Pledge

 On my honour I promise 

That 

I will do my duty 

To Ganesh and the Lion King

I will do my best to help

Elephants, whatever it costs me

I know the Mahout law and 

I will obey it.....

Jeep

 Jeep

I'm a jeep

I'm a loser

What the hell am I

Doing here?

Brenda and Poppy

 Poppy had a birthday

Poppy spent it was Brenda

his wife in Solaris naturally

Brenda was Meme’s roommate

Brenda looked after Meme

As her own mother

Poppy took Brenda home

Now Brenda and Meme

Are in glory.

Burning daylight

 Burning Daylight

John Clare Stokes 

Come Saturday September mornings 

When the land begins the autumn cool

The goldenrod on roadsides is seen growing

Persimmon on the tree to sweet turning

Faintly within there is this calling

To journey far into the Gum Swamp pines

Past the Sanderson fork beyond the Ocean Pond

On past the Taylor grocery store break

Far, far over the St Mary’s river into Moniac

Where the Nehi streams flow forever amber

You can reach right up and pluck

A moon pie from the South Georgia sky

Sit and stare lovingly into her snaggletooth eyes

Hear her say, “where you been all my days?”

And you reply, “Burning daylight!

Burning daylight, my darling.

Now here in Moniac I can die.”

Face Yard

 Yard book

The yard bears much resemblance to Facebook. There are crows, I know they are up there, I hear them, but they never come into the tall pines in the yard. Why? Could it be for the chickens, always cackling, block him! Block him! There are various butterfly’s, they are beautiful, but crazy acting, never alighting long enough then flying off. There are cats, they like this one, not that one, they want in, just as quickly, want out. There is a blind dog. Long as mamma is near, he is content. Her scent enough. There is this one man who thinks he can administer it all. He approves what should be deleted, deletes what needs approving. 

But hey, it’s his yard, so he thinks. 

Let him think.

That way we don’t have to.

Look back

 Look back

John Clare Stokes

Lately I’ve been contemplating 

The things that keep me looking back

That cause me to go away sadly

It’s not the riches of the young ruler

But the treasures of pride 

The folly of lusts

The askance look

That keeps one turning back

Again and again

Just one more glance

We do pray for deliverance

To not grow hardened as the publican

Saying

I’m thankful I’m not as others

As that sinner

When inward we are Gadarenes in chains.

Long Distant Voyager

 Amended

Long Distance Voyager 

John Clare Stokes

Long as he could recall he observed

Seeing most of it all

Knew what went on in the

Saturday night Sand Hill spots

When in those Nova’s the gears

burned, spinning stuck in sand

Before there were towers erected

To ping the location

The only tower on the hill pulsating distant 

Dangling strands of last years Christmas bulbs

A beacon pointing eastward toward home

And more often than not 

You struck out in a fast trot

To flag down some Gulf Hammock

bound peanut farmer 

Intent upon the dogs in the box chasing whitetails 

But taking the time to yank you free

And the voyager knew where you were stuck

That secret place out past Devils Den

Where no Sheriff Hartley car was patrolling 

To the pious Valerie’s lining Noble

you were pure they were sure

Rescued from the perishing ones 

Washed from the Red Devil blood

Sitting upright in Gertrude Fletchers 

Sunday School room

Crossed arms together 

Holding hands so Preacher couldn’t see and an intent congregation 

Trying to keep time with the

Metered hand of Doyle Crosby and

Vera playing Send the light

But you were stuck upon a distant chord from

Lead singing halfback Jackie and the

Woman’s Club band

That other certain kind of light

Emanating from the far sand hills

A spook light if you will

And the voyager knew you had

seen that ghostly light

Even if you never walked an aisle

It shown in your smile

As Wesley and family nudged you

Back toward the narrow way

The arms uncrossed for a moment

Almost raising to count the cost

But to those pulsating sand hill firefly’s 

The Boones Farm form of communion wine you drank 

Your stainless ID steady bracelet rattling gently 

Upon her delicate wrist

The cheerleaders blushing red lips kissed

With that Gulf Hammock deer in the cross sights look

Oblivious they were to the Seaboard crossing lights flashing 

But the long distant voyager saw it all coming. 

Tabor

 Mt Tabor Methodist Episcopal

Constituted in 1854. Services were first held in a log building, a half mile east of the location on Cline Feagle Road, until a white, rectangular, meeting-hall type, frame building was erected in 1870. The first services were held in 1872, remodeled in 1915 and 1938 with a membership of 32. The first pastor was Rev John L Jerry from 1854-1855, later JT Adams with the final pastor being PJ Wagner in 1939-. The church burned to the ground around 1988 in December.

Bob and bridge

 Another one with the late Bob Jones on the Suwannacoochee bridge.

What happens

 What happens to children...when small see beauty...and then...bugs and things become ugly...in morning glories...splendor is occuring....the eternal story....in no manner revolting.

Long Distance Voyager

 Long Distance Voyager 

John Clare Stokes

Long as he could recall he observed

Seeing most of it all

Knew what went on in the

Saturday night Sand Hill spots

When in those Nova’s the gears

burned, spinning stuck in sand

Before there were towers erected

To ping the location

The only tower on the hill pulsating distant 

Dangling strands of last years Christmas bulbs

A beacon pointing eastward home

And more often than not 

You struck out in a trot

To flag down some Gulf Hammock

bound peanut farmer 

Intent upon the dogs and deer chasing

But taking the time to yank you free

And the voyager knew where you stuck

That secret place out past Devils Den

Where no Sheriff Hartley car was patrolling 

To the pious Valerie’s lining Noble

you were pure they were sure

Rescued from the perishing son

Washed in Red Devil blood

Sitting upright in Gertrude Fletchers 

Sunday School room

Crossed arms

Holding hands so Preacher couldn’t see and an intent congregation 

Not at all keeping time with the

Metered hand of Doyle Crosby and

Vera playing Send the light

But stuck upon a distant chord from

Lead singer halfback Jackie and the

Woman’s Club band

That other certain kind of light

Emanating from the far sand hills

A spook light if you will

And the voyager knew you had

Seen that ghostly light

Even if you never walked an aisle

It shown in your smile

As Wesley and family nudged you

Back toward the narrow way

The arms uncrossed for a moment

Almost raising to count the cost

But to those pulsating sand hill firefly’s 

The Boones Farm form of communion wine

Your stainless ID steady bracelet rattling gently 

Upon her delicate wrist

The cheerleader blushing red lips kissed

The Gulf Hammock deer in the cross sights look

And he never saw the Seaboard lights flashing 

But the long distant voyager did.

The little prodigal

 The prodigal son 

John Clare Stokes

The cedar tree i climbed to run away 

 Looking down on the kitchen window  

Watching mamma baking oatmeal cookies 

 The aroma rising visibly above me 

 now looms tall over my memory  

The sticky boughs fully obscuring  

 a little run away prodigal son 

 Determined to live in a Cedar tree.  

Mamma cooled the batch on the sill 

 As far above the prodigal groaned 

 In the evening air a hungry chill 

 Oh for the oatmeal cookies of home!

The once comfortable cedar limb  

Pricked and panged upon the boy 

 As slowly he began to descend 

  Determined come morning...

to run away then.