by John Clare Stokes
they built a grand library
where the old lady
once beat the rugs
stubbornly in her back yard
while they waited
for the old lady
to retire
to reside beneath
the jonquils
to build
the grand library
named after Dennis Kinlaw
great in many ways
but who can recall
the old two story house
and the stubborn lady
who beat her rugs
beside her jonquils who
made way for the
grand library?
There is a profound mystery in life as expressed in the eyes. For weeks she lay there in the induced coma, awake but distant and blank. You could stare into the pupils and there was nothing. Then, as the slow wake was begun, when the eyes came alive and sight was restored, that first connect with your eyes was the most wonderful event. Such a mystery to see the soul within the eyes.
Ahhh, I made the ten minute deadline
Told of a place to find
Of no time
Where one can reach above
Touch a Fritillary at will
Until it’s never time to leave
John Clare Stokes
We talked of old times
How being black in jail
Wasn’t a good thing
Back then
How the kindly white man
Whom you mowed and raked for
Made a call to the judge
And got you out with probation
Charlie grew up without a daddy
Died when he was two
Mamma raised them all
On one twenty five a month
And so as Charlie in the little green
Nissan pickup put it in reverse
He handed me the tract to read
My heart indeed did sink
To know of his persuasion
If you stick around long enough, and have the mindset of one who holds things in memory, long after they should have been forgotten, eventually you just have to purge it, like a tumor, or it will overtake you.
There are many such stories, some now humorous years past the time it wasn't, some that continue to cut, long after the sharp slice, now dull and painful.
She was pompous as a pomegranate dangling upon the hem of a Pharisee. She hailed from Albany where lately she had arrived in our tiny city, comparatively, full of resentment for her demotion. It was her last stop and she was going to take it out upon us at full price.
There was a family of fine cooks out by the airport and it was the habit of many to be found dining with them every Sunday. So it was just a matter of time this pompous Presbyterian would find her way to the finest.
We do not recall the season she went into her closet, arranged by the proper colors of proper wear, perhaps the dark season of fall and winter, but she in her fashionable attire, dragging her husband with the humble name Joe, sat to dine. It was at the time of dessert the delight began, for she was ordering sin. Something familiar to this Presbyterian, even if she only saw it in others.
Well, from then on then, this was her family, this family of cooks. She would do anything for this sin, to offering the chief cook discounts on shoes, why for the whole family, why not, of which he fully took advantage, as the poor salesmen had to drop everything, to please him. And oh, every Christmas and Thanksgiving and Independence Day of Russia had to be catered in, with the stipulation of a big pan of sin.
Oh, he was all in. Charging for the privilege full price. But it mattered not to her, they were family.
It was a bitter sweet day she retired to an island around Tampa. No more chocolate delight. The new manager aghast at the price paid. No more discount on shoes. Why what was a fine cook now to wear? No more privileges for anyone. It had all come to an end.
The pomegranates upon the hem left jingling.
The lady finally passed on two years ago. Robert is retired from cooking.
Has there ever been the perfect couplet
Two lovers in one bond of sonnet
We had Steichen and O'keefe
Robert and Elizabeth
But mostly it's a Jody all hunting
And a Tina all quilting
A John all poetry
A Melanie all nursing
It's just as well the poets don't compose
Who would wash the clothes?
In Bronson there is a Chill Zone
A place to stop while heading home
Scallops in the cooler from Steinhatchee
Beers on ice for unseen emergencies
But no trailer hub on a late Saturday
Pass the drinks men
Seems we going to be in the
Chill Zone til Sunday
Place in my hands the wonderful keys
That once unclasped
And set me free
The old piano at Verbenadale was strewn all over.
I’ve come way to far beyond the age of ten
far, far to ever bring it back again
And now, six decades into the playing
they are yet saying
it’s time to set aside the childish ways
but there are no nest eggs
no pensions of the prudent
no golden parachutes
I shall not retire to the Blurry Place
These toys shall serve this boy
It’s all he has
Too, too far beyond the age of ten.
Some days when all is going
so well
the bills are being paid
food enough not to wonder
where comes the next meal
no respirators
no tubes
no clinical trials
no prayer
no fasting
no trusting
I get to longing for
Calamity Jane
how it was just the two of us
clinging
I know it sounds insane
but in these times so far from God
I miss her
Look mommy
There are aero planes in the sky
So I cease mowing
Sit with camera waiting
Look mommy
Not an aero plane in the sky
And the moon knowing
is sinking
But isn’t the grass glad
To be growing again.
Johnclarestokes
I would if I could
Take the stray children
Home with me
Lonely little ones
Left to raise themselves
Melanie would say
What did you bring home today?
And I'd proudly exclaim
A most sweet, friendly
Little girl for you
The grand one you always wanted
A daughter to help you
A daughter to love you
Shall i put her in the guest bedroom?
Oh no, Melanie would exclaim
Up on the bed to snuggle with me!
Yesterday a little kitten
came out from under the auto
I was photographing
No mother came running
So I made the decision
I’ll take the little one home
And so it rode quietly with me
But when I made it to TLC
Christa and Chelsea’s love ruled
and they said we will take the stray
As Chelsea kissed the kitten
You could hear the purring.
The kitten was finally adopted by Christa’s brother
In south Florida.
