johnClare stokes
The old comedian
His worn thin lines
Long ago once
Brought the house down
Funny lines in their time
Now out of sync with
The latest F Chikin' lines
He tried to amend the
Routine but it was too
Late he would never
Again bring the house
Down
All these props to deal with
What now?
Move on
Nights alone he could
Sit and run
Over and over the
Routine
Wondering
Why it was no longer
Funny.
I am always at a two strikes and out state
I do not have expensive drugs to sedate
I must meet the fast balls with a stick
Catch the flies with a latex mitt.
Son
Make your money
By sixty
Or marry
A woman
With plenty
Otherwise
You'll be
Delivering bed pans
And lamenting
Water front
It’s Mother’s Day and it’s not the same
without your mother or even your
grandmother with you
Mamma would have already been up
But she’d have loved the cinnamon rolls
With her funny’s from the Sunday paper
Melanie would eat some and say
I mustn’t for I must watch my weight
Well, just today, these are calorie free.
The sons have now flown
They say, why it took so long?
We reply, the arms of love are strong
The pull of home strong.
Last evening we took a long walk
Recalled where the deer crossed
The spot where the gopher burrowed
Where still we let the skunk pass
The well-defined cattle paths
The meandering rabbit trails
To our left chuck wills widows calling
Ahead the fuller May moon climbing
Behind the lone fast jet receding West.
It was a cool but cloudy Mother’s Day morning when, weary from being scrubbed down and pushed around, Buggy had enough. From here on he would determine what went in his basket and by golly, just try and wipe him down....
She could knit a baby cap
in no time
Granny could see clearly
love lifting those eye lids
toward baby
I do not think that they sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
from the love song of J Alfred Prufrock
TS Elliot
John Clare Stokes
Most scenes we have to glean
And hope to make of it something
Most scenes they prefer to remain hidden
Few into their beauty bidden
Most scenes are missed in our passing
Into our devices our eyes casting
Most scenes to me are waking dreams
And I lift praise as all about
Heaven and nature sings
Heaven and nature sings
Johnclarestokes
He sits drinking
Dark roast like
There is nothing better to do
They say the rain is coming
the clouds of mid blue
seem to bear witness to
contradiction
and he contemplates
where the graves go
how deep the angled hole
It just doesn’t seem time
but the dark roast is gone
Time to find the craftsman
spade with the lifetime
warranty and commence
To bury
for he’s a grave digger
John Clare Stokes
Dear Lin Wood
This is no good
The alien lines are long
Lin Wood
We can’t even afford wood
Soon food
The gas range is silent
Bullets too few
Lin Wood
You said you
Have the evidence
to restore the
orange one
Lin Wood
We can’t keep on
Lin Wood
Johnclarestokes
How long does one dwell in the presence
Of those gone on
Seems they haven’t left us
In all the familiar places
We see the coffee made just so
The same eggs and grits off the menu
We inexplicably pull the visor down
Even upon the cloudy day
“It’s going to rain, see, the cows
are laying down”
Make the same familiar comments
“It seems they are on a trip”, she’d say,
as we passed the Dicks place.
We would go along, never tell
No, they both have died.
The trip is where we’d rather reside.
