Song of the Swallowtail

 Sonata in soar major

The Swallowtail song

Of which I have sung

Lifting spirits languishing 

Praise the returning 

 To the returning Swallowtail Kites

Moon spell

 When beneath a moon spell

All is far from a linear path

Alas with mirth it doesn’t last

it’s to the narrow straights to dwell.

Midway

 Midway

Johnclarestokes 

This past Palm Sunday 

There we  dwelt in pew cushioned

Diffused stained glass wonder

where even the lost felt comfort

It seemed so foreign to the Midway

in the stern austerity of the sabbath days

You were either all the way or far 

out of the narrow way

no almost persuaded

no sermon read to tickle the ears

there wasn’t time for vacillation

with yellow fever, crops not yielding

cottonmouths lurking, colic gaunting

eternity was an ever present specter

right there in the splintered pew

sitting right beside you 

You made peace with early on. 

Midway Baptist  

Union County,Florida

Wet Nikon

 I got a fancy Nikon who thinks it can swim

I take it down to let its lens get wet

In the shallows it cries , save me film!

In jumps ole F3 to rescue him!

Dead end

 Do roads really end? Some I am glad for their end, others I wish they would go on and on.

Roads end, rivers begin

Santa Fe, High Springs

Writing tree

 The writing tree by the Suwannee

This place I traced

And knew words were being written

For the branch was using tannic water

dipping and sending

to those downstream reading

Not home

 Not home

We went from tree to tree

Knocking

Searching for Him

Surely He would be in

Sadly nothing but the

Hollow ringing

Echoing deeply in

We will keep

Searching

Little Slayer

 Friday Anthology

John Clare Stokes

it was the yard that took it hard

the sweet gum scars were healing

slash pines rosin no longer oozing

jagged axe marks marking the spot 

about two feet above the ground

the lilies were again daring to come around

wiser this year from the beating

they took from the yellow shovel

the swing sighed from the stillness

wishing wistfully for some silliness

sky was trying to paint last years blue

it just couldn't seem to get the proper hue

sand pile struck out from the box

spread all about the one acre lot

once scattered never to return

for the castle roads and rivers yearned

even the caterpillars missed the little slayer

upon the asphalt being pillared

yards deserve better than this

yards little lads should never have to miss.

Palm Sunday

 Palm Sunday

Largely lost upon us

I hesitate to say I miss the pageantry

For some would say

It’s ritual and frivolity

Come and sit

 March Art

John Clare Stokes

Wasn't it good

To again see the 

first Lily to bloom

Soon the ones

You grew will

 Come too and

I shall show you

What we look

Forward to now

How good it is

Just to sit 

In March to

Welcome back

The Lily and

The hummers

Before the sweat

of summer 

While the greens

Are bright

The Blues in

Such contrast

Against

So many things

I know not their

Names come

And we just sit

And watch.

Old Homewood

Watercolor

Fathers Home place

Come ye

 Come ye staid daughters of Kentucky, its time around the blue to rally, we have vanquished the undefeated, now we face the Cardinal hated, led by the pitiful little Ricky, treating our fair ladies terribly, from Paducah to Paris to Pikeville come, heed the clarion call of old Caewood, Cals freshmen are maturing, come ye sons of Kentucky late, Wolverines we want in the final eight.

Onward

 Onward Christian artists

Hanging is your chore 

With the frame of Jesus

Sitting on the floor

Christ the class project

For the would be Gogh’s

Forward, little to the left

See the painting tilt

Onward Christian artists

Find a stronger nail

With the broken Jesus

How the artists failed