Little Windy

 Little Windy

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 with the winds thundering peal.

Pearls Swing

 Pearls Swing

John Clare Stokes

Gerald gave Pearl's swing a fresh coat of

white paint just in time for Mother's Day. The last memory of grandma Carter was on the porch, the climbing roses at her back, the little grand children on either side, simple plaid cotton dress, hair up in the netted bun, no make-up of course,

The same place she later had the massive stroke, Melanie noticing her swinging, staring far, far away.

Mothers Day 2016

 Cedar Key was where Melanie and I spent the day with her mother and step father. We ate at the Island room of Cedar Cove, a bit too upscale for our taste, but totally uncrowded with a great view. We ate out on the deck. It was an interesting perspective that the children playing and making noise on the adjacent beach irritated the in laws, while it was music to Melanie and I. Or at least melancholic music. There was a cool breeze with a steady parade of kayaks and boats, not one canoe. Interesting how out of style they have become. The only downer on the day was a message from work expecting me to take a call. The prospect of "talking about it on Monday" bending me out of shape for the rest of the day.

Alive

 It was a Velveteen porpoise moment, as if the vinyl inflatable porpoise was alive, the wind carrying it out to sea, following two "real" porpoises. It's real-i-tee moment ended with a kayaker chasing it down and returning it to the dock.

Lament the mother

 Lament the mother

Whose sons do not come

To serve her breakfast in bed

Burnt toast and scrambled egg

No hand scribbled card written

Colored with greatest care

Silence from afar deafening

She begins anew the search for sons

Cats, dogs, chickens, ducks trying

Unable to silence the inner crying.

Love of Lute

 Love of Lute

Clara Jean

O’er the hills

 O'er the hills and long the way

Crumpler so near today

Down from the mountains mystic

I must climb up to the music

The protector

 The protectors

Dillon watching over Landon

Landon watching over Jordon

A father over all of them

On an Osceola Forest road

Cat man

 If in my latter days I act a bit crazy

Hide beneath beds and climb trees

Blame it all upon my dear mommy

for she dressed us up early as kitties.

Dali

 Salvador Dali

The face of the precipice is black with lovers;

The sun above them is a bag of nails; the spring's

First rivers hide among their hair.

Goliath plunges his hand into the poisoned well

And bows his head and feels my feet walk through his brain.

The children chasing butterflies turn round and see him there

With his hand in the well and my body growing from his head,

And are afraid. They drop their nets and walk into the wall like smoke.

The smooth plain with its mirrors listens to the cliff

Like a basilisk eating flowers.

And the children, lost in the shadows of the catacombs,

Call to the mirrors for help:

'Strong-bow of salt, cutlass of memory,

Write on my map the name of every river.'

A flock of banners fight their way through the telescoped forest

And fly away like birds towards the sound of roasting meat.

Sand falls into the boiling rivers through the telescopes' mouths

And forms clear drops of acid with petals of whirling flame.

Heraldic animals wade through the asphyxia of planets,

Butterflies burst from their skins and grow long tongues like plants,

The plants play games with a suit of mail like a cloud.

Mirrors write Goliath's name upon my forehead,

While the children are killed in the smoke of the catacombs

And lovers float down from the cliffs like rain.

Landmarks

 There is in the Wakulla wood...on the back side of twenty acres...forever locked, for I hold the key....keeping in the wild memory....patiently at the gate...waiting to be set free....to ride with Moody in gator flea...sit with Judge Porter quietly...  hear R Tenths re-tell the story...of being a boy... playing beneath the old house....here comes Josh...in search of the blue glass...noxzema treasures....Hardy arrives with Red....going down to Panacea for seafood...should be good...save some for Slim...playing the Mississippi blues....reminding him of Homewood...the brothers and sisters...all gathering....on the Tallahassee side of the wooden gate.

Ma and Pa

 Ma and Pa

johnClare stokes

Pa was the exception

As family aged and left 

The older in years he grew

Like the old wind blown home

The further right he leaned.

Ma shunned outward adorning

Pa mounted some used white walls

We kids could see trouble brewing

Ma said couldn’t you have turned 

the whites in? 

Everything we had was double even triple run

Shoes, clothes by generation passed on

Sears Roebuck pages read in outhouses 

Everything both useful and sometimes 

Even Entertaining.