Ichetucknee Theology

Ichetucknee Queen

Ichetucknee Queen
by John Clare Stokes

The shimmering bejeweled necklace adorns a Queen
Refracting beyond measure Ishoholo's eternal sun
Through moss hung mists we glide in aromatic dream
While above Cloudless Sulphurs reflect in pristine run.

Dugout canoe bobs upon Ichetucknee

Our Queens train is laden with emerald threads
Along her path, bouquets of yellow buttons strewn
Deep below, the Menhaden hover over sandy beds
The lame dip thrice under a healing full moon.

Cheehoter cries upon Ichetucknee

Blue Heron Duenna guard her hidden treasures
As massing throngs bow in rapid succession
Below, above, beside a glory unseen beyond measure
Her enervating abundance never to lessen.

Coacoachee creeps along Ichetucknee

This floating Mendicant offers mere alms
Unworthy to enter this vaporous veil
Yet heard in aqua blue her voice saying, come
The blade breaks the facet to reveal the trail.

Float royal abydos upon Ichetucknee
Find joy Chechoter upon Ichetucknee
Come Queen to Coacoohee upon Ichetucknee
Bestow peace to warriors upon Ichetucknee.

He Lingers

By night the angel came and lingered. When morning came he was still with us. I am not certain who noticed, as most were busy with eyes cast downward in earthly concerns. Martha, Martha vision we could call it. The Mary gaze upward  upbraided for the idleness. And yet one thing is needful the Lord said, and Mary saw it.

Seeing Angels

Tonight I began reading again Madeleine L'Engle's book on being an artist titled Walking on Water.
In the first chapter she speaks of our losing the ability to see Angels. This is another one of those photographs you are compelled to take, you do, and the reason you did is not revealed until later, in post processing. In the sky, the lovely face of a cloud angel, bending down to take in the fragrance of the flowers below. The seen, yet unseen, something L'Engle say as we grow older, we lose.
I know when I had little two year old Nathaniel, my grandson with me, he was constantly pointing to the sky. I would look hard to try and glimpse what he was seeing. I am sure that he was seeing angels coming down for a closer view.

Pipeline

Now that Judy Hancock is long gone and her friends at Audubon and the Sierra Club grow long in the tooth, the precious environment she so strongly defended, is fair game. The latest assault is upon the Ichetucknee by FPL to construct a pipeline over the river. You would think these dim light engineers would plan a route that avoided such, but in their number crunching Juno Beach corporate offices, they do no see a jewel of a river, just a hurdle to jump.
So I suppose, with all the pleasure in photography the river has afforded me, I shall post more photographs and take up the cause.

Falling Creek Reprise

2 Samuel 2:28
So Joab blew a trumpet and all the people stood still, and pursued after Israel no more, neither fought they any more.
This photograph looked better to me in full HRD affect. Go figure. I like this one for the way the light angles over the word, high lighting the pursuit in Samuel 2...good reading.
The entire set of photographs were keepers from this day, including the ones of my mom at the piano.

Falling Creek

One of those few remaining old country churches that continue to keep their doors open. Falling Creek Community Church, formerly Falling Creek Methodist. I have photographed this building and grounds for many years. Over time, the building has added a wheelchair ramp and other "improvements" that distract from the simplicity. I am glad I have the old photographs to draw upon that show the church in the former state before the modernization.

Most Valued

On Facebook the week before Father's Day, I did a series of photographs and stories about my father titled "This was my Father's world", of which I spoke of his place in Crawfordville, Sopchoppy and Williston.
I did not mention enough my mother, who through all the years, stood faithfully beside my father.
This was a start.

As a minister's wife
She was the most valued of all
for upon a moments notice
She could fill-in for the pianist
the Sunday school teacher
even the Preacher
on a Wednesday night
all the while
cooking a Sunday dinner for
the guest that always came
Baking a cradle cake for the newborn
Fudge for the principal
Keeping the house in order
Always immaculate for the
Parsonage Committee
who dropped in un-announced
Preparing lesson plans into the evening
keeping up with everyone in the diary
Writing the constant cards
and notes of encouragement
in sickness
in health
for birthdays
losses
in better
in worse
never complaining
or
having anything amiss to say
about anyone.

Clara Jean Orander Stokes

Breath of bards

this is another one of those pitiful old gentlemen I passed daily while at Woodlands. In the freezing cold of January, out on the front sidewalk puffing away. I speculated him being an old actor mumbling his lines from Shakespeare's Henry the fourth.

by john clare

Between the second act of life
what is left
but the five-minute intermission
smoke break
lungs shot to hell
forgotten chain-smoking thespian
the lines of the bard mumbled
"Nor moody beggars
starving for a time
of pell-mell havoc and confusion"
The sullen orderly wheels
Henry the Fourth
off stage to room five
with curtains drawn.
Yellowed fingers tremble
Bed-bound the encore cord
not found
Over and over the lines lipped:
"Thy ignominy sleep with thee in the grave,
But not remember'd in thy epitaph!"

Always Unplugged

by john clare

this little Cuban restuarant was across the street from the Seaboard train station in Orlando. In the night when Melanie was sleep on the oscillating ventilator at Orlando Regional, I would go over and watch the people come and go at the Amtrak station.

By day the conga played
the drinks were mixed
ceiling fans cooled malaise
beans and rice they ate
come closing the unplugged
to life always came
the malts did waltz
the coca went for broke
next day
not a word spoke
how by the back door
Heinz and Crystal hot sauce
were found lying on the floor.

the greater light

today I received a sad,not nice Facebook message from a friend saying, I am done with you, you have revealed your true colors to me. And so this is my response:

The greater light to rule the day
sent confusion my way
the lesser light to rule the night
was dim enough to guide my sight.

I thank God for the lesser lights
To reflect the greater light

The straight gaze
Contorts my sight

So you greater lights
have patience with us
lesser lights
It takes quite an effort
to align ourselves in order
to reflect upon your
light.

I was able to message with another friend on FB and we shared how many times we wanted to be done with folks, but persisted on, often to our hurt. I told her the world out there is full of John Brown's, abolitionists who would upon a whim absolve relationships. His reason was I was unwilling to offer unfeigned love. I was not quick to respond to messages. I am not always tied to Facebook, sitting for hours conversing.
Yes, I confess that I am in the wrong here, lazy in my relationships.
But, like I told the former friend, it is what it is.

Inner Three

Inner Three
by john clare

Some of the most compelling photographs I felt I was able to make while Melanie was in Orlando and later here at the Woodlands Rehab and Nursing home in Gainesville. The pathos of the patients was pitifully sad.
I speculated upon these three in the dining room, left alone in their thoughts.

I was once a boy of ten
the second son of five
two sisters too
we would walk down the dirt road
to the country store
we were poor
but I didn't need anything more
than to be with family.

I once was a lady of twenty
we lived in a world of plenty
father married a woman of means
never dreamed
all that money
could buy all this loneliness.

I was a painter of portraits
for hours the subjects would sit
their memories to make
mostly I just stare at the pictures
and wonder
who remembers them.