You get to the point
Mostly around the first of February
That you say
To Macclenny with those
Who like upon an eclipse
They don’t get it
Wonder why you’re not of the
Same version
On the same page
And you just mount your bike
And set out
In your own direction
Earnest, or Ralph, if he’s yet alive, would now be age 82. Ralph dwelt on Gum Swamp all his life in the home his parents lived in. Daily he would make the three mile walk to town for a noon meal at the food kitchen. This day twelve years ago I was able to give him a lift home.
In the hoop days there was
nothing worse than being so
near victory when the opposing
team would play the clock out,
keeping you from the ball.
This was before the twenty-four
second clock.
And so you have chosen to
play the clock out on us.
What?
Til we die and are gone?
What then?
You go on to the next opponent
What a winning life you
are in.
in that moment, the white heron glanced upward, as if looking directly at his maker, then it was back to looking forever down into the water for a catch. Perhaps he was saying grace.
He could name you
tell you this is for you
for the journey
For he sees
you seem to be
right there with him
You were one of possibly three
that told of poetry
With photography
It made him happy.
Every evening mamma would watch
For her little prodi gal
Long, long lost the innocent smile
Up the lane with a happy hopscotch.
Upon the road of shadow and dust
We journey with a deeply held trust
Of the green pastures upon the other side
Where ne'er the dust or shadow reside.
John Clare Stokes
The Southern Exposure volunteer stylist clipped
his side locks for his 70th birthday party
Telling him how young he looks
Reminding her of the Clark Samson
her grandmother knew in the seventies
Who once she said swooned the ladies
Lately paying for all the toppling
Leaving the once strong arns krypton weak
the igniting of foxy fires a dim glowing
kept going on the long regime of prescription
filling
Such were the travails one endures for Delilah Louise
Pestering him daily lazing about in the faded
suit of Royal and Red saying to Clark,
“Outside lurk the Philistine Witnesses, with
lustful intent upon your Delilah Louise, coming
to crop your side locks!” “You better find some jawbone!”
“Now make a wish and blow out your candles!”
Taking a deep breath and...
Seeing the Philistines...pressing on the call button...
pleading for someone to please bring his walker...
so Clark can amble down the long corridor, out the alarmed door, to the smooth granite columns,
to make his Delilah Louise proud of him.
“These Kingdom walls shall fall! The foxes with their flaming tails shall burn the crops!”
“I see the flames before me!”
Mr Samson, Mr Samson, wake up!
Spitting and gasping for breath, smoke rising,
soon the alarm to trip, not one Philistine in the room, reality and dream as one dream of reality.
Gathered about the bed his lovely Delilah Louise
and the Good Samaritan staff singing,
Happy Birthday Clark Samson, happy birthday to you! The cake was chocolate, the ice cream
butter pecan, the food of gods and super heroes
and Clark Wayne Samson on this 70th birthday!
It was the year 1984, the month October, the Jasper 10K race. The previous year I ran a 36:25, finishing 6th on the rolling hills out and back, and yet third in my tough age group.
The following year, as I lined up for the second attempt on the hot Saturday of October 6th, I felt my prospects for a better finish were good. As the gun sounded, Rusty Jones, the shoulder white hair length speedster from Valdosta was soon out of sight. I too was stuck in a lone no man’s land making distance on James Lee, the muscular black hometown favorite. As we entered town on the final mile, I found the strength to increase my lead over a charging Lee. This year I finished 2nd overall and first in my age group with a time of 36:14, a 5:50 pace. Rusty had over a two minute margin of victory. In 1985 we repeated the same order, but my time slowed to 37:26. The last 10k I would run was the Gator Bowl 10K on Dec 21 with a 37:25, 34th in my age group.
There is a bus line
In our minds
A kindly old man
Who loves his grands
Is calling us aboard
We are heading toward
The ole stucco home
Up the holler
Monnie is there
All her brothers
The two sons
Everyone down to
Alfred up from the mine black
The old Crumpler to Northfork
Taking us back
To end of line
