First light upon Suwannee

Suwannee Gold

Toward Halpatter Home

Luna Swift

Four Pair

Low Alligator

Flyways

Five Rebels

by john clare

We had five compasses all pointing the same direction
Each plainly telling us which way we should go
Yet to the man the opposite direction was chosen
When all were lost each blamed a compass defection.

We each had five rulers all marking the same inch
Each clearly showing us where to make the cut
But when none of the boards would squarely abut
We blamed the rulers varied increments.

We had five tuning forks in the key of C
It easily told us how to tune our instruments
But when the noise began and the booing commenced
It was the fault of the fork, we heard the chord of D.

We had five Bibles opened upon John 3:16,
We each clearly read whosover, shall not perish
But have life eternal
But when we died and woke in hell infernal
We blamed the Bible for not saying
what it clearly means.

Five rebels blaming all the wrong things
Compasses for going North, rulers for warped wood,
Forks for bad music, Bibles for not going with the good
Five rebels now screaming instead of singing.

Dispersion Home

by john clare

Dropping into the lake that spring morning
The warmth of the wood box home high above me
I joined my brothers and sisters immediately
And knew from the start an inward yearning.

I knew without warning that gators and snakes
were to be avoided
I knew from the beginning a longing for
a distant home
That I must eat continually and grow strong
In order to join the great, gathering dispersion.

I recall well that first chill of autumn
And how from this lake as if on cue
We lifted and knew the path as we in
V formations were joined with
Wings of purpose going toward the
home we knew from fledglings.

And so now I lay in the same box
from which I came
The ones who will again disperse to
homes they know
As upon the grand V I shall see
but not go
But this I shall know as from the beginning
Home was always the deepest
instinct within me.

Cardinal Communicators

by john clare

A Cardinal was sent from the throne
of the great maker of Word
And given the ability to peck His
message in coded song
Yet only the wise Hams could
interpret what was going on
To the rest of us just dots and
dashes from a red bird.

He came to my window day upon day
pecking away
As I sat in my squalor and watched
his incessant window smashing
It occurred to me dimly he was
dot and dashing
So I took the pen and this is what he
was saying to me:
Dash Dash stop
Dot stop
Dash dot stop
Dot stop stop

Dash stop
Dot stop
Dash dot Dash stop
Dot stop
Dot dash dot Dash stop stop

Dot dash dash dot stop
Dot stop
Dot dash dot stop
Dot stop
Dot dot dot stop stop

And then he was gone and all was quiet
It wasn't long before I was weighed in
the balance and found wanting
As in my night visions the dot
dashing was quite alarming.

So if this Cardinal comes to your pane
He may just be pecking
Dash dot dash dash stop
Dash dash dash stop
Dot dot dash stop
Dot dash dot stop stop

Dash dot stop
Dot dash stop
Dash dash stop
Dot stop stop
Or not.

Old Town Chipewyan

Battered blue scratched yellow bleeding through
Shores of smooth sand to shoals of limestone gouging
Tattered paint lines from wrapping cypress knees
My trusty companion, the Chipewyan canoe.

Through the white waters of Big Shoals to the
quiet tannic streams of the upper Sopchoppy
Under the buzzing bees upon the tupelo trees
Among the moss swaying oaks of the Suwannee.

Wooden bent shaft bending branch paddle lapping
the eddy line with a silent j stroking turning
straining to catch the otter as muscles burn while
In the bow rides one blissfully napping.

White brave upon the black tonic of Osceola
Drunk in a stupor of ceremonial cleansing
Purging years of inner conflicts called sinning
Looking back to see them sinking slow.

The Alligator bolts from the bank and bumps
the underbelly of the battered blue hull
Surfaces ahead and snorts in terrible rage
ready to charge waiting for the panic jump.

Secure in the battle scratched canoe of old
the challenge is met and I stroke ahead
waking the frantic one to a wide-eyed dread
This was not the peace of which I was told!

Swirling and sinking to the murky bottom
the denizen of the Suwannee has won the day
Never more to surface to sky's bright display
The gator stores his catch until its rotten.

Never again will I paddle in this Chipewyan
through this God forsaken stream of creatures wild
a gauntlet of gators and snakes smelling foul
Take me away from this infestation of dying.

And so the white brave paddles again alone
decrying all upon the banks of black and gold
hard to make that j stroke as he is getting old
Chipewyan on rivers of death and life getting along.

Beside Tangled Trails

The walk along the banks of the Suwannee from Bell Springs to Big Shoals is one of the most scenic paths you will find. I never grow dull and unaware of something new each time I venture there. There are thick palmetto's covering both sides of the path, opening under the large oak and pines to views of the Suwannee below on your left side. The banks are high and steep, with interesting limestone formations, with several smaller shoals before you begin to hear the impressive Big Shoals.
These particular trees have lately been pruned by the Florida Trail Association. I liked it better when you had to literally stoop and go under the low hanging limbs. Still, it makes for a worthwhile walk.