I waited for my familiar friend
For today I said, to you I shall be kind
So good my friend behind a cloud hid
In order that I’d not go blind.
For today I said, to you I shall be kind
So good my friend behind a cloud hid
In order that I’d not go blind.
John Clare Stokes
Wheresoever he roamed
He was never alone
Pausing often upon trails
And He would tell
Of what lay beyond
And from what we'd come
Wanting to run on
Or turn back winsome
He'd whisper gently
Abide right here with me.
Trail along Suwannee
With two in tree
Someday you will
Mysteriously cheer for Kentucky
And love the color
Royal blue
Extremely
They will try and sway your mind
Not recalling the far gone time
The love was bestowed to you
From ole papa passed
Watching proudly from
The heavenly bluegrass.
johnclarestokes
Walking low we
grow accustomed
To the cadence
Of the downcast
Seeing not
The Aufzug
The pulling up
For but a moment
Revealing the stairway
Made upon the clouds
Then the curtain lowers
And we walk on
Low below the
Stairway made.
John Clare Stokes
Between every pull upon the ropes
Nearer would we hover over
Gazing below to the other
side of a life so full with hope
From the apex of lift we’d return
Below the little ones so joyful
A mother with her little boys
And between the swings we’d yearn.
Both of us were bounding merrily up the trail, when our eyes met, precisely about the time we both froze. She thought me an odd one eyed creature as I kept the camera to my face. I won the day eventually as she, with a stamp of hoof, took to the swamp instead of passing nearer to me. I have that affect upon them.
by John Clare
There is a black we were told that was blacker
than all the coal that came from the company mine
A black always black for all of time
Worse than the black lungs of miners hacking
Some escaped from those Crumpler black hills
Beyond the black snow covering the death
To anywhere from the black Sabbath killing
Empty pews with few black shrouded widows bereft.
The Pocahontas mine is now but a memory
Company script not worth a wheat penny
Yet still they speak fondly of this entrance to hell
Blacker than black where once the devil did dwell.
Bouquet boy heard a certain song
From Patience to perseverance
A life of stroke, shutter and sonnet.
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.