Blue sky

 Last kind deed for a friend

The butterfly who could not fly

Asked the cyclist speeding by

How about a lift my friend

The breeze I’d love to feel again

Hop on said the cyclist kind

Soon the blue sky we shall find

Sanity Fe

 Sanity Fe

There was once upon time

I knew it’s time

When upon politics i’d entwine

To load the kayak 

And sanity soon

Trickled back

Santa Fe

The balms of Gilead

 Amid the balms of Gilead 

Fridays can be days one looks forward to or days we dread, as we have that sixth sense, today they fire me, or the all come crashing down reality, unexpectedly, they did. It happened for one such. It’s happened to me, more than once. You never handle it gracefully. You fill your box and awkwardly go. 

And so all Friday, I dwelt beneath the cloud. 

Toward the end of day, finishing up at Dacier in Dowling Park, there in a side room off the main desk, an older gentleman was crooning on his guitar to the elderly lady residents. Love songs. But then, he began to sing the old hymn , the Love of God. I lingered. It was the balm from Gilead needed. I trust my friend with the box of belongings found her balm of Gilead too.

In the strut line

 In the strut line

There I was suddenly on the strut line

 Not a lick of camo on to conceal me

I dropped to my belly just in time

Setting the camera by feel blindly.

And so they passed within a few feet

They never even took notice of my clicks

Feathers iridescent in the shaded heat

I finally rose and took home several ticks.

I hide

 I hide myself within my flower,

That fading from your Vase,

You, unsuspecting, feel for me-

Almost a loneliness.

Emily Dickinson

Suwannee Shoals

 Little shoals

Suwannee

Seems it’s going to be a good day

For a slow Suwannee walk along

The moon is new, the rains moved on

Perhaps we’ll meet along the way.

Judy in the mists

 Tracks of her   by john clare  

 Osceola and his friends in her woods still roam...Mostly along the trail of deer and bear...In unseen silence I know they are there....Its but a  faint whisp carrying them along....Early if you come just before the dawn....before the lifting of the misty....You can see the tracks of Judy....softly with her puppy tagging along....

Deer boy

 Deer Boy

John Clare Stokes

Deep in Impassable Bay 

the Deer Boy lays beneath 

Palmetto and pine straw

Spots upon his yearling

Back blending with the

Sun specks, as he curls in slumber, never really sleeping, always attune to the sound

of the baying hounds or 

the panther sneaking around.

It was not always so with his

offspring, for one day long

ago a most peculiar thing 

occurred at the mobile blood bank on Baya when this great, great vagrant, decided upon a transfusion to make some money, and in the confusion, the neophyte technician stuck the needle and drew the blood from the buck upon his hood. It was this blood that went into his great, great granny and in the ensuing next, next conception, there came forth the deer boy, more at home within the bay than on  the Baya, a new breed if you will, one who had no heart for the kill, the trophy tackydermy  head over the mantle, the four wheelers in the yard, the hounds in the pen, the feeders, the corn plots, the tree stands, the whole durn things. And so they hunt this deer boy relentlessly, knowing this deerboa virus cannot exist in a world among us of men who live upon the venison. It would upset the very balance of their nature, to nurture, to not dwell continually, thinking, plotting, savoring, striving, killing. And so the deer boy dwells in two worlds, both of which he knows would have him either raw, fried, stewed, jerked, smoked, bar-b-queued, skewed or simply shot for the sport of it and left for the turkey vultures.

Goliath

Goliath

He was the runt of the litter of boxers and Artance Raker of Shadeville gave him as a puppy to my daddy in Crawfordville for he couldn’t keep up and he didn’t have that smashed in boxer nose or those clipped ears. But what Artance missed was lil Goliath had the best disposition and showed it by quickly winning us all. We gave him several pet names, all to which he responded, Bosepbus, Rackisnap, Bo, Bob White, Lithy. He was so highly favored he rode shotgun or else he’d nudge his way into your lap, wherever the family went. About the only flaw I ever saw, or was it, was how, when we lived in Williston, when upon the long chain by the parsonage, and the brothers playing basketball across the street would have the ball stray toward him, he wouldn’t let them get it. They’d holler until someone heard and would come out, crawl under the house and throw it back. I don’t think the parsonage committee cared for him and I recall a few times a brave spokeswoman would say we must get rid of him. Goliath didn’t like those chained up days. When we moved to Lake City, at the parsonage on the lake, growing old, he whined one day to go outside. He immediately ran out and into Alligator Lake, catching an otter. Then, at the old home on Vickers where we had moved after my father retired from the FUM, down with dropsy in his legs, Bosepbus whined to get out, going immediately to uncover a huge frog in the bushes. The next day, unable to get up,  Dr Smith  cried as he put him to sleep. We carried him up to Crawfordville where he didn’t have to be confined on a chain or small yard and made him a fine resting place under the cool azalea’s where he loved to lay. Good runts don’t often come along. Goliath was one fine giant of a runt.

Moon mallow

 The moon mallow 

We sat beneath the burning moon

As a marshmallow over the flames

Til all was dark and all remained

The aftertaste of a moon consumed.

A calm beyond

 Soft as the massacre of Suns

By Evening’s Sabres slain

Emily Dickinson

Soon as dies the sunset glory,

Stars of heaven shine out above,

telling still the ancient story,

their Creators changeless love.

Jubilate! Jubilate! Jubilate! Amen!

Telling still the ancient story,

their Creators changeless love.

Samuel Longfellow

A Calm Beyond

When blows the gulf winds strong

Taking from the land the calm

We look beyond the tumult found

To the place of familiar ground

Where the river we know ever flows

Bringing peace to the Gulf of America 

And we in calm known again pray

Heal the torn land beyond ole Suwannee.

John Clare

Deliverance

 She hadn’t a clue 

Several years ago Melane, Jordon Stokes and I took a trip up to raft the river Deliverance was filmed on. All was going well, until we came to the water drop, which summarily proceeded to toss all from the raft but Jordon and I and the guide. When this photo came from the Outdoor Center, Jordon and I to this day laugh at Melanies bliss of not having a clue the epic struggle behind her. Moments later she was underwater and I was pulling her up from the swirl. To this day she insists we let her almost drown. She was not at all thankful for her “deliverance”.