Puff the Magic
In the walking hours of our lives
Weighed with burdens bending low
We thank the loads that make us slow
Stooping to see about the dandelion
the angels dancing in perfect time!
Such is the way they come to us
Their images in an unfocused dream
At the precise moment of the bending.
Then puff!
And in a twinkling we lift in suspension
Held in perfect pirouette
above the burden below.
and long gone by.
I think the star
glittering above me
has been dead for a million years.
I think there were tears
in the car I heard pass
and something terrible was said.
A clock has stopped striking in the house
across the road…
When did it start?…
I would like to step out of my heart
and go walking beneath the enormous sky.
I would like to pray.
And surely of all the stars that perished
long ago,
one still exists.
I think I know
which one it is –
which one, at the end of its beam in the sky,
stands like a white city…
~ Rainer Maria Rilke
Beauty about
There are days
Of unbridled praise
Rare they are
Usually for the more
Outspoken among us
Feigned perhaps in
Pentecostal like pews
Learned from watching
Others raise the limbs
In the quiet traces
Far from the steepled
Central places
There comes a steady
Form of praise
Not showy or glib
For men’s approval
Oh look how holy he be
But quietly
Low enough that all
It takes is but a puff
To mingle with the
Angels above.
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
