Come and die

 So deeply down 

I did wade

The depths they bade

Searching in the blue

The fool, the fool!

They said

Why to waters led

Among the dead?

Abide and die!

Tis I! tis I!

With the Savior dry.

Homewood

 Come Home Soon Son

JohnClare Stokes

Many the time 

The family came

To visit little Lute

They would sit

On the porch

In the cool shade

Watching the traffic

Passing on the

Aaron Road waving

To Lute and family

Visiting from

Homewood

And Lute would take

Them to the garden

Proud was Earnest

His son was growing

Melon and squash

As they did back home

It was a lot like home

And every one remarked

How they would love

To retire here someday

All the family here in

One place again

Sitting in the Florida sun

 Mother Ethel would 

Look lovingly at Lute

Her youngest son

Telling him in the summer

Perhaps I shall again

Come 

You have such a lovely

Place

 Lute would wave from the porch

And bid the family

farewell

To return to Homewood

Forever there to dwell.

April Fools

 April fools

Bring on April

Bid March farewell

Let me dwell

Among the fools

for I see clearly

a kindred amid 

we who dare

Dream above the moon.

Going Home

 Gone home

Lately the task of going through years of accumulation has evoked so many memories 

that it’s put off for another day. In a rolled up tube were blueprints. It was for the remodeling of the Crawfordville Pilgrims Rest. I told Melanie, it would be nice if we could use them to build it from the blueprints. There was the old bench grinder with the frayed cord we spent many a time sharpening tools on. It powered up smooth as ever. There was Bobby Sandlin’s obituary, still I cannot fathom him not behind the counter at Sunshine Drugs. Old Gulf Hammock photos. Landon’s hawk drawings. How did they make their way out here? 

In days ahead eventually the past will be neatly ordered again. And when I need that certain bolt, I will know just where to look.

The journey

 Journey

While traveling upon the Emmaus road

with its warm hearts within glow

I thought upon the blinding lights

of the Damascus road 

that got me here

Cords Call

 Chords calling

What was that hymn 

I heard upon the wind

Coming softly and tenderly

Calling me upward

Lifting the weary bend

It had to be Vera and Wesley

Calling come

Come home

Tis the season of the Cantata

When choirs lift in song the story

of a Christ who rose to glory

Blending in ever so softly

the voices of those we loved

The great reunion with those above.

Lost buckaroo

 Bug and Bucky

Too long have they stayed in

Their stable out back awaiting

The return of their rider

I do not dare tell them

By now their rider has outgrown

Them

And keep their hope alive

Feed them oats of imagination

And hope the bottom of

The barrel is not reached.

Calla

 Calla 

Long ago we took the canoe up River Rise

there beneath the cypress the calla grew

it seemed to say, can I go with you?

so it’s been with me ever since.

Love Song

 From the love song of J Alfred Prufrock by TS Elliot

Swoosh

 Swoosh

Someday, far away

In the mad month of March

The boy will hear a swooshing sound

And he will look ten feet up

And wonder

Why it was the sweetest sound

Ever heard

Forever Soni

 Soni Young

johnClare Stokes

Before he set out

On his final journey

he once again took

his magic box down

And with some 

Adjustments of buttons

And bellows

He made another 

Young

There were only 

Thirty six frames

And by the time it

Came to take his

Own portrait

The winder came to

A halt and would 

Not advance

But it mattered not

He had made 

Thirty six forever

Young

And that kept

The old man 

Content

All was not in vain.

How they linger

 How they linger

One does not soon just get over things. They linger, they ring, you still sing that little I see the moon tune, you still hear the cradle creak, the walker scrape, the laughter trail away into the silent night. You awake and look at the couch, the blanket neatly folded, the cat in a deep purr it was after all.