Clara Jean

 As a minister's wife....she was the most valued of all...for upon a moments notice....she could fill in for the pianist...the Sunday school teacher...even the preacher on a Wednesday night....all the while cooking a Sunday dinner for the guests that always came....baking a cradle cake for the newborn....keeping  the house in order...always in order for the Parsonage Committee who dropped in unannounced....preparing lesson plans into the evening....keeping up on everyone in the diary....writing the constant cards and notes of encouragment....in sickness...in health... for birthdays....losses....never complaining or having anything amiss to say about anyone....

Alpha Charlie!

 Caca Dau! Caca Dau! The crazed pilot screamed, "I'll kill you!" as the Bird Dog neared the Gleason Delta, the steel dart fleshettes piercing the fuselage. "We must do an  E and E, Charlie yelled to his Peter Pilot, praying the Jesus Nut upon the prop would hold in this escape and evasion.  Into the blue stratosphere we climbed, my grease gun pressing against my flack jacket, unable to fire one shot off to the entrenched Gleason Gooks below. This is a faithful recollection of my flight with Charlie Hollis so long ago. I don't like to talk about it.

Handrails?

 Handrails? Handrails? You humans, we have no hands!

Conga nights

 By day the Conga played, the drinks were mixed, ceiling fans cooled malaise, beans and rice were consumed, but come closing time, the unplugged became wired, to life all came, the malts did waltz, the coca went for broke, by next day, not a word spoke, how by the back door, Heinz and Hot Crystal saucalita were found lying on the floor, I'll never say....

Tug a tore

Tug a tore

John Clare Stokes

It's a painful thing

This pull to reclaim

The works of man

We hew the pew

From the oak

Sew the curtain

From the cotton

Then comes the briar

The branch

The worm

To reclaim its own

We held so long

The burning of the

Slow pulling rope

Stings

Taking men's things

Across the line

Winning every time.

Verbenadale Church

Williston

Them bones

 Them bones

John Clare Stokes

Tell us a mystery 

I shall tell you one

How opened upon

The old pulpit dusty

Dry bones long dead

Began to tremble

And then assemble

When words were read

Come forth His cry

You army of bones

To Zion march on

Ye shall not die

What a mystery!

White inside

 2 Chron 29:3

In the first year of his reign, in the first month, he opened the doors of the house of the LORD and repaired them.

Good lesson for me. What is entering the door of my heart, through my eyes, into my thoughts? What filth do I harbor deep within the temple? 

It took sixteen days for the priests and the Levites to cleanse the temple. May the work upon my doors begin today!

Give us this day

 Give us this day

john clare

each day 

she would pray

give us this day

our daily bread

each night

she would write

in her diary

thank you humbly

for the bread

today

but mostly

she dreamed

it would be

Zaxby's

for daily bread

is good

and give thanks

she would

but every now and then

she would amend

her prayer to begin

thanking the Lord

for a son

who would come

and say

mamma

lets give thanks today

for some Zaxby's.

Southern Dying

 What muse of sleep

Would cause you 

To come to me

All skinny in halter

Top hippy

Long flower twined

Hair falling revealing

Just the edge of

Flesh not tan

Cruel muse to 

Send me back

Before the sag

Caught up.

Stage Flight

 Stage Flight

John Clare Stokes

Between the final act of life

(Of what is left of it)

Save for the five-minute smoke break

(At intermission )

Lungs shot to hellacious 

Forgotten chain-sucking Thespian

The lines of the Bard mumbled,

"Nor moody beggars, starving for a

time, of pell-mell havoc and confusion".

The disengaged,sullen orderly wheels

Henry the fourth

off stage to room five b with

The drawn curtains,

(Yellowed-fingers tremble)

Bed bound the encore call cord

beyond reach,

O'er and o'er the lines lipping 

"O the ignominy sleep with thee in

the grave, but not remember'd in

Thy epitaph!"

In thy epitaph!

M&m

M@m

john clare

Sunday 

there were several

empty seats

where Megan and family 

once sat

quietly watching

 while sister went under

 it did sink into her

 for she went to Indiana

baptized by daddy

while one with her perm

i imagine was squirming

in her front row seat

hoping she too

would not have to go

under

wetting her nice do

combed so lovingly

by Megan.

Big Apple

 Just because you're a big apple from the big apple don't make you an artist....