Inane

IN•ANE

Why do I find it

inane to think

from stars we

came?

Why do I find it

hard to explain

from dust we

came?

Why do I find such

pain the grain

of a universe 

in my shoe?

I am Sandhill

 I am Sandhill

John Clare Stokes

I am not Ibis

I shall not dwell below

I shall rise

I shall circle

I shall join 

For I am Sandhill

I am not Ibis

I identify with sky

With migration

With the call northward 

I am Sandhill

I am of the called

I am not Ibis

Song of a man

 Song of a Man Who has Come Through

Not I, not I, but the wind that blows through me!

A fine wind is blowing the new direction of Time.

If only I let it bear me, carry me, if only it carry me!

If only I am sensitive, subtle, oh, delicate, a winged gift!

If only, most lovely of all, I yield myself and am borrowed

By the fine, fine wind that takes its course through

the chaos

of the world

Like a fine, exquisite chisel, a wedge-blade inserted;

If only I am keen and hard like the sheer tip of a wedge

Driven by invisible blows,

The rock will split, we shall come at the wonder,

we shall find the

Hesperides.

Oh, for the wonder that bubbles into my soul,

I would be a good fountain, a good well-head,

Would blur no whisper, spoil no expression.

What is the knocking?

What is the knocking at the door in the night?

It is somebody wants to do us harm.

No, no, it is the three strange angels.

Admit them, admit them.

DH Lawrence 

One goes through

John Clare Stokes

LOL

 There were places

the route would take

There were places

a home I could make

There were places

Such as little Orange Lake

There are routes

Someday

I will retrace.

Mossy Mary

 She liked to have her head in moss

At night she fitfully tossed

We thought it was her mares

Find out it was chiggers in her hair.

Within

 What voice was it within the wind

that told you now is the time to begin?

Were they whispers ever so near

or shouts that rang within your ears?

And as you circled and stalled,

were you counting the number called,

looking upon me longing below,

waiting for me with you to go?

Water vows

 Water Vows

john clare 

Today the water heater rusted out

Flowing through the nice pink 

rooms with abandon piped up

all these twenty-six years 

the blame falling squarely on

the groom for don't you recall

when you made your vows

that you promised for better

or worse not to let the hot water

loose?

The kiss

 The kiss

There are things we frame

Things we remember 

Things we held onto

Some long gone 

Never to again know

Others with the hope

Of coming again 

Preserved behind glass

Held fast

Bottle tree

 Bottle Tree

Daddy was a master at gardening

Why he even grew bottle trees

Just the correct amount of

Fertilizing 

A living, radiant wonder people

Would come from far to see

Can I but have a sprig of Nehi

Or a cutting of wild turkey?

And they would plant and vainly try

To grow their own bottle tree.

A Suwannee Sandland

 A Suwannee Sandland

Full moon rise at the LD Bend 

We need to be more aware of where we are headed and from whence we came. An appreciation of the canoe and acquisition of the necessary skills to utilize it as a way to journey back to what’s left of the natural world is a great way to begin this voyage of discovery.

Bill Mason

A boys joy

 Blue Heron study #2

Expectation

John Clare Stokes

It’s the little boy yet dwelling

Wanting so badly to tell anyone

come and see what he has done

Proud in the creating of a painting

though crude and elementary 

a masterpiece to the little boy

and to hear that word of praise

the smile of satisfaction 

sends the little boy down to 

the store for more oils and canvas.

Somebody’s knocking

Somebody's knockin'

By john clare

Ole Joe don't come looking for me

I'm not ready to lie peacefully

Waunita's artistry applied to me

Preacher don't come calling me

I'm not ready to walk that aisle

I got time to burn and many a mile

Jesus why you knocking on my door?

I'll lay quiet and pretend I'm not home

Maybe ole Joe, Waunita, Preacher and Jesus will leave me alone!

Waunita! 

Waunita!

Lovely Waunita

Why do you, ole Joe, Preacher

and Jesus want me?