Johnclarestokes
I too
grew between the pew
Hard wood, cushioned, splintered, soft
I knew them all
It was the start
Of a life in art
The bulletin becoming
My first canvas
I love the pew
The many sermon I sat
Through
Those beside,behind, upon
Under
Those who nudged me
They who held me
Knelt beside me
I shall see them all
When around the
Fathers pew we are
One day called.
People often ask for permission to paint my photographs, i don’t mind. Life's too short to be a prick.
This morning of the third I walked a spell
trying to keep pace with the setting moon
There were many with us along the route
not in forms you would especially recognize
but distinct in the way the mist parted
John Clare Stokes
What possible good was I
The aged poet called to her side
One of her end of days requests
Made no doubt in mad duress
What would she reveal
Would she tell of love in secrecy
Of trips to the beach by darkness
When all the world was sleeping
The setting moon, the rising sun
It knew us
A few starfish too
But that was about all
Holding the frail, withered hand
Warmth as of old still in the veins
The writing once so eloquent
The touch so tender
Parting the old, old friend
To my ear she began whispering
The dying words of a lover
Read to me again
Our poem of the ocean.
Johnclarestokes
I think of those now gone on
Some to eternal worlds
Others yet remaining here
And I’m ever grateful for their labors
In the kingdom not of calloused hands
Men as ZT Johnson of Asbury
Who helped usher me into the kingdom
A father, Luther Ray, who welcomed me
At the altar of repentance
There were many following
Razziel at Florida Southern my brother
Mentoring me so lovingly
A long chain of laborers
From Russell and a community praying
Melanie back to us
To Aaron singing softly to a dying mother
Touching beyond knowing this
Heart prone to hardening
So grateful for the workers in the vineyard
So looking forward to drinking in
The fruits of their labors one day.
ZT Johnson, President of Asbury College, Rev Lawrence George with Rev Luther Ray Stokes and Bert Roddenberry and his wife Cora at his farm in Sopchoppy, Florida.
To the bend
Johnclarestokes
Old Town Chipewan trimmed
Paddles poised in remember
For tonight from shiver to timber
We stroke upstream to forgetting
From Cone pylons to Limp bend mystery
Our journey quietly wends
Suwannee time suspends
Sand bars all open
Full moon all enveloping
Tupelo tonic mixes with the tannic
A doe dips low for a taste
Barred owls who do you think
Pileated's pine bark rain falls
Coyotes call on the prowl
Wet wood hisses and growls
Soon by firefly light we sleep
To mares of critters creeping
By dawns dew prints revealing
Pungent fresh the nocturnal fumes
Stoke the embers to live
Coax it to warmth give
All is misty in the limp bend
By first light the Suwannee
Amnesia begins.
Perspective suddenly
Dawned upon me
In the most unlikely
Place of privacy
Scrawled on the marbled
wall
My
vanishing
Point
Slip away
What things
Once cling to
Slip away
What things
Once held to
Fade away
What things
Once loved too
Go away
What things
Once drawn to
Stay
He extends the
leprous hand
wrapped in the
oozing gauze
once white
and I extend
the naked hand
not knowing
by the morning
the fingers
will begin their
falling
the friendship
worth more
than the loss.
Johnclarestokes
Come Saturday September mornings
When the land begins the autumn cool
The goldenrod on roadsides is seen growing
Persimmon on the tree to sweet turning
Faintly within there is this calling
To journey far into the Gum Swamp pines
Past the Sanderson fork beyond the ocean Pond
On past the Taylor grocery store break
Far, far over the St Mary’s river into Moniac
Where the Nehi streams flow amber
You can reach right up and pluck
A moon pie from the South Georgia sky
Sit and stare lovingly into her snaggletooth eyes
Hear her say, “where you been all my days?”
And you reply, “burning daylight
Burning daylight, my darling.
Now here in Moniac I can die.”
Today we didn’t go to Bronson Baptist since Billy Earl Mel’s mother has Covid, but we wanted to go locally. Sadly we could not think of a place. The places we have gone we have yet to receive any follow up, like we miss you or a call from the Pastor or a member. That would be Parkview, Hopeful, Grace Life and Watertown Methodist. I don’t know if we will find a local church we can fit in without feeling a stranger. We wound up listening to the Williston Church of God Wes Smith, a friendly church as is Bronson Baptist.
The fuse often trips on the dishwasher. Today it was tripped and i could not get it on. I finally pulled it out and got it unplugged. I wanted to plug it in elsewhere to see if it was the outlet. To get the cord back in which was too short we had to unhook the water. I mistakenly tried to unhook it from the washer. No wrench i used would fit. It was leaking water. I turned the water off at the breaker. Dumb me there is a turnoff valve under the sink.After i finally with Mels help got the hose tightened i took it off under the sink and was able to reach the plug.We slid it back and so far its working. Took twice as long if i knew what i was doing.
