In times like these

In times like these I get to dreaming
Why I ever stopped being an Arminian.
Since hooking up with Calvin and his crowd,
It's mostly been one wild, foot stomping cloud.
While down the road ole Wesley and his Methodists
Quietly sit together in harmony and rest.
What's up with these fire eaters who boast they know,
Casting asunder the order and coming to blows?
In the coming weeks I shall ponder sitting again
among the meek,
I'm tired of running from these Calvinists seeking
my flesh to eat.

No Nets Below

No nets below

by john clare

When butterflies are never told
They were meant to soar high
Above the flowery meadows below
They rebel and run from home
To join the circus where
They spend their days
Learning to walk upon the silken
Tight ropes high above the
Ant hills below.

The ants look up high from their
Mounds below and call to
The butterflies high above
Be careful up there!
No nets are below!
And if you slip, to our
Children you will go.

And so the poor butterflies
Take the slip and fall far below
And soon the ants cover them
And take them further below.
If only they were told
They were meant to soar high
Above the flowery meadows below.

O Henry

For in my latter years
I sat and from my
squinted eyes
saw the manner
you held in distance
those not quite with it
in the chosen way
Sure I shook and yes
I was not of O Youth
As so many
But there was a time
When my words were clear
My thoughts precise
Chapter and verse I could
quote then expound the
meaning to the wide-eyed
O Youth
Take heed when you
enter your temples
And take the chosen seat
vacated by the
Old Henry's who
Now forget which seat
they left their
Bible upon
Be glad O Youth
that you are not as I
Shaking in a haze and
squinting to God
Be merciful to me
an old sinner.
I tell you
take heed
O youth
O beautiful
Justified ones.

From Lofts Afar

From Lofts Afar
Luke 18:13


by john clare

The night the living fled
The half moon hung above the
Shaky way.
Upon un-trod paths of the
Once dead
A wail for the reassuring light of
Day.

In smoke clear rooms of barren walls
The remnant re-hung the empty
Frames.
Who remained to quiet the
Microphones white noise?
To wipe the blood trails awful stain?

To barns and lofts they made their
Way
As from leaden heavens the blood
Of glory rushed
And dimmed any hope of a day
Of righted half moons above us.

In suspended search parties hope
Was lost
Pleas ignored from those who knew
The very location of the loft
Where the impaled groans led to.

Can we ever restore the scattered shot?
Bring the pride of aim to a stop?
Under a spilling moon there is a loft
Go my men and gather again under
A crooked cross.

To Wildflowers

To wildflowers
by john clare

Six after three and it is past time to cut the grass
as I have done for these eighty and four long years
with this high wheel mower I think will outlast
me as this yard yearns to return to weeds I fear.

The pull cord of cotton has seized and the gas
is stale, my strength is not as it used to be
but I must not let the weeds take over the grass
and obscure the path mother walked with me.

In this afternoon shade just let me sit awhile
as I ponder the problem and how I can coax
this Briggs, perhaps the plugs are fouled
as the weeds grow and the grass slowly chokes.

There must be a pump in the shed let
me find it and inflate these twenty and six
inch tires dry rotting but first let me sit
and just enjoy the wild flowers by the steps.

It is after three thirty and as I sit here
beside this pathway, I think I shall just
let this old mower rest after these long years
with its dulled blade and muffler of rust.

Mother will not mind as I think of her
and how she loved the wild flowers in
the path. She always told me be sure
my son, please don't mow over them.

For Mickey

by Mickey Stonepainter

Dawn light flushes dark night out of still aspens
So near we hear the small birds there making only
tiny bird sounds.

No cool air fingers scrabble the mirror of lake
water.

Far side firs stand in fine row with brothers in
shimmer at their feet.

A black W. or sometimes V, of a single bird's wings
slides over that cool air, watching everything,
taking an occasional yippee ride on warm air unseen,
but blue.

Peace and calm is nowhere in the world like here in
my hearts gold spot where I keep loving you.

'I saw a stable'

I saw a Stable'

Mary Coleridge
1861-1907

I saw a stable, low and very bare,
A little child in a manger.
The oxen knew him, had him in their care,
To men he was a stranger.
The safety of the world way lying there,
And the world's danger.


Mary Coleridge was the great-niece of the great English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Nature's Hymn to Diety
by John Clare
The original John Clare
1793-1864

All nature owns with one accord
The great and universal Lord:
The sun proclaims him through the day,
The moon when daylight drops away,
The very darkness smiles to wear
The stars that show us God is there,
On moonlight seas soft gleams the sky,
And, 'God is with us, 'waves reply.

