New Song

 New Song

It won’t be very long 

Before a new song

I hum

Beneath the breath

Before ole death

Comes screaming

Drowning the new song

It thought.

Detour

 Detour

Days you’ve been traveling

Down the same highway

The same scenes unfolding

Before you

Never the same though

 But one day you come upon

The man in the road

And he says go slow

And suddenly

You no longer want to

Be upon this way

Or even take the detour

You cannot return

Quick enough

To turn in your keys

And leave the way of the road.

Pulling the wool

Pulling wool

I sure can’t pull the wool

Over some eyes

Why

If I take a shot of the moon

They remark

I didn’t know you’re on the moon

Please remind me to say

I wasn’t

I was in my space ship

Quickly two

 Quickly two

John Clare

Day comes upon us

We brace for the rush

In the hedgerow a thrush

We calm to a hush

Two cows in passing

We pause for the scene

Why aren’t they eating

Odd it so seems

Life is so out lived

Before we can die 

Quickly to your intends

Before the thrush flies

Way back

 Way back

John Clare Stokes

Once I embarked upon the kayak

Determined never to ever come back

Once we reached the shores of way back

The denizens impounded the kayak

I didn’t have a whistle or life jacket

Life’s not all it’s cracked up to be in

Way Back

The Twelve

 The twelve

John Clare Stokes 

What could we twelve do 

when not turning the world upside down 

We could split up into two teams of five

Play a round of basketball 

With old John and Luke as subs

We could take eleven of us

And form a football squad

With John as the water boy 

not sure if anyone would dare 

Play us

With nine we could have a baseball team

With a designated runner, batter and several

Pitchers 

I think we could beat the Philistine Giants

We could take James and Johns nets

and have two volleyball teams

We could have a great cross country team

Led by Peter and John 

Used to running to empty tombs

boy we would shake even the dust on our feet 

The only game we couldn’t play

Would be rugby

Where we’d need fifteen 

Or if we were Aussies, we’d need eighteen

For football

But that about covers it 

And golf 

Did I mention the great golf separating us?

Never mind.

Annie’s Oakleys

 Annie’s Oakleys

Johnclarestokes 

I didn't think anyone could see

But she was there

Hidden beside the Suwannee

Where once we would saunter

Along the undulating shore

In search of something lost

From some unfortunate toss

In the Big Shoals upstream boiling

Sunglasses, bottles, forks, vests

Remnants of passages past

Missed downstream at rests

From the churning so fast

Vows made around drenched fires

Ne'er to come this way again

With half shafts erratic paddling

Quenching all romantic desires 

Scrape signs in the portage sand

Flotsam treasures in palmettos 

And you would begin madly scribbling

Through this undertow we all must go.

But they could not see her there reflecting

Too distraught with the missing Oakley's 

Away, way down in the dark, dark Suwannee.

Moon jump rope

 Moon jump

Cinderella dressed in yellow

Went upstairs to kiss her fellow

Made a mistake

And kissed a snake

How many doctors

Did it take?

1,2,3,4,5.....

An old jump rope rhyme

Grand prize Fran

 Fran she said she was going to win this year

And so what is that to my ear?

You and your Sony so fine four thirds

Photographing what? A pelican herd?

You’d make a fine grand prize winner

One to go about with your air so superior

May even cause a pro as Ron Pinner

To ask your shutter and aperture.

Yes Fran, I hope in twenty five you win

I’ve been  a poor grand prize king

Maybe you can give me some lessons

How to be so good at photographing

Sony, Sony, Sony win one for Fran

We need a Queen to rule us again.

Dragon Breath

 Dragon Breath

All through the night

The dragon pressed 

Face against the glass

Frosting it then melting it

With each exhale

Wanting in

Hungry from roaming

The neighborhood 

Consuming the Tom cat

The ever barking dog

The frogs in the pond

Everything edible

To a dragon

I was to blame

For letting him out

Without spectacles 

Mistaking him for the

Missing Tom

That has yet to return

Home

Peace and quiet in the

Neighborhood often

Comes in the most

Mistaken blessed way.

Calling Bailey

 Bailey Howell

John Clare Stokes

I don't know how

But somehow

Bailey Howell

Will you go see 

William Clark

And perhaps restart

His dormant State

You see

The only one he

Knows is Jesus

And while that

Pleases us

It's just not right

He should meet him

Not remembering 

The Bulldog nation

The years of

Anticipation

That this recruit

Would take them 

To the championship 

Won't you do this

Bailey Howell

Bring him back to us

Somehow.

In 2015 Uncle William Clark was suffering from dementia not recognizing family, thinking they were poisoning the life long Miss State fan. 

Of births

 of births upon earth

john clare stokes

i've witnessed the falling from

to the frozen earth

the steaming clump of life

fragile in after birth

beasts catching scent

waiting ready

to rent

i've witnessed the rising from

the frosty earth

this mass of blackened flesh

the licking tongue of one

who claims her own

wobble to roam

near the side

of a mothers cowhide

bleating to the beasts

not today

not today