Jungle Jane

 Blame the branch

There I was on a Saturday

Couldn't have been past ten

And there was Tarzan

Throwing Jane in the spring

And the branch

 Caught her gown

Leaving her naked

Swimming around

I'd only seen such things

In the National Geographic's 

Mr George would bring

Never before moving

I'm still trying to get over

That throwing Jane

In Wakulla Springs.

We gather

 Whole lot of nothing

I’m sure every large family gathering sooner or later segregates into the have and have nots, the young, the middle and the ancient.

I’d try and sit in one group and they’d be talking about nothing but what they got, what they going to order Black Friday, what one makes, etc and I’d tire and move on.

I’d try and sit in another group and they were immersed in online gaming with no interaction 

and I totally couldn’t relate and would move on.

I’d try the have not group and how they weren’t able to do this or that, how the health was bad, 

the pain great and the world going to hell and I’d tire and move on.

I went outside and told the little boy about the age of my grandson, fly your balsa wood rubber band propelled plane directly at me. I’ll try and film it.

It was good for about three tries until his daddy broke it up and he ran inside.

I took another walk to the end of the drive. My dog wouldn’t even go.

Tell me the story

 Tell me the story

Seems the further from the once sharply

defined scene

The more it blends into a dream

The lessons once written in plain 

black,white and red

Permeating skin, blood and bone

shaping within the Way herein we

so walk

no longer in the harsh light of law

but in soft beams of grace enveloping.

Less and less

 Facebook is getting less and less replies, to the point I hesitate to post much, for lack of response. You can count on the fake gals to reply. It’s like here. Three likes at most.

It’s something I’ve been long harping on. 

By fake i do not mean Missy, Elizabeth and others, i mean the ones that always say i am interesting and will i be their friend. I block them. 

Dinner on the ground

 

Imprint

 

Revive us again

 Revive again

John Clare Stokes

Revive again the recalled when

Revive again the autumn cane grinding

Revive again the low smoke wafting

Revive again the glad homecoming 

Send again the wide open screen

Send again the sound of children

Send again the halcyon scene

Send again the life that sings

Sopchoppy Thanksgiving

 It was the early sixties. I was around seven. It was before you went to the store and bought your butterball turkey. It is was Thanksgiving morning and we were going hunting. We went to Bert Roddenberry's farm, beautiful Wakulla bottom land where years later Joe Hutto would do his study of living with a flock of turkey. He told of the time with the turkey in the book Illumination in the flatwoods and later a PBS movie, My time with the turkey.

Daddy had his Parker double barrel 12 gauge with the ornately engraved barrels. It was given to him by a friend in Kentucky while he was student preaching.

We walked along the Creek bottoms listening and looking for signs. I knew not exactly what, deer or turkey, maybe black bear. 

We came to a rise and daddy motioned me to be still. I do remember the time he let me shoot the gun, him holding it behind me, for the recoil would have knocked me flat.

I don’t recall if this was the time but we took aim at a turkey and to our delight hit it. We gathered it up and after showing Mr. Bert, took it home to dress it out. Daddy saved the legs for desk ornaments and the beard.

Upon dressing it mamma baked it and that Thanksgiving day we enjoyed the dinner we bought home. 

Timing

 Timing

I really dislike how

In this life

Our timing is so off

When my grandfathers 

were in their prime

I was just entering

Didn’t really know them

Sketchy at best

Just a few summer days

with them

Then they were gone on

And so it is with

So many others

A day 

A week 

A month with some

One

Two 

Years 

And we part

I’m not certain 

But it would be nice

In eternity if the timing 

Wasn’t off 

But then 

It’s not earth

And it probably is a thing

We will not recall

My father with my son and great grandson

SS

 I dislike wasting days on the phone, trying to get a call back hours later. I detest going to the SS office, only to be told i need an appointment, then calling the number posted and no appointment scheduling is there.

I finally get a call back and they say they cant help.

Verbenadale Gospel

 So bless’d to have been able to attend when it was active.

Needmore

 Needmore 

John Stokes

The day was drawing to a frantic close,

The miles of repeated pines to never end.

Far from Fargo, fuel beyond low,

When up ahead, one light flickering.

We rolled into the lone, little store,

The elderly lady rose from her rocking chair.

"We don't see many travelers in Needmore,

Mostly they rush past here."

While the gallons filled, she spoke of her life,

Stories of bee gums sweet up Deep Creeks,

Of long departed beau's courting her,

The Oak Grove weddings, kisses on cheeks.

She could have left this pass on by,

Moved on down to Lake City's grandeur,

But she chose to remain near the

grander stars in the sky,

Shunning shiny finery for the obscure.

Slowly she replaced the nozzle of the supreme,

To return to her silent, slow rocking.

We felt drawn to linger in this Needmore dream,

To make this too our final stop.

Later that evening at the Blanche motel 

We told the desk clerk of our journey

"Needmore? Old lady you tell?"

Why Mrs Elsie died way back in forty three."