Come to me

 A fathers lament

Where two or three

 Where two or three

Suwannee River 

At Prospect Primitive

When I pause by the three

Witness trees

I think of all they have seen

Going down into the 

Suwannee 

Coming back in newness of life

Day spell

 Day Spell

I do not know what overcame me

Perhaps it was her day lilies

I told her I didn't care if she was over eighty

Her lilies made her look under thirty to me.

A fathers wish

 A Fathers wish

The runner

 The runner

I’ve pretty much my entire life been a runner. On a hill in Virginia covered in apple trees, three pre-schoolers began running down the hill toward the cabin where the apple butter was cooking in a kettle. We ran so fast we couldn’t stop and my Grandfather Richard, my mothers father  and her two brothers Kermit and Don had to lock arms to catch my cousins Donna and David before we hit the cabin.

A few years later on another hill in Monticello, the coach had a race down the hill to the guardrail and back to determine the fastest third grader. Having moved from Sopchoppy, where all we did was run freely all over town, the new kid in school outran everyone. It was the ice breaker, for from then on, the boys wanted this fast third grader to be their friend. 

Years and years later on a sweltering hot July Saturday in Jasper, that little boy yet on that Virginia hill emerged from the shade to run down Hatley Street to take second in the 10k among so many friends cheering the boy home who wouldn’t stop.

Stroke of 2024

 Remove the stroke away from me: I am consumed by the blow of thy hand.

Psalm 39:10

The waves consume

And my bend is to run

But I turn 

And face them

Just to know the punch

Of a power beyond

Comprehension

Cypress field trip

Now children, stay close

The turkey oaks are not a friendly folk

And the sweet gum are stuck up bums

I want you cypress to see

Not all trees have lovely knees.

The cypress take a field trip

Mossy Jesus

 Oh sad sad

Mossy Jesus

Even though

You are lichen

Encrusted

You still

See us

Like old

We offer

You bleach

As if it

Would 

Whiten you

Up

When it's us

Who need

The 

Bleach

So we can

See

You.

In the lurking

 In the lurking

John Clare Stokes

One I felt was following

My every paddle stroke matching

I’d pause, it would pause

Increase cadence, it too

Pulling into the cool shade

I awaited the expected fate

When the whisper came near

Friend, I’m glad you stopped to rest with me.

I was here all along.

Jump the gun

 Somehow in my mind last night was the awards show. Melanie got off early and we were at the West Library by 5:30. Immediately I knew by the few cars I was wrong. We went inside anyhow and viewed the 89 untitled entries. I stood by my prediction that Herb would win, or the wide view of a bend on the Suwannee. We got Culver’s to go and came on home til next Tuesday! 

Don’t run

 Don’t run

Mamma doe said rest here beneath the grapes

Whatever you do, don’t run, I’ll be near by

If it’s time to run, I’ll make a sound of escape

But little fawns are hard of hearing besides

How can I be sure mamma is nearby?

And what if that black thing is a gun?

What does mamma know?

No, I will run, run, run, run!

Last stands

 Last Stands  

Johnclarestokes  

 On the fields of Trenton far away,

 In the fading fall of sixty-seven,

 From the sky a ball spiraled his way,

 Lost in the vapor lamps under cool heaven.

 In the bleachers of away sat a father,

 Cheering the son on his long route,

 Can this time in young arms gather,

 the falling ball hidden by light?

  Into the end zone of home we reached,

 The clutching of pigskin in outstretched hands,

  A sound arose grander than any sermon preached,

  A father cheering his son from the stands.

  First touchdowns, victories, falling balls,

  So far from the fly route once ran, 

 But the one thing near he still recalls, 

 A fathers voice above the cheers in the stand,

  Way to go John!