Clara Jean

 As a minister's wife....she was the most valued of all...for upon a moments notice....she could fill in for the pianist...the Sunday school teacher...even the preacher on a Wednesday night....all the while cooking a Sunday dinner for the guests that always came....baking a cradle cake for the newborn....keeping  the house in order...always in order for the Parsonage Committee who dropped in unannounced....preparing lesson plans into the evening....keeping up on everyone in the diary....writing the constant cards and notes of encouragement ....in sickness...in health... for birthdays....losses....never complaining or having anything amiss to say about anyone....

Gleason Nam

 Caca Dau! Caca Dau! The crazed pilot screamed, "I'll kill you!" as the Bird Dog neared the Gleason Delta, the steel dart fleshettes piercing the fuselage. "We must do an  E and E, Charlie yelled to his Peter Pilot, praying the Jesus Nut upon the prop would hold in this escape and evasion.  Into the blue stratosphere we climbed, my grease gun pressing against my flack jacket, unable to fire one shot off to the entrenched Gleason Gooks below. This is a faithful recollection of my flight with Charlie Hollis so long ago. I don't like to talk about it.

Conga

 By day the Conga played, the drinks were mixed, ceiling fans cooled malaise, beans and rice were consumed, but come closing time, the unplugged became wired, to life all came, the malts did waltz, the coca went for broke, by next day, not a word spoke, how by the back door, Heinz and Hot Crystal saucalita were found lying on the floor, I'll never say....

Iston

 Iston 

We who once dwelt in Iston 

Think of it always so

We never see it in its

Completeness 

As those who remain see it

When we approach from

Far Onson and the tower

Is nearing

As we top the hill

We expect to still see

Those familiar scenes

Stretching down Noble

Each time passing

Beneath the iston

Something is gone

A few places replaced

But mostly empty space

Leaving us to fill in the

Blanks

We do not linger

For we who once dwelt

It's painful

To those who came after us

Simply pitiful

In need of tearing down

Moving on

And we do

Sadly amid the

Exultant

Let us labor

 2 Chron 29:3

In the first year of his reign, in the first month, he opened the doors of the house of the LORD and repaired them.

Good lesson for me. What is entering the door of my heart, through my eyes, into my thoughts? What filth do I harbor deep within the temple? 

It took sixteen days for the priests and the Levites to cleanse the temple. May the work upon my doors begin today!

In the garden of eden

 In the garden of Eden

The iron butterfly soared 

Upon the wind

Down from the red mountain

The chimes of heaven

Tinkling 

Don’t you know I’ll 

Always be true?

Only in a seventeen minute span

Plummet to earth

Cast drunken, a windless tangle

From

In-a-gadda-da-vida.

Swamp lily

 And in the first evening 

Came the six as one

Each to his own direction

By the morning of the second

To one vision they turned

A bouquet for the new day 

For by the evening of the third

The glory of the gathered 

But a memory of the first bloom

The Ceylon Swamp Lily

Crinum Zeylanicum

Tug a tore

 Tug a tore

John Clare Stokes

It's a painful thing

This pull to reclaim

The works of man

We hew the pew

From the oak

Sew the curtain

From the cotton

Then comes the briar

The branch

The worm

To reclaim its own

We held so long

The burning of the

Slow pulling rope

Stings

Taking men's things

Across the line

Winning every time.

Verbenadale Church

Williston

Days of Job

 Days of Job

John Clare Stokes

When Sabeans maul

When fire falls from heaven

When Chaldeans storm

 When great winds come

When one escapes to tell

When grief is poured

When in dust you dwell

Blessed will be the name

Of the Lord still.

Them bones

 Them bones

John Clare Stokes

Tell us a mystery 

I shall tell you one

How opened upon

The old pulpit dusty

Dry bones long dead

Began to tremble

And then assemble

When words were read

Come forth His cry

You army of bones

To Zion march on

Ye shall not die

What a mystery!

Vision

 Vision

Vision can be such a difficult thing

One can be impatiently pointing

Exasperated you cannot see

The obvious hidden in the trees

Have compassion upon we the blind

To our dimness be kind

God didn’t give me eagle vision

But big ears

For listening

Her Prince

 Her Prince has come

In vain I tried to convince her

As the Prince emerged 

From the magic stone

The end of your woes has come

You can leave that Chiefland apartment 

Why have a castle upon a Utah mountain 

if you want

Eat at the Gathering Buffet everyday

But lo

It was all for naught

She couldn’t get beyond

Kissing the frog.