Winds breathe from God's abode, 'We come,'
Storms louder own God is their home,
And thunder yet with louder call,
Sounds, 'God is mightiest over all';
Till earth, right loath the proof to miss,
Echoes triumphantly, 'He is,'
And air and ocean makes reply,
'God reigns on earth, in air and sky.'

All nature owns with one accord
The great and universal Lord:
Insect and bird and tree and flower-
The witnesses of every hour-
Are pregnant with his prophecy
And, 'God is with us, 'all reply.
The first link in the mighty plan
Is still-and all upbraideth man.

O Wind

by john clare

calm gentle
relentless wind
weathering fading smoothing
the granite inscriptions
we patch
we paint
we mend
but still blows the
calm gentle
relentless wind
the second
the minute
the year
the wind cares not
for the time
rise to face it
make a stand for
eighty and six until
the lozenge hatchment
falls to lie fast
in tumulus sand
and it comes
calm gentle
relentless wind
to smooth the
inscripted cairn.

We speak

We speak that we do know. John 3:2

"Inward peace is the special and true inheritance of all truly holy persons; the natural result, as well as the most satisfactory and certain evidence, of inward sanctification." Catherine Adorna.

Memory of Job

by john clare

Upon the death of the Seer his will was read,
To my heirs hear now these words from the dead.
If my wealth you would at last possess,
First you must pass this consuming test.
Memorize the entire book of Job,
And my untold riches you shall finally hold.
Possessing not a Bible the heirs were most distressed,
How could he place this burden upon the dispossessed!
So out they stomped to purchase the unknown word,
This was the cruelest inheritance they ever heard.
Forty-two chapters! Why we will die before we memorize,
So they began, though the task they did despise.
By chapter three they opened their mouth and cursed the day,
But the lust of riches kept them memorizing away.
Chapter seven and the months went by the appointed time,
Three miserable souls living like hirelings.
A year to chapter ten and their souls were weary of life,
The bitterness of soul, complaints and strife.
Chapter fourteen two years hence and troubles full,
Man born of woman is of days too few!
By seventeen they cried their days extinct, the grave was ready,
The wealth from the Seer they never would see.
Five years it took to chapter twenty-four and the Almighty,
The hidden things began to reveal and they thought less of the money.
Surely there is a vein for the silver we mine!
Surely there is a place for the gold we fine!
By thirty, no longer young, most held the old Seer in derision,
Why make the Memory of Job the terms of the decision?
Seven long years and their hearts trembled and moved out of place,
Little did they realize it was less the mammon and more of grace.
By thirty eight and ten years after the word did wend,
They now memorized the word of the God in the whirlwind.
The time of the wild goats upon the rocks were gone,
They were as new hinds ascending to their mountain home.
The day came in year eleven to draw forth the word,
The lawyers and in-laws were astonished at what they heard.
We at one time were as Leviathans, consumed with hooking mammon,
We detested this Seer who dared dangle this cord down.
But as the years went by and we read beyond the book of Job,
We found the riches offered were not at the end of memory road.
And not from a man in the land of Uz,
Whose name was not Job, but the Son of Man!
And we eternally thank the Seer for this wealth we now possess untold!
Thus the inheritance was dispersed to the widows and those unable to pay,
And so they lived, being old and full of days.

Last day to see Roger

It was a Sunday evening and we had visited Roger our friend at Shands in Gainesville. Myself, Terri Harty and Rick Bringger in the photograph. On Sunday afternoon of this week Rogers daughter Liz called and said I may be interested in some of his bicycle stuff.
I met her at Rogers and made a sad tour of his house. It was an uneasy feeling. I had the impression that Liz wanted me to have the stuff, but Alan didn't. He got Rogers bicycle out from the side garage shed that he thought I would want. It was his Trek Mountain bike.On the bike was he waist pack, which I was interested in as well for sentiment, but Alan took it, looked inside and kept it.
After that, I just kept silent, telling them, they should keep this and that, explaining to them about this bike, that huret counter, that little bottle for dogs, etc. I do think had Alan not been along, Liz perhaps would have been a bit more giving. Not that I wanted anything at all, but she offered. Anyway, I have seven bikes now, and it really was the last thing I needed.
I will take the bike to Harry's Bike Shop and let him put the components on a frame that Roger gave me from a trip to Wisconsin. He always asked if I had built it up, but never had the components. Had I been able, I would have asked for some of his bike repair tools, but...I will take it to Harry. The old red frame I will take and display in a shadow box with Roger memento's.