Dinner on the ground

 

Imprint

 

Revive us again

 Revive again

John Clare Stokes

Revive again the recalled when

Revive again the autumn cane grinding

Revive again the low smoke wafting

Revive again the glad homecoming 

Send again the wide open screen

Send again the sound of children

Send again the halcyon scene

Send again the life that sings

Sopchoppy Thanksgiving

 It was the early sixties. I was around seven. It was before you went to the store and bought your butterball turkey. It is was Thanksgiving morning and we were going hunting. We went to Bert Roddenberry's farm, beautiful Wakulla bottom land where years later Joe Hutto would do his study of living with a flock of turkey. He told of the time with the turkey in the book Illumination in the flatwoods and later a PBS movie, My time with the turkey.

Daddy had his Parker double barrel 12 gauge with the ornately engraved barrels. It was given to him by a friend in Kentucky while he was student preaching.

We walked along the Creek bottoms listening and looking for signs. I knew not exactly what, deer or turkey, maybe black bear. 

We came to a rise and daddy motioned me to be still. I do remember the time he let me shoot the gun, him holding it behind me, for the recoil would have knocked me flat.

I don’t recall if this was the time but we took aim at a turkey and to our delight hit it. We gathered it up and after showing Mr. Bert, took it home to dress it out. Daddy saved the legs for desk ornaments and the beard.

Upon dressing it mamma baked it and that Thanksgiving day we enjoyed the dinner we bought home. 

Timing

 Timing

I really dislike how

In this life

Our timing is so off

When my grandfathers 

were in their prime

I was just entering

Didn’t really know them

Sketchy at best

Just a few summer days

with them

Then they were gone on

And so it is with

So many others

A day 

A week 

A month with some

One

Two 

Years 

And we part

I’m not certain 

But it would be nice

In eternity if the timing 

Wasn’t off 

But then 

It’s not earth

And it probably is a thing

We will not recall

My father with my son and great grandson

SS

 I dislike wasting days on the phone, trying to get a call back hours later. I detest going to the SS office, only to be told i need an appointment, then calling the number posted and no appointment scheduling is there.

I finally get a call back and they say they cant help.

Verbenadale Gospel

 So bless’d to have been able to attend when it was active.

Needmore

 Needmore 

John Stokes

The day was drawing to a frantic close,

The miles of repeated pines to never end.

Far from Fargo, fuel beyond low,

When up ahead, one light flickering.

We rolled into the lone, little store,

The elderly lady rose from her rocking chair.

"We don't see many travelers in Needmore,

Mostly they rush past here."

While the gallons filled, she spoke of her life,

Stories of bee gums sweet up Deep Creeks,

Of long departed beau's courting her,

The Oak Grove weddings, kisses on cheeks.

She could have left this pass on by,

Moved on down to Lake City's grandeur,

But she chose to remain near the

grander stars in the sky,

Shunning shiny finery for the obscure.

Slowly she replaced the nozzle of the supreme,

To return to her silent, slow rocking.

We felt drawn to linger in this Needmore dream,

To make this too our final stop.

Later that evening at the Blanche motel 

We told the desk clerk of our journey

"Needmore? Old lady you tell?"

Why Mrs Elsie died way back in forty three."

 Bird song

John Clare Stokes

I thank Thee Lord

You made me red

Gave me a crown

And a black mask

To hide my head

 But dear Lord

Times I lament

This scarlet garment 

For it seems 

To cats

I’m great

allurement

Warner

 Warner Morgan..

Before our journey would begin we had to fuel up at the Sunoco on Noble, place of once under a dollar petrol. Standing there looking up toward the top of the hill, the fellow in front of us had "I know that person" written all over his face. It was about then Gerald shook my memory by saying "howdy Warner" and the gates were opened. It was Warner Morgan, my old 1974-78 Williston Memorial Hospital Maintenance Supervisor boss. We shared a few good memories and laughs of our days there, of George Amica asleep in the storage room, of Floyd Miller being the best Administrator, of not knowing how to drive Warners Ford truck's stick shift down to Ross Hardware....we could have talked on but tanks are quickly filled and we had miles to go before we slept....

Verbenadale

 Verbenadale....

perhaps the place of destination for me in the Lost in Levy is to the once vibrantly alive in old time gospel worship...the community church of Verbenadale. With each visit, the encroaching and eminent collapse draws nearer. This visit found someone posting no trespassing signs all about, in an effort to let the church building die in peace I suppose, keeping those who would pull a board or drape for memory sake. It looks as if the end is destined, that who ever owns the little church has no intention of restoring it. It has always been a source of consternation with me, that those with the funds, who hold these treasures in their grips, let them slip away, while we without, stand beyond the trespass line and watch. This is repeated over and over, with a little church at my home in Lake City, historical in value, used as a hay barn, no concern beyond feeding of the cattle.  We did not linger long here today. The sun had already passed from its walls and on toward Otis Bells place it set, somewhere behind the Harris home and gone.

Star carrier

 Star Carrier

john clare 

And from the blackness of darkness reserved forever

From the shadows of Remphan

Emerged a mysterious figure

Carrying in his right hand a star

And LO, this star which he held, went before him and came to

Rest where a young child lay.

And we redeemed

From Remphan rejoiced

Our wandering ceased

As he set his day star beside 

This child to arise within 

Our hearts.