Journey with John Stokes

Monday, August 4, 2025

Screaming hope

Like shades in love and death's oblivion lost;

And yet I am! And live with shadows tost

Three shots

Ten threes

Has it been ten threes ago

Since the last swish

The home crowd going wild

Yelling way to go!

Oh how the sound of

Nothing but net

We miss!

Viceroy as Monarchs

The Viceroy promenade

While in fields in search of Monarchs

I came upon two regal Viceroys

Seen any Monarchs? I asked the two

Quiet! They said, they think we are!

You made your bed

It would be grand if tomorrow I could tell a few, things will be better for you, tell others, you made your bed, I’m not buying you any Lindell Giza Dream sheets.

Pappa Earnest

John Clare Stokes

So much from you my father learned

The time to get the garden in

The time for shade tree resting

I tried to learn from Lute pappa Earnest

The time to water the plants thirsting

The time to sit and watch the growing

There just wasn’t enough time pappa Urn

So so much I failed to learn

I think I shall find some shade for pondering

Sunday, August 3, 2025

When I came to the end of my rope, there was a knot. I made not that knot, but it gave me hope. And so I shimmied up a bit, and on that knot did sit, swinging to and fro, Nowhere to go. Before long this man came along and said, "Why are you swinging out here all alone?" I came to the end of my rope, gave up hope, but at the end a knot, keeping me from a long drop. "I tied that knot friend, long before you began the descend. Now swing over to me but leave that rope. Many others are above you thinking there is no hope."

In morning’s memory

Sometimes on Saturday’s, before the sun rises, I return to places, some now gone, where I can sit again upon the porch, see the little one upon the bike, listen to the granny tell of her times, the everlasting leaning, the safe and secures, drawing us, from the swing, from the porch, from the wheels spinning, from all alarms.

Wisdom in the shade

Wisdom was found in the shade Long spells of learning silence Wordless hours I wouldn't trade For all the words since.....my father and I never spoke much, we had a kind of silent understanding about one another, an acceptance. In the course of his ministry, most of his time was spent in talking and once home, he did not talk much. We always said if we wanted to know anything, just invite a church member over and we would hear all we wanted. Most of my learning from my father came from working beside him as from a little boy he let me do much of the work. I used to groan when he would hand me the post hole diggers or the sugar cane machete, as all through his life up until his seventies he could easily outwork me. We would sit in these old metal chairs in the blueberry patch beside the old Cracker house in the shade and listen. Ever so often he would sing lowly a hymn or play upon a harmonica, but mostly we would listen and observe. It was never due to laziness for we usually were sitting after doing some tiring work and just basking in the satisfaction of a job completed . As I said in the poem, I would not trade these moments for all the words since.