word became cherished

 And the Word became cherished

And was read among us.

Even dwelt inside some of us

And we beheld it wondrously 

As e’en from the Father o’er us. 

Falling Creek Chapel

Flames of Tabor

 The flames of Tabor

Beneath a freezing Luna moth moon

The Arsonist was darkly drawn

Drawn yearning anything burning 

The old left side wooden door opening 

Strewn on worn hand hewn planks

Hymn pages beneath empty pews

Blest be he ties and binds the kindling

For flames of darkness thanking

In Tabor today no Holy flame dwells

Just a deep, deep dried up well

Beneath the Live Oaks on Sundays gathering

The Methodist mice and moth lost Congregation.

Anniversary

 Anniversary

Johnclarestokes 

Was this the day

that Friday the fifth

In the Santa Fe you did wade

Vows made

That day shade

Deadly

We just couldn't see it

Murky at the time

The spell of cool water

Beneath our bare feet

Keeping such future 

Thoughts at bay

Upon that place

The trees continue 

To fall

Those rocks thought 

So hard

Were but clay

Breaking easily

It's not a spot to say vows

Above in the broken limbs

The wind howls

The Owls they flee

Upstream possibly

It goes underground

Should of known it then.

It was on a Friday the 5th in 2010 we stood in the Santa Fe, the same spot the little baby boy took his first boat ride. It too, was eventful, for the sheer pin on the kicker broke. Downstream and too swift to paddle back, I pulled mamma and baby back with the bowline.

The earth crieth

 The earth crieth 

It soaks in the rain

With the blood

That pooled where

Brothers fought

It's what the 

Thorns and briars

Need to thrive

The bitter gall

Of a long ago fall

That seems so

Quaint

By today's

Gore 

How serpents 

Could entice

And how fruit

Would suffice

Howling in our

Skins

Still the same

Redeemer 

Who walked then

In the evening

Would send the

Rain

To cleanse the

Blood from your

Stone

Quiet your howling

In the garden

You roam.

Ankle white

Ankle White 

Johnclarestokes 

The white acre peas shelled....  The love apple vines staked....She finished her canning....Hung the pan and set out...and what of this quiet lady...what were her dreams....what were the heart aches...what called beyond the garden gate...

If ever she had dreams..she never let it be known.. the golden thread in the dress gleamed...long after she had gone...with the slow pull trembling...the ornate thimble upon her thumb...little practical  pleasures allowed….the lowering of the hem...the humming of the hymn…the virgin white flesh never showing....white ankles out there somewhere sunning.

Moon bit

 Moon bit

John Clare Stokes

Again I'm sitting out beneath the new sliver

Of a moon sinking

I'm not too all knowing 

So it's not too certain if you passed

Across my thoughts

Some of you did

Your impression is as acid bitten

Upon the intaglio zinc plate

Others erased number two pencil 

Marks faint but there

As the month ensues 

The moon grows larger and later

In its setting

I'll be forgetting

The moment you flashed before

My mind

And you

You shall be so bright I will wear

Sunglasses by night.

Preachers lounger

 The vacant lounger

John Clare Stokes

It was Preachers favorite lounger

Long May Saturday's in Sopchoppy shade

He sat and pondered the sabbath sermon

Ants working in the sand providing the text

Long Mays since the dry rot took its toll

In March 2011 pappa went to the shades of light

The empty lounger to dark dauber homes

But toward the end of one May

When thoughts of Preacher held sway

We re-webbed the old lounger

Knocked away the dirt dauber nests

And fed them to the ants

That had come

From ole far away Sopchoppy.

Then one day in a recent May

We searched for Preachers lounger

But the metal men had carried it away

We ordered another and set it up

In the new grass above the fire ants

Not the gentle kind that used to come

from far away Sopchoppy.

We miss Preachers lounger.

We miss Preacher.

Graven image

 Graven Image

JohnClare Stokes 

We are told early on

In the second command

Make no graven image

But we long

For worship grand

And go about graving

Images to our liking

Worshipping them

Praying deliver us

Praying prosper us

Praying heal us

But they do not hear

They do not answer

They do not care

Yet there is hope

Perhaps they will

So by morning

We fill

The sacred oil

Light the flame

And bow again

Thinking

If I'm sincere

If I persist

If I believe 

Then it is so.

Final notice

 Final Notice

JohnClare Stokes

Good ole Monday

Good day for delivering

final notices

We shall no longer be

Bothering you

We shall now be

Turning you over

and over

to 

Collection

Who will call you

cut you

Stab you

Kick you

plod you

goad you

roast you

baste you

Shoot you

Bleed you

stuff you

hang you

Til you pay

Have a good 

Monday

Shadow guard

 Shadow Guard

JohnClare Stokes

Told my shadow

I am going swimming

If I do not surface

You are on your own

After about two minutes

He began worrying

Coaxing me to surface

After three minutes

He was in a panic

But all he could do

Was watch as I stayed

Beneath

Refusing to join me

Choosing rather the

Coming evening 

Night to take him.

Mystery

 We hear of mysterious things, how come the gloam, the Magnolia take wing, and memory flies to long gone home.

Rains on the unjust

 But it rained

There are those

In love with woes

No matter the grace

Find it a miserable place.