Alas the last of the loud fishers parted, leaving only us to see the first daylight saving day circle about the lake chasing after the purest white Pelicans and dark cormorants, the bald eagle perched to steal any hard earned catch. Into the foreground came an alligator, submerging beneath the wary coot, but not this time. At some point we ceased our own lame efforts to convey it and simply grew dizzy in the circling light.
Beware the pastor pulpit
Committee
Who sift through many, many
To choose one who will
Come to your fair city
With eyes bigger than reality
And say, we must erect a tabernacle
That will spire to heaven
Convincing all but two men
To go along with the dream
And so they begin their building
Selling their prime location
And all the yes men then abandon
Leaving the tabernacle without a spire
And then the man the pulpit committee chose
Tires
And leaves for a home garage
Meanwhile the prime property becomes
An O Reilly’s
And the pastor is long gone somewhere
Out in West Flardy.
Beware the pastor pulpit committee
lest you end up with an O Reilly. River of Grace
John Clare Stokes
The river of Grace
Flowed past this place
On the Westside
We did once abide
As one by one
The boats would come
And we would depart
With heavy heart
Some far downstream
Others closely clinging
Not wanting to journey
Full well hoping
This Grace would
Never cease flowing.
Open Operator
One of my favorites, the old Ford Open Operator tractor in the Hill’s hay field before the gathering storm. On my brothers page the photo has more likes than any ever on my own page. Just goes to show, don’t think yourself not worth a hoot, you’re just blowing your horn in the wrong room
by John Cla55
Father I trust you will forgive me
For they were Dollar General Zinnias
Four packs for a mere dollar
And I am not even sure
If I can get them to grow
the way they would for you,
Even though from far,far away
the seeds you'd let me spread,
little colored buttons soon opening
to sauce pan size growing,
and we would gather up a bouquet
upon the altar bowing as you prayed
the repentant would kneel near
the zinnias between you and their tears
watering them
perhaps revealing why
the zinnias grew so greatly.
Oh father
bless from on high
the dollar general zinnias
with my efforts be pleased.
O ye men, who live the dream
Who shoot the majestic upon the wing
Who travel to the fairest reach
The rare encounter for to seek
O ye men, take me too
I’ve these irons upon my feet
Free me from the shackles that keep
Let me with the boreal sleep
O ye men, who live the dream
Wake me quick before I die
Take me to the lights of night
Behold the Phoenix in her flaming flight.
You know, on any given Tuesday
I think of her beauty
Why even upon Wednesday
It consumes me
I’d give her a name
Let all know of this flame
But then it would always turn
To Monday
And she’d just shy away.
by john clare
And is it any wonder
that only the smallest ones,
Can to the grand kingdom come?
Why the large in their own measure,
will not stoop so low to endure,
any diminishing of their height?
Tis but a pitiful sight,
to see the little ones joyfully scurry
through the eye of the needle gate,
while way above the giants berate
the little ones in such a frenzied flurry.
Childs play! they prudently say,
Hide and seek games not for us!
Men of renoun, we must rule the day!
Why all this foolish play?
And one by one the little ones enter low,
as outside the gate to beyond,
the grown-ups who refused to know,
As a child you must come.
John Clare Stokes
Where has our little Lute gone today?
His dego hoe leans unworked against the magnolia
The family cow swishes the flies
Waiting her milking
Mother hen broods upon her ungathered clutch.
Back broken down the furlough in the heat
Curt leans into the scots plough
Molly mule determined to pull home
Tempers steeled and growing hotter.
Over in the back forty cotton field
Marzelle mends again the broken barbs
Muscles straining refusing to yield
To wires snapping in times so hard.
Beneath the cool porch Irene and Hazel pray
Their Kitty Kat congregation captured near
All awaiting from above a word sent their way
Pass the plate! Your Maker fear!
Across the black top thirty-one at the store
Earnest hears the Trailways from Meridian
Too soon to send his sons to wars distant shores
Homewood! Homewood, the driver calls to
Passengers sleeping.
To the Shongelo shade Lute has roamed
So far from his dear mothers call
In the cool woods soon the light is gone
The clock stops down in the darkened hall
When clearly, Lute hears the call of longed for voices
The Shongelo shadows lift, gone for good
Returned safe, Luther Ray, in a loving embrace of
Ethel Marie, the family welcomes him home to the eternal Homewood.
