He stood all alone in the sun, no one came to offer shade, from where he stood, it seemed it would shine forever.
They stood all alone each one, no one coming at all, from where they stood, it seemed this would always go on.
Suwannee River
One mile above Cone Bridge boat ramp
Limp D Bend sandbar
It could have been attributed to the early rainbow at sunrise, but whatever it was, while it lasted, it was grand. I could suddenly understand the language of fishermen and he could understand the language of photographers. He did not look at me cross eyed as I talked of f stops and shutter speeds and fishing for eagles with glass. He understood. And I did not feign knowing as he expounded deep water lures and watching for signs of shad leaping. We understood. And it was good.
There stood a thick mile of woods
Brother Eubanks would give thanks
Waxing long
Long after our thoughts had turned
From the word
To water, I Suwannee!
Hopewell Primitive Baptist
Northern most Florida off Road 6.
Columbia County
Down Leslie Wood lane
Things remain about the same
As when the wagon came
To take the cured tobacco
Into the warehouses
Down in Lake City
Columbia County
The trumpet vines know
Where they weren’t allowed to go
The heat of winters
Keeping the tentacles confined
To the outlying branches
In the cold yard
But no longer comes the pruner
And wildly they flee the tree
To scurry up the cold chimney
The fear of fire
But a distant memory.
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.
