Johnclarestokes
Though now she’s riding with her six white horses
To many of us, she will always be coming round that mountain
In so many ways
Inescapable
Knocking gently so as not to intrude
Leaving the gift quietly at the hearts steps
Moving on to another down the mountain
When she comes
When she comes
John Clare
We dream
Of our oasis
In foreign places
All Our own
Sheltered by palms
A spring bubbling
To water our oasis
Yes
I have longed
For such a home.
We knew she was off
Her rocker
Since the lithium and
The Sanatorium
Shocked her
Gave her a flat affect
Never got angry
Steady as she goes
Rocking slowly
Life now but a dream
Can't even recall
The nights she
Screamed.
John Clare
When the big book of life is opened
to reveal the ones to life are written
Did at the dawn of creation His pen
scribble the good ones name within?
He who loved the little one deeply
keeping him from spider webs sticky
taking the web in face freely
just so the blue heavens he could see.
But alas, good deeds as such don't apply
and yes, even spiders achieve saint hood
Certainly in some book its noted a dragonfly
was rescued by Grace alone this one.
In June of eighty six
When phlox by the roadsides grew
And horses would walk right up to you
One fell head long for some tricks
The magic wasn’t obvious to him
Take a bouquet of flowers wild
Stir in some blue without a cloud
Capture it carefully on Kodachrome film
Don’t say a word just let him simmer
Wait until in Romeo the songs begin
It’s a mystery, but that’s the spell for men
Sure to capture him easily by September.
First day with Melanie
Wacahoota Road
Karen you didn't
Know me
Dane never changed
Though you said he did
I did not count
For I was of another class
But had the vote been
Taken
I would have won
Though inside
Things pretty much
Stayed the same
Kinda like Dane.
There is a river that runs
through us
Parts from our hearts into
our furtherest veins
Overflowing at times in rivulets
of tears
Mostly flowing in the joy of
being
one with the life giving stream
of two in a canoe upon the
blue jewel
This chine of love we clasp tightly
The ripple of mine twining with
your bending paddle
til we are in unison of cadence
taking us in this rivers embrace.
Luraville at Hal Adams Bridge
Johnclarestokes
Recently a friend related
staying awake nights
the visage of a friend
gone too soon looming
It comes upon some
Quite early in life
Seems this one was
quite young
staring into the mirror
at the realization of
earthly me
of eternity
Perhaps this one
had a head start
for as a preachers son
from the beginning
though he was drawing
scenes of boats
the words of life
infused him
Others not so fortunate
come eventually to the
mirror or the caskets sheen
the earthly image
haunting them
looming not blinking
and the alphabetic roll
has just left the A’s
and the B’s, the C’s
are coming up
the class of the living
Await to answer present
to begin their first day
In eternity.
Meme Clara upon this day four years hence laid
to rest in Orange Hill Cemetery
You’d think some other word would do. It was not supposed to be beautiful. It was supposed to be humorous.
He was a ghost in the making
Practicing for the time of haunting
Hanging about the places once been
Going there time and again
Visiting over and over old lovers
Hovering near the fields of now over
Not letting go
Trying in the flesh to find a way
Of haunting
Looking so forward to the day
Of being a free spirit
From the book of forgotten
Poetry
The one we transcribed
When all was
Lovely
Give the words your
Inflection
Your soft trailing off
Into the
Wind
Let me hear them again
