The slivered light

 The slivered light

The first light of dawn 

Breaking through the mist

Comes as a morning gift

As we lift in song

A praise for the day given

As a friend so well says

To be again among the living.

The cattle know

 The cattle know

It’s not of the natural order for

These metal Cheetahs who speed

Upon the grey hard trail

To slow and watch them grazing

It sends them stampeding

Escaping this threat

As down the asphalt trail

Comes another cheetah

Honking his terrible call

Move on! Move on!

Cheetahs do not pause

We are made for speed.

Escape route

 Escape route

I tried to rouse you

Your escape route

was taking off

You said, let me sleep in

I’m in no shape for

Escaping.

Blindside

 Blindside

I could not see the tree for the no see Um’s 

But it seems it was all in my vision

For I was told, it’s as clear as any autumn 

day, why do you see bugs, when there are none?

Farewell

 Farewell to frog

You thought the lake was inclusive

Big enough to hide you in

All was swell in this lovely swamp

Why it’s such a nice day for sunning.

Beauty be not

 Beauty-be not caused-It Is-

Chase it, and it ceases-

Chase it not, and it abides-

Overtake the Creases

In the Meadow- when the Wind

Runs his fingers thro’ it-

Deity will see to it

That You never do it-

Emily Dickinson 

c.1862

Gulf Fritillary among the iron weed

Before the fall

 Before the fall

John Clare Stokes

We envision ourselves forever with the young

The race we can still line up and run

And maybe some are given feet ever strong

Others, we are just grateful to limp home. 

Little Shoals

Suwannee

Upon slipping on the slippery rocks and having to crawl up the bank and limp back to the vehicle

Fields of summers all

 fields of summer's all

by john clare stokes 

in the fallow fields of fall

there lies a long lost ball

kicked over the goal of old

when the uprights were two

and the boys I am told

were measured by feat

but tonight around the

trampled tiger head

we name the fallow field

after the one

who lost the ball

took to alcohol

sat beside the Madden

Super ones

and to Jesus late

did come

So future bums

who make it big

can gather round

the purple tiger

and aspire

to have a fallow field

named for them.

October over

 October over

The month of birth and death is gone

Into November we are moving on 

Time for the cane grinding to begin

time to guard the persimmons ripening

from the nocturnal possums 

time to boil the Mason jars for the syrup

time to check the Gravely for stale gas 

Making sure it still cranks on

Thanksgiving morning

time to send someone down to the IGA

for the pancake batter and bacon

we don’t want to subsist upon cereal

when the time comes

The glory

 And so I rest within 

the glory

And let the light

tell it's story

In the dark

of the cold wilt

To despair the

tendrils tilt

Still, still we dwelt

For the light felt

The opening of the glory

The entering of rest.

John Clare Stokes

Martins mail

 Martins mail

John Clare Stokes 

Martins Taylor of route seven

When was the last time

You checked your mail?

That moon you ordered

Arrived at last

The song you needed

Came 

The paperboy even

Delivered the good news

For a change

Martins Taylor

Check your mailbox

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?