oval mile by john clare

we the slow of foot have seen our day!
the time we had upon the inner lane has ceased
now runs the young to make up the stagger
and we hold the watch cheering them around the way.

the oval mile is just four laps
there was the time the journey took only five ticks
swifter still were the world class elite
we could not fathom such fleet of feet!

Today i pace the little feet around
my once smooth gate slowed by time
he sprints, then jumps, then hops
then stops and waits for me to catch up.

such joy i have to now just watch
and cheer the little harrier through the lanes
when the time comes i yield up the walk
wheel me down to the oval way.

let me cheer the milers in breathless ecstasy
even though i cannot run, my spirit soars from this chariot.
in my heart i pace beside Eammon, Marty, Scott and Coe,
The sub four milers from my swifter times.

Last call for the mile!
The starters gun!
To the bell lap so suddenly!
Look! Look at me grandpa, watch me run!

To the heavens he looks to receive glory
And we the great cloud of witnesses cheer them on wildly!

See Winds by john clare

if in the sparkle of a tear drop
you catch a glimpse of her eyes
and if in the breeze of the sea
you feel her hair blowing free

when the sun slants in the sky
and that familiar scent returns
close your eyes and hold her nigh
she returns for whom you yearn.

there is a reason we are urged
to dwell in the realm of the spirit
for only when the flesh is purged
can we with the spirit flit.

and how free this flight can be
the weight we carry lifted away
with our faith the winds see
carrying us along the oceans spray

upward past the dipping milky way
down upon the valley of the dawn
into the realms of light so quickly drawn
and in a twinkling moment gone.

pray for the poor souls imprisoned in flesh
those who never exercised the spirit
never looked with eyes of faith blest
no leap, no jump, only the stubborn sit.

but not so the ones who dwell above
the flesh no prison but merely a base
able to see in wind those they love
footprints from sand to heaven traced.

O brother, Recognize me? by john clare

I sat with you in church today
At least I thought that was you
But later when you saw me
Why did you not recognize me?
Was it my social state of attire?
To see me as a lowly clerk?
Be careful friends whom we fail
to see
While I in humble estate lurked
Another recognizes the air
of our being
And it punctures the spirit
when a brother we are
just not seeing.
I now must go to the Master
in prayer
And seek sight despite
others lack of sight
Seek forgiveness for not
seeing the brother in you
That I was so poor a brother
You never recognized me.
That I never spoke out
and simply acknowledged you
Hey brother, it was good
to see you in church!
And you would reply back
Good to see you too
brother.
Forgive me
Next time I shall acknowledge
Next time I shall recognize

The Heavenly Line by john clare

It was one of those steaming hot days of April at Big Shoals on the Suwannee River. I was on the Mountain Bicycle making my way West along the trail from the Big Shoals down to Little Shoals where the vehicle was parked. As I came to the intersection of Roads 5 and 6, I heard a siren sound. I rode a few yard further and met a Forestry Service Truck with a bulldozer in tow. I stopped. The gentleman in the truck said they were about to do a controlled burn and were there any other cyclists behind you? I said I was the only bicyclist. Feeling compelled for some unexplained reason, I asked the kind gentleman if I could take his photograph. He said sure. I quickly composed one photo and hurried along my way. Behind I could see the smoke rising from the controlled burn.
I drove my vehicle to the Columbia County side of Big Shoals at Bell Springs and photographed the Suwannee River with the smoke bellowing in the background.  I returned home, and did not give the lone photo another thought. Until....
It wasn't until the June 26 Reporter published a small photograph of Brett Fulton, 52 who lost his life in a Forest Fire on June 20th along with his fellow worker, Joshua Burch. It bore a resemblance to the photograph of the gentleman I had taken back in April.  I attempted for several weeks to get someone to identify the person in the photograph. Finally, a friend who works as a welder for the Forestry Service, Joe, came by where I worked, and I showed him the photo. He said that it was Brett in his truck.
I share this photograph as a tribute to Brett and as possibly the last photograph taken of him in April. He died fighting the Blue Ribbon Fire in Hamilton County on June 20th. May his family and fellow workers who mourn his loss, along with Joshua, find comfort in the many who expressed their love and support.

