a large river to a child, is to an adult a mere creek.

Some free poetry

Don't make life more difficult than it is,

Like don't shake the bottle,

It won't fizz.

Be kind to ma, who can't hear or see,

She put up with you,

When you were ugly and smelly.

Appreciate your pastor, give him a Mac,

And when he's attacked,

How bout 'gettin his back!'

And settle down,marry her and quit the beer,

And quit talking deer,deer,deer!

Tell the bride she's mighty pretty,

Not too fat, not too skinny(in all sincerity)

And you will live a long life and not at a young age croak,

And by the way,

Slow down and only pass when them yellow lines are broke.

Bee Monday

When Tuesday looks gloomy

I return to Monday

And the memory

Of leaving the bike

To watch a bee....

Class 4 sink

When you think

Life stinks

And you’re in a

Class four sink

Think how great

You did think

To have your

Paddle and kayak

For just such times

In the brink...

Modular man

Would the pieces fit

The modular man

Eyes from a Keller

Ears from a deaf fellow

Tongue from poison asp

Nose of Jimmy Durante

Mouth of Navy sailor

Brain of one insane

the Rollei

The Rollei

When one wants to see anew

Take something vintage

And through it view

A vision intended

Coy moon

Crow came

Cloud covered

Blue October

Clare captured

Then released

Cat said

Why?

Big Shoals

It’s a nice hike

Best when waters low

For if you go

Along the Florida Trail

And you don’t want to

Walk an extra mile

Up the hill

To the beam bridge

You can hop across

Robinson branch

That is

If the waters low

Or, just get wet

Either way

It will do you good

And btw

When you get to the

Shoals

Be sure to sign my card

In the tree notch

That way

Next time I come

I’ll know you’ve

Been there too.

Mid terms

Mid Term

John Clare Stokes

Come ye Triumphant sons

Before our homeland burns

The blue invader comes

For kingdom come we yearn.

Til the day comes

Vote red for our sons sons.

Cotton Field

Providence

Monday, October 26, 2026

If I but dip

We all have in our lives the maladies that are in such need of that dip within the angelic pools of stirring waters. October on is to me the best time to dip ones maladies in the Itchetucknee.