Who hath ascended up into heaven, or descended? who hath gathered the wind in his fists? who hath bound the waters in a garment? who hath established all the ends of the earth?
what is his name, and what is his son’s name, if thou canst tell?
Prov 30:4
It was upon this day two years hence
That upon the wind a song was sung
Shall today the same song commence?
To tell alas the Sandhills have come?
Johnclarestokes
Sandhills over Alligator from afar
john clare stokes
It was your typical mid November North Florida kind of Friday,
The local team was in the first round of the playoffs,
A liberating sort of autumn day,
Where according to the rules, the reserved seats must be open to general admission
allowing the Five Pointers to sit among the Marion Placers,
Annoying them with their cowbells and raucous cheer
while down by Lowes the same reserved seat er's were posing for the ribbon cutting
The opening of the final leg of the loop around the city
A thirty-three year affair just to go around town.
It was on this road named for her daddy on this bridge over the East-West CSX she stood
looking East toward the' we kill 'Animal Shelter's continual howling.
Before this section through the chain of lakes to Lona, she could avoid the noise by going around Lake Jeffery,
And this troubled her beyond convention,
Akin to the slaughter of the elephants,
Or the caged creatures at Swampy Rusty Acres,
Tenacious to the point even her cousin next door distanced her.
In the west near Columbia Grain from this height she could see the approaching light
Hear the whistling and the howling, even the ribbon falling.
She saw Bascomb and Gwendolyn and a great parade aprroaching in their Electra-Matics, fine machines for inaugural crossings.
By the time the CSX slowed in the Baldwin Freight Yards, she was reported missing, as were the myriad animals awaiting the chair.
Her little Electra parked near the apex.
Not a trace.
They placed a marker near where Kimberly Leach rests, the howls of Bundy silenced,
In sight of the tracks, in hearing distance where once the howling came, east of the bridge the reserved named in honor of her.
To the memory of a friend
Laura Ruth Norris
John Clare Stokes
You do not retire from artistry
I never understood those in ministry
the old preacher should proclaim
until his call to glory on chariots came
There stood Dottie and Del
Exuberant and inspired as color swirled
Excited as a school boy and girl
Oh true artists never lose the awe
We gather near lest upon us inspiration falls.
John Clare Stokes
Through the gauntlet of black bear and watery mire
I paddled the tipsy skiff warily
Upon every root a beady eyed moccasin
With every strike a snapping turtle grinning
On the bow, the bellicose bull gator scowls
On the stern, the who!who! dares of the barred owl
Off the starboard, piney rooters tusks shine
To the port, pileated’s fell the beetle full pines
Tis’not a place for the faint in heart
The cypress in chorus with Luna whispers depart, depart!
There’s mystra aflow below the Tupelo tree
The place where de Soto’s yet seek
The gold beyond the gauntlet of Suwannee.
John Clare Stokes
It's as the merry-go-round
Once we spun fast as we could
To see if it would cast off
Those hanging on for
Dear life
Little did we know
We were playing
Real life
I set you
In this garden
I chose the time
When the blooming
Ends not you
Too soon to wither
On the vine
I water'd and protected
Too sooner than
Expected
Sinister winter
Fallacious fall
Voracious
You take it all!
In ages to come
That you on a
Certain
Tuesday were
the
Last Glory?
I think it's all written
And recalled
I do not think one
Glory dies
That it was not
A thing lovingly noted
Right up there with
On a certain Tuesday
The darkness was
Separated from
The light.
Way before it was
The fad
I was bad
I picked that cotton
When it was green
I took it home
And set it out in
My field
And I was waitin' for
Everyone to show up
And admire my one
Plant stolen
But they never did
And beside I want a
Refund cause that
One plant died no
Matter how hard I
Tried to keep it alive
I ain't never gonna
Steal cotton again
O bama!
Journey
John Clare Stokes
Through the cat flap
I shall escape
take the Nikon with the
GoPro
To journey along the
River bank
Cross the stream
Find the old path
Through palmetto
To find the place
Where once I traced
The shape of water
Journey
John Clare Stokes
At the stroke of dawn
Through the cat flap
I shall escape
take the Nikon with the
GoPro
To journey along the
River bank
Cross the stream
Find the old path
Through palmetto
To find the place
Where once I tracked
The scent of Suwannee
