Foolish Pleasures

 Wild the Mare

John Clare Stokes

 In Williston sand longing

to conceive in

A field of record yields 

Beneath a September rising and falling over and again

The burrowing owl came 

From below eyes wide open

To the commotion turning

Totally around as if looking back was acceptable while upon the hill in the stable

Kicking against the stall

The wild mares mane trembled from the rising and

The falling

Wanting so desperately to

Join the conception 

Bringing record yields

In fields under cover of night

While in far away Kentucky

Came the one

They would call

 Foolish Pleasure

Conceived amid owls and sandy legumes galore

To gain glory in a derby

Far from the wild mare

Kicking desperately.

Path of most resistance

Beyond the Blue Blaze

Every hike is usually from blaze to blaze, following the well trodden way. There are times, when water is low and the blaze not clear, we dare venture beyond the blue blaze, to find perchance, a path of great resistance with wonders never known.

 

Road Side Song

 In every roadside ditch the throng 

of bloom and blossom lifts in song

Humbly with exuberant praise lifting

To this wondrous life His gift

Speed on to the byway of praise 

Head on toward the eternal day

Blazing Stars beneath cobalt heaven 

Swaying grass we in a moment given

So Praise! praise! All creatures sing

Lift up! Lift up! Too soon to wing!

In Kerwin Country

 Moonball 

It was a rather disconcerting event

And I do not think I was meant

To witness it

But upon the rising down Mallory 

Swamp way

The dead oak took the sap

And began to toss back and forth

A hapless moon.

Kaintuckbreaks

 Kaintuckbrakes

Deep in the wild never glade

Where moccasins and bull gators stayed

And even Seminoles dared not wade

We came upon this lair of despair

Where in the oaken trees hung effigies 

To which these padded blueskins prayed

O give us great Ruppking a victory

To prove we do not follow Thee vainly

But the Ruppking was tauntingly silent

And into extinction went the Kaintuckbrakes

While Gators and moccasins mocked their fate.

Up the holler

Up the holler 

John Clare Stokes

So grateful in the fall of twenty twelve

We were able to take mamma to see

The old holler where she came to be

As we rode to Crumpler she would tell

now that was where Evelyn and I 

took that poor snake and burnt it

And there is where we paid with script

Where up Crumpler Mountain we’d slip

There’s the Methodist Church where Rev Looney

first suggested I should attend Asbury

Where Luke and I were later married

Where Gerald always held in my heart a tune

The old whistle post just beyond the church

Still towered rusting, once calling miners home

Out from the Pocahontas hills into the stucco homes

Or roused at night, the wailing telling that deep down something

had gone terribly wrong

Turning to return to Bluefield then Princeton

Rounding slowly another steep switch back

In my imagination I could clearly see

Her daddy’s bus full of miners and one

found kitty named Black Daisy

Bringing it home for his sweet Clara Jean.

Nectar moon

 Nectar moon 

Fall Blues

 It’s the 2nd day of fall, I should be enthralled, but I’m not. Is it the days still hot as summer July? Is it a stroke struck body that hobbles about? Is it a spiritual malaise that barely reads the word? Is it the long, long years of silence from a Son? Is it no sales at the Gallery? It’s all.

It’s fall. 

The wood of God

 Morning Meditation in the Wood of God

And from the arching gilded lichen limb

Palmetto spread in fronds of praise

The Tibia flute parsed the morning hymn

 as moss bearded seers in rhapsodie swayed

to the song of the ancient of days;

Hushed in the Gloria Patri wonder

the congregation of the understory:

Con Amore! in the wood winds he comes

as the canebrake trembles at the feet

 of the blessed wild One.

Come freely to the tree of life

climb boldly to the azure heights

In the haven of the wood of God

where ne'er the proud dare trod.

New Years

 Rosh Hashanah

We the Christian know so little

We don't even follow our own seasons

Ignorant of most things of mystery

Living in this world rationally 

But today begins a new year

Did you take your sweet honey

Dip the apple in it

Prepare for the King to come

To survey in the field His flock

To see whom He deems to keep

To cull?

I didn't think so.

Ole Miss

"And the parched ground shall become a pool, and a thirsty land springs of water: in the habitation of dragons, where each lay, shall be grass with reeds and rushes." Is 35:7.

Alligator Lake South

Columbia Co Lake City

Journey beyond Toar

 Journey beyond Toar

john clare 

Gently, gently the waters part,

Silently, silently we slip downstream.

In teardrop cradle the sailors embark,

Hush crickets! The little Pindar dreams.

Miles, miles the stream carries us along,

Tranquil, tranquil the mirrored ripple.

Above, the Cicada's con calma hum,

Sleep, sleep little ruddy sailor still.

Who? Who? Passes in tiny sloop?

Tis he! Tis he! The poet of streams!

Pass through my poetic little flute,

Old Owl sees why the waters sing.

Down, down goes the little canoe 

Deep, deep through icy shoaled sea.

Awake tiny sailor, see us through!

Cause terrible Erebus to flee!

Still, still sleeps in tempest land,

Row, row we against Aeolus strong.

Into the gale rises a little hand,

Calm, calm again the beautiful song.