Last evening late in a dream
the most fantastic butterflies
I’d ever seen
myriads of all yellow and lavender
hues alighting upon the purple
bushes
I had trouble getting a good frame
then she shyly came
Said is it ok for me to be here with
you in this purple world?
I assured her it is fine
We are given into marriage and such
only in our former world
and with that smile I knew so long ago
she stayed beside me
with the purple butterflies
Johnclarestokes
The field grass tips dripped sweet dew
Sparkling lush as it fell
Randomly about the feet
of the Watcher entering through
The gate seldom used
In the old days long forgotten
The Watcher came frequently
The pathway like cattle lines
With shade from the Oak tree
Who made the prayer was unknown
Why now after so many years
So hardened had we grown
Cracked dry the etch from tears
And from the houses cries arose
The Watcher silently stood in shadow
A bowed head with eyes closed
As diamonds dropped below
It was not considered miraculous
Not even registering a like
It was in reality quite awful
This Watcher in the night
For only God could have sent
Such a one to true the scales
To make the hardened repent
To quiet the poor souls wails
Afternoon showers came
The sun returned with the humid heat
But things were not the same
And what of these diamonds under our feet? https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1CFCNjrAwu/?mibextid=wwXIfr
Please please make Olustee lovely
Please No Southern flag to offend
Here is the way we want history written
No guns please they are offensive
Lovely ladies fine looking pensive
Make the colors pastel and dreamy
Better yet a soft glow foggy
It will better fit our inclusive theme
After all, everyone knows who won.
In the old days of Olustee Festival, I did the cover of the program and even the city logo complete with a southern flag. In subsequent years, with Dufy and others taking over the covers, the theme became more and more watered down. This was written as a outcry to practically denying there was even a battle over in Olustee, not pretty.
You get to the point
Mostly around the first of February
That you say
To Macclenny with those
Who like upon an eclipse
They don’t get it
Wonder why you’re not of the
Same version
On the same page
And you just mount your bike
And set out
In your own direction
Johnclarestokes
And on the third day, of the second week,
God came walking
in the cool of the evening
And God said, I want me a mess of greens
And God said to the man, where is that
woman I gave thee?
And the man said, She’s got some cornbread
baking directly.
And God was pleased with the man and the woman.
Oh course, this was before they went fruit
picking.
John Clare Stokes
In the old hoop days there was
nothing worse than being so
near victory when the opposing
team would play the clock out,
keeping you from the ball.
The dreaded four corners
This was before the twenty-four
second clock.
And so you have chosen to
play the clock out on us.
What?
Til we die and are gone?
What then?
You go on to the next opponent
What a winning life you
are in.
Oh the check ins we make... finding us dead to square in triangles... bed ridden with our mistakes...speechless as the wooden words dangle....
in that moment, the white heron glanced upward, as if looking directly at his maker, then it was back to looking forever down into the water for a catch. Perhaps he was saying grace.
John Clare
There is a bus line
In our minds
A kindly old man
Who loves his grands
Is calling us aboard
We are heading toward
The ole stucco home
Up the holler
Monnie is there
All her brothers
The two sons
The only daughter Clara
Her best friend Evelyn
Even the Looney preachers son
Everyone down to
Alfred up from the mine all black
The old Crumpler to Northfork
Taking us back
To end of line
