Oh sorry
My Sears Sale Commission day’s
are over
Bwanna photo?
Oh sorry
My driving to the Suwannee day’s
are over
Bwanna suit?
Oh sorry
My JCP Manager day’s
are over
Bwanna scoop?
Oh sorry
My Reporter day’s
are over
Bwanna just sit?
Oh sorry
My wife’s due home
and I haven’t done
a single doo!
Blue grass state
John Clare Stokes
Six grade can last a lifetime
It did for the tow headed poet
Never advancing beyond
Mrs Turners homeroom
Hiding beneath the desk
during daily nuclear war drill
Deciding it won’t ever get better
But in that summer of sixty seven
He had to move on
To a state of Bahia grass
Sandspurs and allergy
Not even Ann or Pam or Missy
could make him get beyond
the grass of Kentucky
He’d take to grotto trees
He’d take to canoes down Rainbows
He’d take to sandhill hippies
Even tried to be a basketball star
for that is expected of Blue grass boys
But he wasn’t much good
Maybe for a white boy
Far cry from Truby or Dean
But back to the sixth grade
Recently the poet found where
the source of the blue grass
zenith in life dwelled
Looking in at the sixty something year
old Girl Scout
He slowly backed away
Not to disturb a life looking
so happy
The sixth grader finally graduated
beyond the blue grass state
Ellis and Miss Emma
On Spirit Avenue near the Santa Fe
High Springs
I don’t knock the old fools in love with their mules
I’m one of them too.
John ClareStokes
I don't think the damsels
Have a clue
The times I hold in hand
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
Age worn Triton.
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....
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.
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
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.
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
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
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.