Rev Luther Ray “Lute” Stokes
Oct 16, 1924
Mar 11, 2011
john clare
There I stood in that circle of
No entry the creatures decreed
By God to fear me everything
Keeping its distance
The turkey in the hammock
The deer in the dense beyond
The Eagles in the nest above
Only the Cardinals dared enter
The forbidden space
Scolding me to move along
Disturbing the slow order
With my presence
Long before they accepted
I was well on my way
Leaving a scent trail
Smelling death the entire way.
As the boy sat looking out the upstairs window overlooking East Washington Street, it reminded him of sitting in the same window in Sopchoppy overlooking Rose Street from the abandoned house next door. This new town to which his family had moved, the second move of his young life, was huge compared to Sopchoppy. The traffic never ceased as it made its way from four highways all ending with a circling around the Jeffersonian Courthouse. The town even had a candy store and Priest Dime Store, a far cry from the two grocery stores of Sopchoppy. While he missed the river across the street, there were many new neighborhoods to explore. He had his own bike since wearing out his sisters and his summer days were spent riding uptown to that candy store with the many glass jars full of treats and going up and down the oak lined avenues with the historical register homes. His mother had enrolled him in his first painting class and he eagerly rode the bike down the hill over to Mrs Groves carrying his paint and canvas under one arm. His mother recognized early his penchant for drawing from the many sermons he illustrated on his fathers church bulletins. It was the best of times for the young artist as he had no care for what others thought, no care for proficiency, just a joy of painting for painting sake. To him the works were masterful. It was only years later he was disappointed when he visited his Aunt and Uncle in Atlanta to find his painting of the mountain lion hidden behind the couch. He did not understand. Paintings of such quality were to be valued, hung in prominence.
But that was years later. For now, it was good thinking these gifts were valued. The boy though young had in his heart a desire for companionship well beyond his third grade. He fully intended to marry Helen Roussey from Panacea and even envisioned sitting on her couch with her sisters and father.
This was all dashed when Miss Townsend, his teacher, whom he also loved, announced to the class he was moving to Monticello. John Lloyd, his best friend who shared a desk with him, immediately let out a loud and long cry. The boy was crushed as well. Who would Helen now marry?
This new school he now attended had three third grades. He couldn't fathom so many people his own age. It was in Mrs Floyd's class the boy gave his secret love away. She looked much like Helen with the dark hair, but to him, her long black curled hair made her all the more beautiful. How could the shy boy tell her of his love? On the playground at PE the cruel coach had all play ring around the Rosie and the last to fall down would have to tell his girl or boyfriends name. This terrified him. He was loathe to reveal this secret love.
He made certain he did not fall last.
The boy found in this new town that girls took notice of athletic prowess. The day Coach Cooksey announced a third grade race to determine the fastest runner in all three grades, he had no great expectations. He knew Jimmy Haines was the fastest. He was first in first and second grade races.
The day came and the whistle blew. A mass of legs moved rapidly down the hill, the boy running behind Jimmy. At the turn around, the boy and Jimmy were tied. Half way back up the hill, Jimmy faded and the Yellowjacket overtook and beat the Tiger.
This shy boy was now the fastest boy of all. This gave the Cub Scout new confidence. Perhaps Deborah Daniels would now take notice. He could start planning their marriage. It took awhile, as confidence in youth takes much building, but he finally drew enough courage to compose the love note, that I love you, do you love me? Check yes, no, maybe. He knew not how to deliver this message and the day came when he lost all sense of secrecy and simply tried to pass the note three rows over and two up to her. It was somewhere on row two that Mrs Floyd saw what was going on and abruptly intercepted the note. To the boys terror he just knew he would have to read aloud the note. But to his everlasting relief, Mrs Floyd simply threw it in the trash.
The boy never mustered the courage again and soon it was announced that he was moving to Wilmore, Kentucky. No JL to cry, no Deborah to marry, she would never know of his love.
And so he moved and so there in Mrs Turners fourth grade beneath the desk in one of her many Cold War bomb drills, he passed the note to April Wells. And the next day came her reply as he walked her to Girl Scouts, Yes! yes!yes! With hearts and kisses across the page.
He dreamed of many children.
But then it too was announced, this boy was moving to Williston.
