I went to Yeats for surely Yeats
wrote of the summer lilies
I went to Emily for surely Emily
told of the bee among the lilies
I went to Thoreau for surely Thoreau
lived less desperate by the lilies
At last
I went to you for surely you
would abide with me in the lilies.
While scripture says forgetting those things behind, to press forward, there is much scripture that tells me to look to the past, to consider. Perhaps I’m guilty of spending too much time looking back, looking
to those who finished the course, of old paths, of golden days. It serves as hope for coming days, it helps keep me on the old, narrow path.
Masters Keys
John Clare Stokes
He came upon the keys to the garden
Tucked long away in the tin box
Tarnished and dusty with the closed
lost locks
In brittle leather pouches on soft brass
hooks hanging
Once upon the hinges the gates swung wide
the ole blue Ford tractor passing
through the unlocked gate to unturned fields
Neatly hung in the shed the
tools to abundant yields
the little boy hoeing hard at the Gardeners side
And he would send the boy with the keys
the Gardener waiting patiently
in the furrowed row
To the little one which keys he must know
his first prayers, “dear God, the Gardener
depends upon me!”
And with a sweet click and quick return
He ran with the right tool for the seed
The Gardener pleased with the
little boys deed
As wide eyed there was so much to learn
And so the keys to the garden are in his hands
the old Blue tractor waits for him to
find the key
But the gate is long gone along
with even the property
The Gardener rests in the cool of eternity
I trust the Master understands.
Tucked down the far lane
Perhaps a southern Thrace
Where summer snowmen yet remain
Melanie and I are seldom the adventurous couple
But tonight we are setting out on the double
For a brief weekend meeting with some Mississippians
Mr Ern’s people
My grandfather
The man who had two families
Of which my daddy was one of the first
Jeanne, Joe, Tony and Sue too
Jimmy and Mary of the second living
And quite a host yet remaining
Cousins and such I hardly know
But we deemed it most important
To keep Mr Ernest Stokes bus line running
Not let it fade into an Guthrie type of dream
Tell Jim we came to see him
Stand with him if only for a moment
But just as important
Even if we had to stand our years in far off Florida
For he is family
They are family
And family is worth the long haul
My father was good at engraving, stamping and writing his name or initials on his tools, for he knew their value and sticky fingers as well. I cannot recall what this nameplate originally was on, but I put it on the old syrup mill.
I want to be like Itchetucknee
Clear and cool
Everyone wanting to float
Over me
Giving them pleasure
Them paying me big bucks
Just to be with me.
Oh how sobering to see the strong men drawing blanks, the mind fading away ever so incessantly.
Saw Forest at the dealer today, confirmed to me he is living in the assisted living facility, after the wife died, the house sold. Always the consummate yard man, lamented the new buyer, a single mom, letting the grass grow.
I promised I’d come visit him in room 38, or was it 36.
I’m drawing a blank.
Forest Wright
the red bell was rung
quickly now it's late
the chariots of fire have come
and from the homes
they poured into the streets
not a child left alone
all agaze as heaven and earth met
then on into the east
the trail of fire glowed
and from the greatest to the least
the glory on all bestowed.
