To the bend

 To the bend

Johnclarestokes 

Old Town Chipewan trimmed

Paddles poised in remember 

For tonight from shiver to timber

We stroke upstream to forgetting 

From Cone pylons to Limp bend mystery

Our journey quietly wends

Suwannee time suspends

Sand bars all open

Full moon all enveloping 

Tupelo tonic mixes with the tannic

A doe dips low for a taste

Barred owls who do you think

Pileated's pine bark rain falls

Coyotes call on the prowl

Wet wood hisses and growls

Soon by firefly light we sleep

To mares of critters creeping 

By dawns dew prints revealing

Pungent fresh the nocturnal fumes

Stoke the embers to live

Coax it to warmth give 

All is misty in the limp bend

By first light the Suwannee

Amnesia begins.

The poem of the ocean

 Read to me again

John Clare Stokes

What possible good was I

The aged poet called to her side

One of her end of days requests

Made no doubt in mad duress

What would she reveal

Would she tell of love in secrecy

Of trips to the beach by darkness

When all the world was sleeping

The setting moon, the rising sun

It knew us

A few starfish too

But that was about all

Holding the frail, withered hand

Warmth as of old still in the veins

The writing once so eloquent 

The touch so tender

Parting the old, old friend

To my ear she began whispering

The dying words of a lover

Read to me again

Our poem of the ocean.

Post Barry

 Three days in the post Barry days

Watching the hummingbirds 

In their final days among us

Soon to journey far

To their winter home

And what of us left behind 

Will we heed our inner call

To seek our eternal home?

Soar

 Soaring

john clare

Mere metal things

multiple coatings of

rustoleum yet

rust keeps coming

determined to 

keep the soaring

to a minimum

Mere metal swings

meant for soaring

still yet

no flyers coming

determined to

keep the sore

open

Mere metal wings

making their way

across oceans

thinking

the swing has

fallen and

forgotten.

Fade

 Slip away

What things 

Once cling to

Slip away

What things

Once held to

Fade away

What things

Once loved too

Go away

What things 

Once drawn to

Stay

Burning daylight

 Burning Daylight

John Clare Stokes 

Come Saturday September mornings 

When the land begins the autumn cool

The goldenrod on roadsides is seen growing

Persimmon on the tree to sweet turning

Faintly within there is this calling

To journey far into the Gum Swamp pines

Past the Sanderson fork beyond the Ocean Pond

On past the Taylor grocery store break

Far, far over the St Mary’s river into Moniac

Where the Nehi streams flow forever amber

You can reach right up and pluck

A moon pie from the South Georgia sky

Sit and stare lovingly into her snaggletooth eyes

Hear her say, “where you been all my days?”

And you reply, “Burning daylight!

Burning daylight, my darling.

Now here in Moniac I can die.”

My departure

 For I am now ready to be offered, and the time of my departure is at hand. 2Timothy 4:6

Rev Luther Ray Stokes

Ushers Orville Wheeler and Hank Radasky

Amen Henry

 Amen Henry

Today Henry Napier entered glory

Leaving his back corner place of worshipping

No matter the preachers humble expository 

Amen! Amen! Was heard again and again. 

And we the stoic would ponder

For if Henry was voicing such praise

Why were we in a quiet, quiet slumber?

Before such an Amazing Grace. 

Men of Henry's thankfulness seldom come

Men not ashamed to boldly say Amen

Help us O Great Jehovah our tongues 

To loosen in praise again and again!

Writing rose

 I came upon a writing rose  

Thorns worn from her words 

 She wrote over and over 

 The wind I have heard  

I have heard  

I have heard 

 I have heard

Butcher bird

 Butcher Bird Prophecy

  by john clare stokes

   Strike the bells of praise...  For today the invasion was stayed...  Strong upon the wind in all their glory...   Flew the Loggerhead Army...  To impale the swarming maelstrom...  Butchers from heaven come...  By night the victory fires we light...  Offerings to Jehovah....  for His Loggerhead Shrikes!

Seven steps

 Seven steps to rest

John Clare Stokes

It's how I envision heavens entrance

Seven steps leading up

Between the ancient camellias 

The shady porch with rocking chairs

A breeze through the dog trot

With all the savory scents emanating out

Drawing us toward

Those long since departed welcoming

As if we never parted at all

Just seven steps to Pilgrims Rest.

Eubanks cross

 Eubank's Cross

john clare 

The ole gospel minister

steeped in the hard shell

way did all he knew to

crack the nuts in the 

splintered pews.

It got so bad as one by

one the squirrels carried

the nuts away

until eventually

only one pew of a few

remained, 

 As far from

The pulpit

As possible.

Eventually ole Eubanks was

called on home to glory

and to this day

in September  they gather

up at the ole Hopewell

pull the splintered pew to the back

to watch that burning cross

march right across the floor

cracking eventually

every one of them

UP.