who will sit by john clare

this poem is autobiographical of sorts. It was i who sat with Melanie several months as she suffered through H1N1 and acute ARDS. Then it was my father, whom I sat with as he had the massive stroke and died a month later. It was my son Jordon, whom we sat with a collapsed lung. It was my mother, who we sit with now from breaking her leg on the fourth of July. She is at the nursing home in rehab. Then it was I in 09, having the neuro cardio syncope episode, needing a pace maker for a blocked artery after a stent. Since 09, much sitting.

Who will sit beside the bed of the dying
Hold the hand that once held you close
Search the closet for the burial clothes
See the smiling photo and not stop crying.

Then who will sit beside the bed of a wife
Too young to die and leave her children
On a ventilator with kidney failure setting in
The doctors beyond all they know to save her life.

Who will sit with the granny in the nursing home
When late in the night she cries in the hall
Ignored as senile after repeated calls
Spending long, lonesome days all alone.

Who sits with the teen in the addiction
Screaming for help so softly
Ignored by all so completely
Engrossed in the videos fiction.

Who will sit with the young newlyweds
Struggling just to feed their child
No one seeing the need so loud
Clinging to their abundance instead.

And who sat as I lay upon the table
The athlete trying to run the race
A heart in need of a helping pace
Wanting so fast to run, but unable.

And who will sit when your race has run
When down the laurel you lay
Miles to run before that day you say?
Look again, quickly your finish line comes.

Death and the Angel by john clare

this is a poem that tells of the moccasin that i almost stepped upon on the upper banks under the trees of the Suwannee. He more lunged away than struck, but i added poetic license to the story. He could have struck, it all happened to quickly to see.

My death met me today
on the banks of Suwannee
Palmetto upon rotted stump
Suddenly a jump
Toward my bared calf
The moccasin sent fanged wrath
The inner voice said stand!
Striking safe into Florida sand
Into the spring death scurried
And I live to tell
How there was no time
to be worried.
Beady eyed death
You had me today
Again I give thanks
For the angel that puts up
with my
photography.

Heavenly Atlantis by john clare

On this the 42nd year since we landed a man upon the moon and on the eve of the space shuttle Atlantis returning from her final voyage, I sent this poem to the Lake City Reporter. As expected, they never published it.

Soon Atlantis sounds her final sonic boom
As dark side of the moon landings revert to a memory of history.
Our dreams crashing upon the globe of gloom,
Dimming vision down to a earth bound misery.

Will they have perished in vain?
The Flash Gordon's who pierced the stratosphere,
The latter-day Elijah's who in their fiery chariots came,
To give the huddled masses something to cheer.

To drink from the fountains of a Milky Way,
Fathom first hand the cradle of the Celestial dawn,
Embrace it but for a moment creations day,
Compose from the Martian sea a new song.

Far beyond the life of today's narrow men,
A Sagan shall rise and point to the skies,
To heavenly Atlantis we must sail again!
As a gleam returns to the huddled eyes.

Empty Promises by john clare

we came upon a burnt out bush consumed from flames
lapped some morning dew from the deserted sand
bowed to the golden idols set out in the latter rains
then laid us down and wept for the promised land.

it wasn't how they said it would be
this desert full of scorpions and snakes
no land a flowing in milk and honey
this promised land no one wants to take.

suppose we shall turn back from this pain
return to the sand from which we came
at least they fed us three onions daily
who needs promises when hungering so greatly?

and so the empty ones soon were gone
with fires bright by the golden calves they did feast
yet the inner hunger lingered with a bitter groan
a kingdom within stirring in the belly of the beast.

John Brown Lives by john clare

My best friend now he is a zealot
Everywhere we go, he has to yell it!
Now how he is friends with me
So shy and timid is a mystery.
One time we knocked on this door
And he began his familiar roar.
I just cowered there and cringed
On this stranger we had just infringed.
He told me, you gotta be on fire,
Your the last gap between hell fire!
Next door I will try and show more zeal,
So next door opened and I began to squeal.
He said, brother! that was mighty fine!
Shuck that corn for the swine!
Somehow I just don't feel so swell
About us saving all these swine from hell.
But I don't dare tell my zealot friend
He'd shuck, skin and send my sorry hide to #@#!

Mamma Calling by john clare

Who's face was that I saw in memory today?
Vivid in minds play as we rode past the lane
where once you quietly came than ran away
Mamma calling, mamma calling
her tender girl from loves way.

Why do the dozers and the axe men not come
To pave over this narrow path to yesterday?
Do lovers yet find this canopy under the summer sun
Swirling long, not hearing
Mamma calling, mamma calling them home?

And up the road across the open field
Above the trees you can just see the old chimney
And when the sun is low and all is still
In memory i hear
Mamma calling, Mamma calling
her away, away from me.

New Creation by john clare

Have you ever had someone put your life to rhyme
in such a way to rhyme every line?

Were you ever the subject in the frame
the master work of angelic acclaim?

In the tapestry of the weave
Did the loom waft your story?
Yet spin a constellation by night?
Spell bound in creations new artistry?

In illuminated pages has your name been written?
Gold-leafed icon crafted in detailed attention?

No brush too fine to span the line
No ink too dark to etch beyond the mark

Paints upon poets
Rhymes in artists
Clay pounded into weavers
Granite chipped from seers

Into kilns go the parchments
The fire glazing the new sonnet

Another creation with the Masters
signature upon it.

Towle House Haunting by john clare

Do you not know why you are haunted at night?
Why you hear strange shuffling sounds?
See images groping by moon's light?
Do you not know you built upon sacred ground?

Years ago, where now all is paved and manicured
great trees and gardens once grew
The lady who owned it was assured
Her great trees and gardens we could always walk through.

But along came a man who preached a smooth word
He convinced the lady to sell him her land
And for a time he kept her assured
By planting greater gardens and trees so grand.

The years passed and the lady died in peace
The preacher moved in and kept her old house the same
Each year with his toil the harvest increased
But then into his heart a darkness came.

He longed for the love of a younger one
Dedicated his land a garden to her love
Unknown to him the haunting had begun
As the old lady frowned from above.

In anguished madness he buried her returned letters
Quit watering and weeding the lovely garden
Living in the anger of his own fetters
Bearing the bitter harvest of his yearned for sin.

And into this darkness entered a shrewd realtor
The preacher took his first offer without the promise
The outcome of the end of hearts desire
Betraying the sacred trust without even a kiss.

Within a year the preacher moved on to another yearn
The old house was split in two and moved
Every tree and plant was cut, piled and burned
Rows of houses built with driveways smooth.

So as you wake in sweat from fitful sleep
Its ole Mrs Towles you see groping in the night
Blindly feeling for the trees he promised to keep
Calling for that preacher who once saw the light.

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.