Things we don’t say

 In a Moultrie divorce

john clare stokes

Those who were closest

Said they never saw it coming

But we the discerning

We saw it long ago knowing

He spent more and more 

Time with his tree stand

(May as well been another woman)

And she joined that rock band

(May as well been another man)

And we ate around them Thanksgivings and never spoke

Of things we discerned

Those closest going on passing the 

Cranberry and some gravy

She with those chord progressions tacked to the refrigerator

Right over the deer he killed.

The twelve

 The twelve

John Clare Stokes 

What could we twelve do 

when not turning the world upside down 

We could split up into two teams of five

Play a round of basketball 

With old John and Luke as subs

We could take eleven of us

And form a football squad

With John as the water boy 

not sure if anyone would dare 

Play us

With nine we could have a baseball team

With a designated runner, batter and several

Pitchers 

I think we could beat the Philistine Giants

We could take James and Johns nets

and have two volleyball teams

We could have a great cross country team

Led by Peter and John 

Used to running to empty tombs

boy we would shake even the dust on our feet 

The only game we couldn’t play

Would be rugby

Where we’d need fifteen 

Or if we were Aussies, we’d need eighteen

For football

But that about covers it 

And golf 

Did I mention the great golf separating us?

Never mind.

Homespun

 Come ye weary, wayward ones

For you the home ones yearn

The one prays in the blue homespun 

For to the kingdom of home come.

The 1905 Charles Turlington Pioneer Cabin at the Mayo Veterans Park with the homespun dress take off from the Bob Jones painting with the same title.

Home come

 Come ye weary, wayward ones

For you the home ones yearn

The one prays in the blue homespun 

For to the kingdom of home come.

I made a fire

 Papa made a fire today NaNa

Made it in your memory

Used your orange barrow small

To gather up the pine straw

There was no dancing round the kettle

And as the ashes began to

Settle

Pappa just let them fall at will

Pulled closer and tried to shake this Autumn chill.

Wet streams

 Wet Streams

In this dream

I was paddling

Up a stream

It seemed

So real.

Before the fall

Before the fall

We envision ourselves forever with the young

The race we can still line up and run

And maybe some are given feet ever strong

Others, we are just grateful to limp home. 

Little Shoals

Suwannee

A crossland

 A cross land

Johnclarestokes

Once we were a cross land

All up and down the highways and byways 

the crosses by churches, in fields, at

intersections, upon hills, in valleys stood

then gradually something changed

the crosses were no longer maintained 

they began to fade, to rot, to fall

to lay in abandon 

until all throughout our land

We have become nothing but a 

cross land.

Sunday sonnets

 Sunday Sonnets 

Do you recall in the First November 

When recovering I talked you into hiking

Embarking upon the ferry to Cumberland 

Still so weak from the long nights plight.

Sunday’s as these I sit beneath the pine trees

Recalling those first slow steps after the fall

Breathless lying on the blanket by the sea

Giving thanks for His taking us through it all.

When again in fall Cumberland Islands calling

Be patient with dreams beyond our span 

And pray we never tire of the gentle drawing

Just to lay again where our dreams began.

Sunday sonnets do not often now come

Sunday sonnets for lovers who so fleet did run.

And so rest I

 And so I rest within 

the glory

And let the light

tell it's story

In the dark

of the cold wilt

To despair the

tendrils tilt

Still, still we dwelt

For the light felt

The opening of the glory

The entering of rest.

Martins mail

 Martins mail

Martins Taylor of route seven

When was the last time

You checked your mail?

That moon you ordered

Arrived at last

The song you needed

Came 

The paperboy even

Delivered the good news

For a change

Martins Taylor

Check your mailbox

Honor due

 Honor due

Oh estranged one

my mother loved her

more than her own

daughter

and you have the

audacity

to not honor her

by being as one dead?

You step upon the

Grave of your

grandmother

With every passing

Day you let this

Go on

Come home