In passing

 In passing

In Itchetucknee 

I tried in vain to explain the attempt to take it all in, and they just said, it would still be there tomorrow. But I was here now and today it must all be taken in. So I returned tomorrow and sure enough, it was gone.

Go low

 Go low My Suwannee

I do not blame thee

Times I too grow weary

Of carrying the current

And just desire to dry up

Into a trickling stream

Where only water bugs 

And tadpoles can swim

Grounding the kickers and

The paddlers always loudly

Intruding over you

Go ahead Suwannee

Lower yourself if you need

Make the vapid  conform to your speed.

Conjuring love

 Conjuring love

In the stillness of the early 

mornings first light

Before the wind begins

it’s swirling of the rays

Over the old Columbus

incantations are prayed

the rain waters are so smooth

it’s not long the Homewood 

throng comes for a spell

today with us do you come

to dwell?

the scene is so inviting

Soon, pappa Ern, soon.

For as such

 For of Such

John Clare 

On the wood worn 

the children whirled on

whirling to the hymns of old 

spinning graces golden

we gathered the dust

laid it upon the altar

precious glowing pure

offerings worth much.

Crawl space

Crawl space

Johnclarestokes 

Seems lately many are down in the crawl space

Down low creeping lest the head hits a beam

In search of the waters continued leaking

Down low the pipes trying to trace

Above the ones your presence enjoying

The love to you they have given

But you’re in the cool sand crawling 

while above for the water they’re calling

Seems it’s in the dark of the crawl space

Where into the low we are so often going

that we at last find the quench for the thirst

a thirst not found in the mending of pipes. 

Hello walls

 Walls talk

john clare stokes 

They often ask in cliche tones if only walls could talk.

And I tell them again, they do, you just weren’t taught their language

The manner in which they speak,

Continually telling those who know, with every creak in every shadow; telling you, 

Take the time, stand ever so still, perhaps you’ll discern;

Listen, from the cool sand below the porch, the sound of playing, the lift of laughter:

The peeling paint above revealing the layers of many cheerful coming over greetings,

The haint blue porch ceiling, the spooks confusing,

not wanting to be sent into the water,

off the silver now brown tin the rain pattering in unison

to the old dog fennel hounds howling to the familiar tune.

In the crisp fall the old screen door spring snapping open and shut, 

The voice to the ones in the field loudly calling them in

Some summer sultry days the conversations swell louder than the myriad cicadas dictating the words,

Rising to abruptly fall in silence as the invisible 

conductor lowers the sycamore wand. 

In winter you can hear the burring of crackling words in the chattering chill

Swear from the cracked chimney a fire was yet glowing 

Sending sweet aromas of curing one could cut and taste,

the front room always kept warm for the ones

outside wandering afar

Wondering if the inner wars they were battling would

ever come to terms of restful peace

The smooth glass door knob turning in the evening gloam

Those huddled about the hearth determined they recognized the steps of one long ago journeying 

But it wasn’t the traveller returning after all

It was but the talking of the walls 

Yes, the echoes off the walls telling it all.

Right of light

 Right of light 

John Clare Stokes

Watching over the cucumbers

climbing up the hog wire

A familiar figure I think I see

in the back corner of the garden

Oh, that’s just the scarecrow!

I just nod and agree,

You can’t convince many

of mystery.

My father often told

He would visit him

In his garden

I believed him.

Calling all

 Revival time at Round Top

John Clare Stokes

Calling all mules

Halt ye fools!

Calling all mares 

Cast your cares!

Calling all donkeys 

Why kick ye!

Calling all cows

Tarry but awhile!

Calling all goats

Halt your boast!

Calling all sheep

His word keep!

Calling all men

Revive Round Top again!

Little artist

 You can spot the artists early on

The teacher tells them

Not so much glitter

And they are deafly pouring

Ignoring 

For the work calls for globs

Of stars 

The teacher scolds 

Within the lines stay

And the little artist strays

For the work did not call

For lines just in there

But everywhere

And the teacher reminds

It's a primary

And we must not make

Our heaven secondary

But the little artist

Sees the Angels upon

The celestial beams 

Descending

And certainly knows

The colors teachers

Not seeing.

High dive

 High Dive

I did not mean 

To applaud your

Fall

The backflip

Down

Was wonderful

I gave it a ten

Shows you

What men

Know of diving

And falling

Of knowing 

When the pools

 half empty

Or totally.

Heat of rhyme

 Heat of rhyme

It's not wise

To take up

Poetry in the

Heat of rhyme

By line if you

Haven't 

Found sonnet

You may as

Well prose up

And die.

Scream

 Scream

Awesomeness

Even when

You piss

Be a star

Player

Even on a

Team of 

Suns

Be full-speed

And you

May just win

This lucrative 

Position

Just send us

Your best

Self-centered 

Sales pitch

In one paragraph 

Of course

With that

Unforgettable 

Resume

Can I go pee now?