Johnclarestokes
It was in the fall of fifty one
When first in the semi- circle she heard his Greek
Innocent one from the hills she had come
A preacher man to find
He from the Navy
a bride to seek.
Had she but known the
Language sailors speak
Laced with tales not often found in testaments
She thought of the tears she would never weep.
Beware the sailors who sit and speak in Greek.
My gold crowned lady of crimson beauty
I defend thee from the visage of me
For who best to know the enemy within
Than he who knows where treachery begins?
My crimson crowned warrior of renown
Who defends this the honor of my golden crown
Do you not know within that for which you fall
Is but a heart of common straw?
Johnclarestokes
Quietly as the breathing tide drew from shore
Til but a faint trickle then a still pool
Into the distance mists another drew
The muted life with the mists in a swirl
Cold grew the once warm life on earth
Warmer grew the rising glow beyond
Til into eternal arms time was flung
To envelope the years of tearful mirth
Into the mists we vainly peered
Where goes our love held so dear?
How travels this spirit into the drear?
What mists can dry such tears?
Then in a gentle lifting of the mist
The mystery of the word in flesh
By faith grace the spirit does caress
In joy our downtrodden spirits lift.
We fear not the gathering gloom
It’s given that our years dwell in dim
Preparing us for the eternal realm
Our darkness into the light consume.
Johnclarestokes
There is this river of which the man dreams
That someday he will paddle in the entirety
Knowing every bend of her native beauty
Just two in the canoe of long journey
The Old Town is outfitted and trimmed
Bending branch wood paddles for the two
Lean to tent and supplies generously secured
Nothing spared for the journey of the two
But this river of which he dreams doesn’t exist
The canoe but a dry stored upside down hull
Paddles dry rot from many years out of water
But constant in his dream the thought persists.
It’s what every old waterman longs for
That journey with the elusive love he lost
To return to the rivers source at any cost
There to dwell upon her shore for ever more.
Wendell Berry
Even in a country you know by heart
it’s hard to go the same way twice.
The life of the going changes.
The chances change and make a new way.
Any tree or stone or bird
can be the bud of a new direction. The
natural correction is to make intent
of accident. To get back before dark
is the art of going.
Tooley Farm
Madison
While down by the stream
I picked up five smooth stones
Four for me and one for you.
On race day I tried not to take over, but came unglued when no one thought to order pins for the numbers. A frantic run to an open store found only straight pens not safety pins.
I later felt bed for such harsh words to Tom and Kathy.
The next year I ordered so many pins that even today I have a box full just in case.
Johnclarestokes
For they have been ordered
These be your bounds
Are we without orders found
Mightier than the ocean?
We had given up on the eagle flying from the snag by the waters edge, the shadows of days end enveloping him. We retreated ever so slowly perchance he knew we waited, toying with us, when came the gulls toward the rising moon. He got the moon in focus, I got the birds in focus. We were both pleased. The eagle could sit there all evening for all we cared.
In the morning mystic
Came one most majestic
The mists declaring
The presence of blue heron
