Moniac

Moniac

Once in dawns first light

we’d saddle up for the

long journey

silent and steady

through the planted pines

past the old homestead

to the fork that led to

Sanderson

but we’d continue on left

the log trucks would pass

we’d warn, one back

then settle again

abreast across the Gum Swamp

no need for drafting

As speed was not a factor

We’d make Taylor

for the fig newton and Pepsi

break so brief

soon to turn right then left

 for the final long stretch

into the upper reaches of

way down South

to meet the cashier girl

without her own teeth 

in her mouth

And we’d know we’d arrived

In Moniac

sweet Moniac

So far away now

I don’t think I shall

Ever make it back. 

The789

 The 789

It’s how one measures time

What one awaits to find

Sabbath mornings with Tucker

By the time the clouds uncover

The hidden sinking moon

The rays shall melt the dew

Upon the St Christopher’s

In full bloom.

Reward

 Reward

For my entire life I’ve yet to have bread pudding as Mrs Mary Rudd in Sopchoppy made for me. I’m not sure if my first Sunday School teachers recipe is exactly the same, but it came from Sopchoppy and that is as close to the source as possible. Bake it and bring it to me and if it’s as Mrs Mary’s, I will reward you generously.

Williston

 Williston

I never tire of traveling the sixty miles the “back way” down to Williston. I recall the day way back in sixty seven we pulled in to the white wood parsonage on Noble beside the four goal court and the three story Methodist Church, school right next door. Coming from the crowded duplex apartment in Wilmore, Kentucky, we were in wonder.

Then years later, in the eighties, after we had moved to Lake City in seventy seven, I cannot describe the elation of meeting a nurse at Shands in Gainesville, inviting me down to teach her photography at her home in Williston. The little CRV covered the sixty doing eighty.  And so the good times returned to Williston.  I will always look forward until the day they take me out to Orange Hill, of returning to Williston, though lately it has been sad traveling. 

The Methodist Church on Noble with the tree my father planted.

Next stop

Next stop...the conductor called...forget me not...One and all...Faces pressed...Against glass darkly...Thinking of caresses...Whom we'd see....

smoke crossing

 Smoke crossing

John Clare Stokes

The smoke was in no particular haste

wafting low and hazily across the way

I was in no particular hurry

So I waited as it made its way toward 

Olustee

I thought perhaps I’d follow his trail

see from where he was dwelling

perhaps the embers could yet be stoked

and we could again visit with the smoke

But the boys were now grown and gone

Just this old man in piney woods alone

No, don’t follow that trail down to the shore

Let it go, let it go, before it begins to whirl.

Rock of Wades

 Rock of wades

Long ago the infant was placed in the little Jon boat with his mother and father, and he began his first drift downstream. But the shear pin of the little motor caused the propeller to spin, so the father pulled them back upstream. Years later the boy returned to the site to wade into the river and marry, carrying his bride upstream, breaking the shear pins from his mother and father, as they drifted down stream.

Po Camp Air B&B

 Po  Camp

We are happy to announce the soon opening of Po Camp. For one gloriously miserable week sans all the amenities your children are accustomed to, we hope to instill in them, a sense of having nothing. 

No longer will they ignore you while engrossed in the I-things when you say, Buffy, did you walk the Puffy poo? No longer will they embarrass you in front of the grandparents when they say, mommy, why do they drive the used Beamer? This list is endless, but you get the picture.

Homewood Hymn

 Homewood Hymn

John Clare Stokes

Behold darkness and sorrow, and the light is darkened in the heavens thereof.  Isaiah 5:30b

Does a new day bring light?

Has the light swallowed the dark?

Come day a squint into bright

The beams still painfully sharp.

On goes the gauze again

In streams the soothing dark

Not ready to walk in gleams

of light beams deadly sharp

Many meant for the night

Few called to walk wide waking

Freed from the terrible fright 

Always giving, never once taking 

In countless wards the halt

The little wars raging on

Light brigades assault for naught 

the darkness ever so strong 

Allured to the prospect of sight

We wave the white flag and stare

into the blinding beams of night

as captured we fall into the lair

Hand on shoulder on shoulder on

the line of the lame snakes along 

Til all glimmers are finally gone

No one remaining to recall home

And in the darkened chapel quiet

Faint songs from opened hymns

A remnant chants into the night

Stokes the embers and remembers 

Homewood and all of them.

The beauty of the lily

 The beauty of the lily

Not all the latest greatest is necessary. This was taken with my first DSLR, the Nikon D40 with my 1984 180 2.8.

Any particular time

 Any particular time

John Clare Stokes

Is there any particular time

When not upon the cusp of crying?

At the time of the lilies bending

The weight of blooming sending

Them downward

At the movement of clouds over

The fields with the wind whipped 

Corn clinging in unison 

At the call of the Coopers hawk

Circling then landing in the tallest

Pine 

Looking for the jesses he wore

When in captivity

Paying no mind to the crying lad

Below

In finderland

 In finderland 

John Clare Stokes

There is a place where we can go

Into a place where we can make the

way to our own liking, where light

can be courted and in unison dance

When I am in finderland

with the old manual ways before me

I think I shall never return to the

rabid way of the autobum.