Entrechat

 Entrechat 

John Clare Stokes

In the course of what we now measure with time

We shall finally stop the clock keys wind

Freed from the toil of the loosened spring

No little Cuckoo to wake us from the dream.

In the same manner upon the bedside stand

The journal of words long misunderstood

Read at last with eloquence of rhyme so clear

Hearts warmed with even angels hovering near.

Upon the cold floor we shuffle slow

The groan of bones brittle growing

Ordered steps halted now abound

The earthly obstacle no longer found.

Spectacles reached for yet underfoot crushed

Down halls dark by only touch

Made to reach constellations long

Feeling hems of light fully drawn.

Freed from the shroud of spikenard

A Cuckoo choir sings a song once known

Only hummed when alone in showers

Waters running hour upon hours.

Down halls to life the dancers ascend

The crossing rapid in eternal suspend

The first entrechat upon the Milky Way

Never more lamenting the end of day.

East River Mountain 

Bluefield, WV

Tree by the see

 Tree by the See

Once a tree

Grew right to

The edge of the see

People would 

gather round the

Memory of the see to

Splash about

 Blindly.

Lulu

 Lulu

Most are just

Passing through

Nothing to do

In Lulu

Or so they think

And we just wink

Uncle Bert

 Illumination in the Flatwoods

A season with the wild turkey

by Joe Hutto

There is a book I highly recommend written by Joe Hutto and his experiment in imprinting two dozen wild turkey and living with them. The place where this took place was on the property surrounding Bert Roddenberry's old Florida home place in the Apalachicola National Forest out from Sopchoppy. The man in the overalls and boots is Brother Robertus or Bert, 1890-1981. The man in the dapper city clothes was Lawrence George of Quincy, a gospel singer along with his wife, in Sopchoppy for a revival as the song leader for my father, the late Rev Luther Stokes at the United Methodist Church in Sopchoppy, who had their Asbury College President, ZT Johnson preach. We spent many Sundays at Bert and Cora’s.

Who was he?

 Who was he ?

John Clare Stokes 

And who was he to intrude

down the final stretch

to steal the thunder

from those who stayed 

the course to the bell lap

cursing this ghost

who dared enter their hell

from air they crave most 

screaming in their lanes

he who so easily kept apace

the churning legs aflame 

to vanish without trace

the cheers to the sprint

rose and swelled to bells clang

 the arms heavenward sent

who was he that came?

Oh be careful

 Oh be careful little sign, where you freeze.

Oh be careful

 Oh be careful little ah’s

By Brandon

“Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?”

God’s majestic glory and infinite creativity  is plainly seen in his creation. This bird and fish exists because God intricately designed them. He gave one the ability to swim and the other the ability to soar. Formed one with feathers and the other with scales, one with lungs and the other with gills.  Both predators were uniquely designed for the habitats that God created for them to thrive in. One with eyes that pierce through the tannin stained waters of lakes and river systems to detect the slightest movements of a baitfish. The other with eyes that pierce through the surface of the water to carefully calculate the angle and speed of attack from above. Both absolutely marvelous in their own right.

Even if no human being would have ever laid eyes on them or camera lens captured them, they would have existed for the glory of God.  The fact that this fallen creation that has been thoroughly marred by sin still contains such wondrous beauty is a vivid reminder of God’s Grace. 

“This is my Father's world

And to my listening ears

All nature sings and round me rings”

Photo Credit- John Clare Stokes

Lover of gold

 She said

I am fond of gold

And I am told

She said

You know the one

To secure me some

She said

My love he said

If to gold I led

Quickly you would 

Forget

The tinge of red.

I have been a walker

 "It requires a direct dispensation from Heaven to become a walker." Henry David Thoreau

Scalded

 Scalded

As a little boy I wandered into the kitchen, saw the coffee pot cord, pulled it, spilling boiling water onto my left shoulder, arm and chest. I spent long weeks bandaged, Korean war way of dealing with burns, making the scars worse. The doctor said I would never use my left arm. Here I am with the bandaged arm. I did not listen to Dr Head. I went on to make use of the left hand. The scars had a deep way of shaping who I became. Scars are what defined me, but never hindered or used as an excuse.

Wonder Pony

 Wonder Pony

I have had a life long love for Wonder Pony, who came early into my life and yet remains. He gave my sister the biggest thrill she was to ever have, though she didn't realize it at the time. He rode my grandson joyfully for a time too, his steeled springs just as strong as ever, sending him to the sunset never setting prairie , just as he did me.