O November

 O November

John Clare Stokes

How long has it been in the turning of the mill

that in the back yard rests in the November chill

And who shall turn when alas the sons are gone

Will the one once known come to carry on?

Ogden Road

 Ogden Road treatise 

Seems I’d keep the Suwannee scene long

It was my favorite scene i said

And the poem was one particularly fond 

But neither inspired or led

To the heights I dreamed

It so seems I dwell in a land alone

Those tell me do not post these scenes

And so I do not seek the places drawn

The joy of inspiration it brings

They are tucked deep within the confines 

I shall not help the blind again see

They will just have to grope darkly.

No crows

 Outer Limits

Through no fault of my own doing 

Yet then from all the fault of my doing

The crows have deemed me outer limits

No matter the signals of peace sent

Crows know faces and it’s my thought

one was watching the day the rooster died

and he flew to tell the murder of the deed

A fate awaiting them should they near 

I feign to imagine what other deeds they’ve seen

Telling the crow world of one so craven

Perhaps I shall wear a mask when in the yard

Attract them again in some future new generation 

But they pass on the story to the offspring 

The cock crows thrice and I am cowering.

Long distance voyager

 The well-prepared long distant voyager...while this photograph was taken on Low Lake Road in the early eighties....it could have been taken thirty years later...for little changed...the same bike...the same shorts, shoes and jersey,huret mileage counter on the front wheel, mirror, pockets full of tools and snacks...the only piece of equipment updated was the helmet....and it too was dated….Roger Sessler was an icon to me and so many....never changing...always there....faithful....a friend.

Ole Camp C

 Between two fires

John Clare Stokes

We once were among those

Who spent their autumn days

between two fires

Of Alfred and his tall tales

the Fugates and Smiths with 

the old upright in between

in harmony we would sing

as the hounds would join in

for that evening 

all would chase the venison.

Moon ache

Moon ache

John Clare Stokes

How many years shall it take

to heal the everlasting moon ache

Years the waxing and waning arches 

over the prayers pleas and petitions

Silently in a nonchalant cold aloof way

the moon sets yet the ache goes not away.

Low Lake Sunday

 Low the lake

We were on our way from forty-nine...upon the intersection of Low Lake and Bulb Farm roads...the old Spanish style church was still standing....eventually crossing US90 and going into Wellborn...stopping at the Jiffy Store for the drink and ice cream...Roger would catch up on his girls....he knew all the clerks.....Bob and I would lag behind...Roger kept an up tempo pace on the Vitus....I had the yellow Cannondale...Bob the Super Sport Schwinn....we finished up at Bob's no A/C trailer off Turner Road in Lake City...it was a typical Sunday afternoon ride of over forty-nine miles to forty-nine and back....Roger like the church no longer stands…the  Jiffy now closed and the girls gone...Bob... was lost in a world of fading memory...making it to age ninety…..mostly spending  his last days reminiscing...along with me at past seventy and rapidly  keeping their pace....

Downy

 Downy Boy

I think if I were with wings

I would not be affiliated

With the pileated 

His fiery, flamboyant red

His constant cackling

Nor the crow

A know it all

Nor the red-tail hawk

Again

Always having to squawk 

And I feign to diss

Their purpose

Their ways are just not for me

And I'd be hard pressed

To find a bird that's best

Perhaps the Downy

Not too showy 

Just a tad of red

Common and looks like a miniature hairy

Of which I am not

Often mistaken for a 

Sapsucker 

Who drill the parallel

Holes in living trees

To feed on sap that

Drips so gewey 

Or perhaps a turkey

But not a Jake or a Tom

Always looking for some

Oh, just little, quiet 

Downy!

Veils

 We live in what we deem

Sunlight bright

But it’s just the glare of night

We do not see clearly at all

We peer as through a veil

A glass of deepest hue

There is a certain kind of light

We perceive beyond the night

Faces close as can be pressed

For but a glimpse

A drawing near to

 the figure of one blessed

Who dwells within the light

Of His own eternal glory.

Road art

 Passing the angel art on the fence yesterday, the poem from this day in 2009 immediately came to mind:

Sephiroth Sonnet

Dear Yahweh send an Uriel this night

From the southern heavens fly our way

From your Holy presence flaming light

Take our prayers to your heart we pray

On heavenly heights one mighty stands

With precious healing sent from our God

Grant us mercy to our outstretched hands

Bud anew upon this dry and withered rod 

Come Michael, O warrior of God grand

Smite this plague that thirsts to kill

Blood of the Lamb, cover this dark land

with celestial healing may lungs so fill

Come Gabriel, Come Michael, Uriel do sail

Oh Holy God, may your heavenly glory prevail!

One night stands

 One night stands

John Clare Stokes 

For one night we allowed ourselves 

to return to the field of play

bringing the ball up the court

for the brothers in red

Galloping down the field in

the loose fitting jersey 

Splitting wide in the homespun

Cheerleading uniform

Heading up the hill in the Charger

out to ghost light frights

Not daring to ask her out in our shyness

Taking a half century to muster courage 

But by then what does one do

when all the places to go are gone

even the very school and the home room

to return to on Monday 

Your friends anxiously waiting to ask

What did you do

How far did you go

And you lie and of course say

All the way to State.

Upon the 50th high school class reunion

Pan the man

 Little Pan

To us he will always be

Our Little Pan

He will grow into a man

Put aside flying with

Tinkerbell

In a far off land dwell

But we will never

Cease to tell

Of the magical dust

Little Pan once

Sprinkled over us.