John Clare Stokes
Ground itch
Is both a symptom
And condition
Our flesh reacts
To grass
We are allergic to
Grass
And yet we are
Drawn to it
The world of grass
We do not want
To leave
As grass
It is our being
It takes a supernatural
Burn of the grass
To sooth the itch
To direct our love
Beyond the lawn
That day in the bow
You paddled through
The low
Lying limbs stirring
The paper wasps
To swarm all around
Him as he passed
In the stern
I was watching him
Fighting
Swatting
Diving in
I was inwardly
Laughing
At your unknown
Plot of his misery
Today
I had compassion
On a paper wasp
Who was drowning
In the pool
Certain he would
Show gratitude
For my rescuing him
He stung me
In my misery
Without mercy
The grassy recipients
Gathered round the
Precious liquid:
Drink this,
In remembrance
Of He who
Freely gives
The rain
To sustain
A wind blown Magnolia petal filled with the recent rain.
Now remember what we told you, if he gets fresh, offer him a glass of Iced Roundup....
JohnClare Stokes
I know that dwelling beneath
The ground, are the thriving,
Bustling silent towns,
The grist mill grinding up
The corn, the calves upon
The hill being born,
Brick makers firing up
The kilns, the black smiths
Pounding on the steel
The one law in the town
To keep silent
For Indians are seeking
The hidden silver
DeSoto's are ever digging
For the hidden gold
Keep the secret
Of your borders
Worship quietly you
Saturday Adventist
Be as the Methodists
Stoic and silently staid
Not giving away
The place where the
Seminole would wade
To raid the offering made
To silence the shaped note
Song
From lips of those
Told o'er and o'er
Keep silent
Keep still
Until they pass beyond
The ever grinding mill.
John Clare Stokes
What do you think?
I think I see Earnest
And there's Ethel Marie
Over in the shade
I hear that snuff hitting
The Folger’s coffee can
The snap of field acre peas
Hitting the galvanized pail
Outhouse aromas wafting past
Sure hope that east breeze
Don't shift our
Homewood Lazing
Bringing in them
Pea Ridge yellow flies
My how the times slide by
We gathered round the magic canvas
If it would please reveal something to us
If inspiration was in our future
Or more misery void of color
It took an entire bottle of wine
But in the magic canvas own time
This image emerged with profound words
But before we could write it down
Gesso was applied and the
Inspiration never found.
And in the latter days
The days after fossil fuel
Electric too
The days of malaise
The pedal prophets came
Exclaiming, lube your chains
But we of the beastly mark
Our bikes could not start
for our lube was of
Petroleum product.
It was the most unorthodox method
My only lure was Suwannee inside
I cast upon the land the liquid
Oh how I like my river fried.
Johnclarestokes
Last evening an angel came
Unlocked the chains
Opened the cell windows
The heavy doors
With light blinding streaming in
Quickly now!come! The angel said
Looking about
All the clinging chains clamored,
Stay! Stay!
We are your friends!
Do not abandon us here!
I almost said, I'll stay
When the angel told me
Weep not for the chains
Tomorrow comes another
Shackled to comfort them
Forgetting they ever
Held you tight.
In my deepest dreams above me
One comes floating gently
Wake, wake the day awaits
Reaching, the tiny hand I take
Rising to greet the happy day
We float higher along our way.
Over Once Upon A Time
Elephant herds roamed
The heavens
But they were heavy
And fell
