As Yeats
John Clare Stokes
He wanted so badly
to be a Yeats, a Frost
even a Wallace or Lawrence
Poets whose words he
marveled how
There were moments
when he’d get this inner
strong compulsion
of what he wanted to
compose
but his library of words
seemed inadequate
the result never as
the inner thought
The old Triton
the maiden so sublime
fighting
to win her with lines
Open eyes
John Clare Stokes
He was between the age of nine and ten
When his eyes were opened
Up until then
There were few mirrors to gaze in
He had little concept of being him
But in that new parsonage
with the first bedroom ever his own
he stared long at this image
the full length mesmerizing
the scars down the left shoulder
chest, throat and arm from the boy of two
who pulled the coffee pot cord off
the stove scalding now at the between
nine and ten causing the self conscious
introspective, artistic poetic life to begin
seldom going shirtless when swimming
cringing when the scars were seen
with the non scarred staring and
offering their unnecessary commentary
Since between nine and ten
in that West Washington parsonage
when the boys eyes were opened
sad he would think of those without
mirrors or scars who never have a clue
who they are.
Heavenly Hurt, it gives us-
We can find no scar,
But internal difference,
Where the Meanings, are-
Emily Dickinson
“Man shouldn’t be able to see his own face — there’s nothing more sinister. Nature gave him the gift of not being able to see it, and of not being able to stare into his own eyes. Only in the water of rivers and ponds could he look at his face. And the very posture he had to assume was symbolic. He had to bend over, stoop down, to commit the ignominy of beholding himself. The inventor of the mirror poisoned the human heart.”
— Fernando Pessoa
This week Mr Counts wife Katrina passed away. It was Mr Counts who hired me to work as the display and advertising person. Mr Counts was a strong Christian and the District people were always on him. He finally resigned though I think he was fired. He and I got a raw deal from JCPenney.
Sitting around in anticipation of a long night. Always somewhat nervous due to the large pines in the yard. Anxious about the generator never used. Not thrilled with toying with it in the night if needed, which if things go like any high winds, we will. Interested in seeing how the two loads of dirt keep water out of the back yard.
I portend
I do miss
The ocean....
I cannot hide
There are times
That I am drawn
Toward the tides...
I have to say
There are the days
I roil upon
The inner waves...
While in my mind
I find
The break of infinity
Time and time
Again
In this ocean.
Johnclarestokes
To the tides
Once I was a king with a throne
I ruled the realm from Faith, Rose
Orange and Dickson in the land
of Sopchoppy county Wakulla
There was a sister one Paula Jean
meant to sit upon the throne
but she came gender wrong
John Clare Stokes
It’s again about that time
The current should be slowing
the shoals less roiling
a day or even two to find.
Pray the power stays on! Though it’s doubtful. We have a squirrel who regularly trips it.
Mr Davis came and wouldn't you know the plug he got was wrong, so hes gone to get the right one!
