John Clare Stokes
Many are the songs that I have known
From hymns of grace to Comfortably numb
Many are the loves once so madly strong
But none came quite as close when come
in the December clear cold cobalt heaven
the sound to which I’ve long been drawn
of a will from this earth to be ascending
To join the grand Sandhill song.
I dreamed that you came walking by
I exclaimed my, you look so good
You smiled, in that way I still know
You so very young
Me now so old and worn.
When I come upon a lone Golden mill in the four ten turn position, a winter garden of mustard and turnip greens, an old sugar shack, the sitting and gathering bucket, I slow. Once I knew well these things.
People often ask, “wow! What kind of pen did you use to write that poetry?” NOT.
If only I had a pen like yours, I’d be a poet too
by john clare
As hollow shells in our biers of aging
In paper shrouds we shall forever dwell
Images of a life before we fell
In one dimension flat between the pages
Some to King James volumes worn
In the bosom of the love of First John
Some to ye old Burns pages torn
There, him at Agincourt wha shone
A hundred years to quietly lie
The words in the image one becoming
Far hence the sound of tattered chapters turning
Beneath old Scotia's smiling eye;
Aye in the image clearly writ
Far faded in the long idle sit
His love perfected in Him alone
Long beyond ye ole image is gone.
Isn't that the way we live
To touch
Then to go
So quickly comes the
Run way
Then
Eternity
I thought on FB if I didn’t post awhile maybe absence would make my posts fonder. Wrong. Melissa and a spammer only.
It’s never occurred
The passing of the Sandhills
Through the moon
But with imagination
And a bit of trickery
It happens regularly
Ole granny died and went to her long reward
The family they never were much for formal religion
Especially the dressing up and sitting variety
They could sit a spell long on a bar stool
A deer stand or a boat seat
Cushioned pews were quite unfitting
Now granny was frugal and never spent what money they knew she had
And when the hired preacher began his eulogy
He kept telling them what a legacy
What a legacy granny left
Not conversant with preacher talk
They just figured this old vicar knew
Something they didn't
So after the burial out behind the church
They hurried home to turn upside down
The old homeplace
Searching for that legacy.
by john clare
That squared piece of Florida sand
With those Grottos so deep
Must be the source of tears
Falling below to caverns they seep
To well up at the tolling
That another no longer stands
Ringing again another going
Going below to that Levy sand
John Clare Stokes
Dropping into the lake that Spring morning
The warmth of the wood box high above me
I joined my brothers and sisters joyfully
And knew immediately an inner yearning.
I knew without warning of Gators and Snakes
To be avoided
I knew without seeing a longing for a distant home
That I must forage continually to grow strong
In order to join the grand, gathering dispersion.
I recall vividly the first chill of Autumn
How from this lake as if on cue
We lifted and knew the way as we in
V formations were joined with
Wings of purpose soaring toward the
Home we always knew from fledglings.
And so now I lay in the old nest box
From which I came
Beneath me the ones who will heed
their inner calling
As upon their grand migration I shall see
But not join
But this I shall know as from the beginning
Dispersion Home was always the deepest
Instinct within me.
Premonition is a mysterious phenomenon. Walking along the Alligator Lake Montgomery trail, I suddenly stop and look behind. It seems someone is following. I look but no one. I resume and in front of me comes Ingra. We stop as she asks me how far is the trail in her soft, I must listen carefully Norwegian accent. I tell her three miles. She is new to the area and inquires much about wild places to see in the area. I try and give directions. Inwardly I’d like to say as the blind man in the Subaru commercial, you cannot get there from here, I will take you.
I trust Ingrid and I meet again. Like I say, soul mates come in all ages, colors and sizes.
God, who has the key of the clouds, opened the doors of heaven; that is more than opening the windows, which is yet spoken of as a great blessing. Matt 3:19
Matthew Henry
His Spirit hovered over the waters
from chaos order
Gen 1:2
Watertown Lake
