Run ye men of grey valor
Run from this coming foe
Tis a beautiful siren sallow
To your death you go.
Run ye men of Olustee
Run from this way correct
Tis a beautiful tyranny
Your soul to collect.
Run ye men now gone
Run from this mad field
Tis but a distant old song
To the demons yield.
They said you must join our way
We do not fly any cross banner
We do not honor old Olustee
We are of a soft, genteel manner.
In our camp we all get along
Waltz and curtsy with civility
Gone the hated Dixie throng
Oh it's so very lovely
Oh the thought of Rebels yelling
Erupting upon our quiet way
It's our history we are re-telling
Not some Southron winning the day!
The ex military beggar sits all day
Holds his illegible cardboard sign
Some think in Revelation he will find
the reason his hearing went away.
Word discarded
US100 and Baya
When the heavens are as molten lead
Oh there are those days
When by angels the clouds are led
1/15/22
is thicker than steel
there are few things
more impenetrable
but you know
there are some things
that find a way in
zinc like
mixed with kitty
I think we even place hope upon the moon
To do things like make us swoon
To expect a Sandhill to make intersection
Can for one moment in stillness mute
allow the dim glow be our only absolute
Moon rise of 1/15/22
Alligator Lake
Johnclarestokes
If I told you our sons were
dolphins
you’d dismiss me as
the eccentric
I’ve been since two
but I tell you
they were
how at home in liquid
blue they were
how graceful the kick
the flutter
the stroke
I tell you they were
dolphins
John Clare Stokes
Do you remember when
on the beach that day
you stood before the wind
storm coming your way?
What did you see
within those furious swirls
while others fled the sea
and gathered their little girls?
Do you miss your boisterous friend
now that calm has come?
Do you ever long for the wind
and just cry some?
The other day as I stood
this fleeting wind howled past
I stood bravely as one should
and waited his terrible blast.
But at the last moment a calm
as I stood in stillness alone.
A wisp said, for you I have not come,
for the one who stood strong I long.
So little one, if you hear,
your old friend seeks you still
The girl without the fear
Laughing in the winds thundering peal.
John Clare Stokes
At 2am it arose with the approaching January birthday
nearer to seventy than ever imagined
with the moon there staring down
that eye in the sky that went from a slit of a wink
to a wild open glare
It brings this draw to set things in order
to set the old cane mill into motion
perhaps for some future generation to turn
to get on with the last chapter of my Revelation
make sure the chickens have ample shelter and feed
rid the yard of the clutter of years
Bikes, canoes, kayaks set adrift
As if these things will matter
today seems a good day to choose the asics running shoes
(though the runner cannot run)
light for the journey left
the weather shows a sun by noon
then the sign of wind
then cold again
half the cats cry to go out
the others wanting in
which Roscoe will we miss upon this
journey which we will begin?
Down in the valley the valley so low
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow
Hear the wind blow love, hear the wind blow
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow
Roses love sunshine, violets love dew
Angels in heaven, know I love you
If you don't love me, love whom you please
Put your arms round me, give my heart ease
Give my heart ease love, give my heart ease
Put your arms round me, give my heart ease
Write me a letter, send it by mail
Send it in care of, the Birmingham Jail
Birmingham Jail love, Birmingham Jail
Send it in care of, the Birmingham Jail
Build me a castle, forty feet high
So I can see her, as she rides by
As she rides by love, as she rides by
So I can see her, as she rides by
Down in the valley, the valley so low
Hang your head over, hear the wind blow
Peggy and Andy with Opie
This was the girl Andy should have kept
The nurse who could sing and cook
Not that prudish teacher Helen
Who said she couldn’t even cook
leg of lamb
Johnclarestokes
She gave me a “good”
with an A plus for the book
of a boys high school poetry
illustrated with the Peter Max
like moons, Saturns and stars
And I cannot even recall the
English interns name or grade
But I rank her the best teacher
I ever had.
In Sopchoppy sand
Johnclarestokes
Pulling aside to abide
If for a fleeting moment
Peeling back the present
Seek me where I hide.
Pulling in to mend
The sweet balm of remind
Pour it o’er one more time
The old scrapes are yet open.
Pulling up to reconstruct
Just how it all once began
Down to the boy in the sand
Refusing for supper to run up.
In the sand of Sopchoppy I sit
In the sand of Sopchoppy I remember it.
