From oval frames

 From oval frames

Johnclarestokes 

Freed at last from the oval frame

From Crumpler the studious girl came

Sitting in the parlor quietly she read

Then far into the night upon her bed

Coal fields outside frozen in purest snow

To thaw into springs of darkest flow

Lost in a novel by Edgar Rice Burroughs

My every thought upon the girl so wonderful 

In the leaves falling from the holler hills

In the summers first cooling chill

The studious girl forever reading quietly

To my children’s children far into the night gently.

Meme’s Roll call up yonder nine years ago today at 1:11.

Onto October 4th

 Plead the 4th

Today marks two events in our lives, the passing of Meme Clara nine years ago one day before her 89th birthday and this day in 2009 when Melanie went to Lake Shore for an x ray and wound up that night in Orlando ICU with H1n1.

Valedictory

 The valedictorian of Northfolk High

Today she turns ninety- six

She gets her hair done on Fridays

and flags the bus passing by

To Crumpler over narrow roads

the kind driver smiling as they go

miners blackened save the eyes

The only way we recognize 

Which is Alfred and which is not

Each time they make a stop

Another parts to yellow homes

Soon all the miners are gone

The kindly driver parks at the stucco

two story and in the back they go 

Miss Daisy the black cat greets daddy and

The valedictorian with the pretty bangs

Fridays I seem to think upon these themes.

High Climb

High climb

Johnclarestokes 

But for a time

The path is strewn

With darkness and mist

But beyond the ridge

There lies the love

Upon the crest 

Never more to miss.

O’er East River

O’er the East River Mountain 

To the land beyond ole Cumberland 

The Pocahontas whistle sounds 

Come, come, to the eternal grounds. 

To the peak of East River Mountain

 Far Below Bluefield

The home place of my mother

The birth place of her son. 

Theron coming

 Theron Coming

John Clare Stokes

Give ear you sojourners to the calling clarion bells,

Calling way down to where the artisans dwell.

Theron coming. Theron coming.

Gather your paints you plein air travelers,

Fill your flasks from the sulphurous waters pure.

Theron calling. Theron calling.

Rise from obscurity in your humble boarding rooms,

Come compose upon the canvas under a crescent moon.

Theron coming, Theron coming.

From Roline, Turner, Prospect, Cone the call,

Big Shoals, Blue Sink, Rocky Creek to Roaring Falls.

Theron calling, Theron calling.

 Guide us Timucuan dugouts to this peaceful ground,

Through the Big Shoals safely lead us around.

Theron coming, Theron coming.

Down from Okeefenokee Gauldings artisans come,

To gather under the towering clarion.

Theron coming, Theron calling.

Whew

Whew wee

By the time Lewis came along, all the suffering was over. I’d already recovered from a kick in the groin by Paula causing a hernia that needed surgery, I had already had to play baby with her and Joan Sanders, already been chased out of the house with butcher knives by Angeline Donaldson, the beloved maid, almost drowned in the Sopchoppy by Janet Trice, pushing me into the deep, endured quarantine of measles, mumps and scarlet fever in the same room, got whippings not my fault, so don’t let the sweet smile fool you.

Light sounds

 Way down upon a lighter scale

I am quick to point out others interpretations

As if I have some grand ability for correction

If you play the bassoon in deep, dark notes

Who am I in The piccolo section to question?

Lean years

 The lean years

...the years swung on, some things it seemed would always remain the same, so slow was the lean we never took notice and no one ever told us we walked with a rightward bend.

Orange Hill Hymn

 Orange Hill Hymn

John Clare Stokes

Today the tree that moves me is atop Orange Hill Cemetery in Williston, Fla, place where so many of my loved ones and friends rest from their battles, their struggles, their quest to find the light amid their darkness.

The poem is dedicated to our common battle.

Does a new day bring light?

Has the light swallowed the dark?

Come day a squint into bright

The beams still painfully sharp.

On goes the gauze again

In streams the soothing dark

Not ready to walk in gleams

of light beams deadly sharp.

Many meant for the night

Few called to walk wide waking

Freed from the terrible fright

Always giving, never once taking.

In countless wards the halt

The little wars raging on

Light brigades assault for naught

the darkness ever so strong.

Allured to the prospect of sight

We wave the truce flag and stare

into the blinding beams of night

as captured we fall into the lair.

Hand on shoulder on shoulder on

the line of the lame snakes along

Til all glimmers are finally gone

No one remaining to recall home.

And on the Orange Hill quiet

Faint strains from old hymns

A remnant chants into the night

Pulls the weeds and remembers

Pearl and all of them

Awaiting.

Plaster it

Moulage it

John Clare Stokes

Before comes the

Trampling

When in sand

The delicate print

Remains

Take the plaster

And mix it just so

Return from your

Journey long

Pick it up and

Take at least

Some remnant home. 

Sad smoke

 Sad Smoke

John Clare Stokes

Whatever came of our little lad

Whenever we made a fire outside

He was always there by our side

His pitch fork stabbing the pine straw

Watching the white smoke

Happily consuming it all.

This evening we burned a pine pile

On the hill

It was a good day with an 

Autumn chill

But something was amiss 

With the fire

It kept wafting low toward

The back porch door

Searching we were sure 

For the little boy

As so I finally stuck his pitch fork

Next to mine

On the hill

And for the moment

Lured the sad smoke back.

Common or unclean

 Common and unclean

John Clare Stokes

You can imagine

The chagrin

Of the butterflies

Lowering the swing

Not so my Lord

I am too old to 

Imagine

And the butterflies

Raised the swing

Again they lowered

The swing

Not so my Lord

For I am grown

I do not swing

It was then

I heard a voice

Do not call what I

Have declared

Imaginative playing

Something

Common and 

Above your

Aging