The Heavenly Line

Into this wilderness forest
We venture brave and bold
The sun is high and before
us grand vistas unfold
But all too soon the path
grows dark and the trail
narrows and ends
It is then when all seems
lost and hope is gone
That there are two whom
the Lord now sends
With fires blazing all about
With embers closing in
upon the narrow way
Through the smoke and
fire they come one by one
Sent to grade the Heavenly
Line
To make a straight path
of safety to His Son.
Suddenly they are gone to
return to the ranks.
We look up through smoke
To see the straight ribbon blue
and say to the Lord,
Thanks for sending
Brett and Joshua
to clear the way to you.

Unless Ye Abide by John Clare

Unless Ye Abide

by john clare

My greatest need above all
To abide one upon the vine
Bringing forth fruit in time
Then resting come the fall.

No need to depend on me
But simply let the vine
Flow his sap into mine
All from him simply free.

And after the harvest ends
The master wields his knife
And ends my dead life
So new growth can begin.

In the vineyard across the road
The shoots are never pruned
They muliply till all too soon
The vine breaks under the load.

The fruit spoils upon the ground
No wine for the wedding flows
They bundle up the dead boughs
As to the skies flames abound.

Meant to grow in the light
The vines made a grand shade
As the husbandman abandoned the blade
Stealing off under cover of night.

But in the vineyard of the King
The clusters grew in the sun
Upon new vines upon the one
As to the bride the fine wine we bring.

Maude Gray's Swing

Maude Gray's Swing by john clare

Maude Gray's Swing

john clare

Maude Gray lives today
The silent swing creaks
Children, come and play!
Maude Gray no longer sleeps.

Maude Gray whispers soft
Summers long day ends
Children, comes the frost
Maude Gray's autumn begins.

Maude Gray strikes the Camp
Winters freeze sets the chain
Children wake, trim your lamp
Maude Gray stirs again.

Maude Gray so very young
The phlox of spring spread
Come children, you who swung
Maude Gray's swing beside the shed.

Through Blue

Cinder Memories by john clare

Where went the fleet of foot?
The swift sprint from the blocks?
Spikes stabbing the cinder track
Rounding the oval nine never
looking back.
We inhaled the rare air of the
sub five
The last gasp spent to touch
the thin line
How brief the push of the starters time
as landed fish our gills aflame cried.
On dusty shelves the tarnished
trophies remind
when feet were fleet and
fast the times
Batons relayed to the last man
The fading photo of personal bests
so grand.
And to the track the old harriers
forever meet
They hear the final call for
the measured mile.
Upon the staggered lines they
edge their way
Then step back and let the
youth win the day.

Travels with Melanie

Is it any wonder at all
When in that far off summer
Wind swirls of curls caressingly
calling ocean breezes bluffs
Melting the gales with but a puff
The miles mere marbled spins
upon the round
A glance eternal bliss from
treasures found
It was no wonder this mystery
that blew upon the
heart afar
It's why we continue to the sea
Wet locks of love dripping
all about me.


by john clare

Fields Far Away

Snuff, or ground tobacco came about around 1870 with Garrett's. A myriad of brands have since come and gone. Tops, Rooster,Railroad Mills, Square Snuff, Red Seal, Stokers and many more.

This old tobacco barn shows the tobacco hung from the rafters ready for curing. I always loved the smell of the curing tobacco in the barns, and the pipe smoking from the old men gathered about under the shade trees.

The old barn was built to withstand anything the ages could throw at it, though a mere child could pull the old wooden latch and enter the dark crib.

The fall was the time my friend Robert Jones and I would visit the hills of North Georgia and North Carolina to photograph the fall colors. This old barn with the stacked corn was photographed around Cherokee, North Carolina. The barns below were photographed in North Georgia, location long forgotten, the barns perhaps long gone.

 T

Fields Far Away

Who can recall sitting upon the old porch in the heat of summer and swatting the silent yellow flies? I would stack the flies killed in a row and wait for the ants to come and carry them away.

This old covered bridge was off 441 somewhere in North Georgia, off the main road. It was no longer used for traffic, as noted by the fence in the background.

This lady and her dog were photographed in North Carolina along a rocky,winding back road, seldom traveled. Robert and I stopped and she proudly posed beside her barn.

In a field in North Carolina stood this silent sentinel overlooking his corn crop. He was quite the soldier and I do not believe any crow or starling dared enter the scope of his wooden rifle.

Another angle of the yellow flies shown laid out for the ants to feast upon. Such were the long, slow days of summer when the cares of life seemed so distant, that the main occupation was the riddance of the yellers.