Scars

 I was marked early in life. Around two in Sopchoppy, Florida I was in the kitchen. An electric coffee pot with cord was boiling hot. I pulled on the cord and it spilled on my left shoulder, down my arm, across my left chest, with a splash mark or two. I was scalded. As was the treatment method in post Korea War, the scars were wrapped in bandages. This proved to make the scars worse with the rubbing. So I carried the scars which affected my personality. I always kept a shirt on to keep the comments from happening. To this day I am self-conscious.

Produce Jesus

 Produce Jesus 

john clare

Jesus today was browsing

the produce aisle

  as Thomas walked up

with some Brussels sprout

  no doubt he too was not expecting

to have to believe so suddenly 

in Winn Dixie 

as for me 

i dodged the two altogether 

did not want either to see

the Blue Moon I was carrying

but would you know

appearing behind me in the number three

check out line

with the Zacchaeus cashier 

Jesus with the bread and wine

Thomas with those sprouts

Suddenly it too dawned on me

as belief overcame me

so right there in Winn Dixie 

we had a good shout out.

Pastor Aaron Turner made the excellent statement yesterday, "Christians are expected to demonstrate more than just human nature." I Co.3:4. This poem, of demonstrating that, even in a Winn Dixie line, was penned with that thought in mind. For my ubber literal friends, Jesus,Thomas,Blue Moon and Zacchaeus were simply allusions, metaphors, illustrations...sorry, do not run down to your nearest WD to catch a glimpse....

This little light

 This light of mine

john clare

sped past that grand spire

the light catching it just right

a beacon for all to see

i held my little finger out

like i did so long ago

and blew and sure enough

neither I nor Satan could

blow it out

for the same great light

that lit that grand spire

was the same light that

lit this weak little finger of mine

a mystery divine

all abounding

as I accelerated on up Marion 

shouting the news

I'm gonna let it shine

I'm gonna let it shine.

Bob

 Bob

Did you ever have a friend

That once in a lifetime friend

So equal in your interests

It's as if you're one?

I had one

I'm in my seventies now

He died in his nineties

Forgetting everything in this world

I suppose shedding it 

Like he used to like to do

When photographing 

And scuba diving

And canoeing

And treasure hunting

And painting

And banjo playing

Along the Suwannee

Practically the same as I

Except I played harmonica 

Otherwise

We were of one mold

JohnBob

Damsels in sand

 Damsels in sand

I don't think the damsels

Have a clue 

The times I stand in the sand

And compose lines for them

And if they did

And that brittle heart beat

In unison to mine

What good?

The language of damsels

Is one unwritten

Only the wind sings it

And damsels reply only then

And not to some 

Dragonfly grounded.

April showers

 April showers

In the month of August

one would think the desire

for the April showers

would be a settled thing

you had May flowers

June with birds you sang

Danced with the July moon

And yet for April showers 

you dwelt 

When suddenly in the August

gloom

morning thunder filled the sky

It had to be April

The little shower so shy.

Vera Dear

Vera dear

You could make the old upright ivory keys spring to life, like the old bones, playing the hymns from heart to hands. The old Cokesbury hymnals you didn’t need, they welled from within so easily. 

Vera Smith on the old piano at Gulf Hammock

Gallery

I went to the Gateway Gallery to sign up to exhibit again. Sheila the Curator surprised me by saying an artist is pulling out and I could have the larger space. So I did. Now to get work together. We saw the Branford Show. I don’t think it as strong as last year. I’m afraid the mushroom or the dragonfly will win. In your face large. 

What brings ye?

 What brings ye?

Like a benevolent old father who accepts

All his children

No matter the offense or abandon

The river seems to take us in

And so we come to partake of

The loving presence

Some just to have a beer and fish

Some to sit and simply drift

One to workout frantically

Just using a means to an end

Few to find a word for a rhyme

The river giving inspiration

All are welcome at any level

No need for a degree in hydrology 

Or the fanatical rancorous green

The river could care less

And that is why we love it so

Jon boat drunk or yaking yuppie 

It's a river for all levels

Benevolent for sure

But every now and then

Sending forth a gator or a 

Swirling current

To take one under

It could be they never quite

Knew the river

But the river knew them

I cannot recall if I wrote this. 

Engine No 2

Flying up the long Noble Avenue...past that hilltop water tower....into sand hills flew Engine No 2....In the wee morning hour.....Pappa and Landon.....to rescue the family....No blaze could withstand...When in Engine two they did speed....

Reckless Wrestler

 Restless Wrestler

(Richard Jay "Dick" Alexander) 

August  19,1941-July 26,2013

 by john clare stokes 

   The ring was never a final thing

  One pinfall in '58 from taking it all

  The restless wrestler paid his dues

  and took flight over those towering

 Seven Mountains to parts known 

 following friends in a signature move 

 Laughing with his entire being  

Just a cuddly Nittany cub

not really intending

 to draw blood 

 searching for some fun 

 And here he would come 

 over the Sand Hole Ridge

 up the Front Mountain with top down 

 around the Spruce with Pleiades above guiding 

 Speeding through the Long climb

 the cold Broad at two thousand feet

 with a view of the Pennsylania valley

 at Milligan's Knob

 the restless wrestler made the Sand peak about dawn

  seeing the first light from the Bald summit

 and never looking back

 the '99 Porsche Boxster purring

 toward the fun of Florida

 to the friends waiting

 away from the pain of Sandusky

 and the good memory of Paterno 

to sweet Melissa and her tender care 

the closest companion the restless wrestler

 would know before the dark match came

the fight of his life

his old five moves of doom

not helping one bit

The faithful stage grip

Not giving in

A main event guy he was

The Junior Contender facing

bravely the Lumberjack

not complaining or calling foul

The giant taking advantage of the

restless wrestler with the ring rust

the slow burn of time from the mat

taking its toll

As in the end

the restless wrestler

wasn't defeated

he only took a visual fall

took the pin laughing

wanting more than anything

to speed over those 

Seven Mountains again

his Valet Melissa waiting 

in the wings beside him

top down

the Pleiades guiding their

way through the night

to friends

the sound of deep laughter

echoing over the

Seven Mountains.

Phaeton

 I’m an old Phaon

Half the size of a dime, the tiny Phaon Crescent caught my eye. Wonderful little fellow.

In Greek mythology, Phaon was an old man, who ferried the goddess of love, Aphrodite, to her destination. In return for his services, she gave him youth and beauty.