Upon the wings

 Upon the wings

Of what do you dream?

The flight of wing?

The missing themes 

never seeming returning?

The moon knows

The Ibis know

One sets quietly

The others fly gently 

away

Was it you Nathaniel?

 Clairvoyant Child

john clare stokes

There we sat in Huddle House

Booth three next to the register

Since it was busy and the waitress 

Named Betty had just taken

Our order for our MVP's

When to my left side

In booth four the little

Girl in Exorcist way

Turned her head

And with a voice

Unmistakable from

Far away slowly

Said pappa and in 

The moment our

Eyes connected

Her mother scolded

And she turned and

Cried then returned

To her exuberance

Saying uh oh at the

Fallen glass 

Forgetting the stranger

In booth three

As Betty filled 

Everyone's coffee.

My grandmother

 Ethel Marie Wike Stokes was born to Jacob and Esther Wike on January 28, 1899 in Lexington County, SC. She met Earnest William Stokes of Homewood, Scott County, Mississippi and they married Dec 18, 1914. They had five children, Earnest Curtis, James Marzelle, Hazel Marie Wolf, Luther Ray “Lute”(my father)and Esther Irene Bradford plus three premature infants. Ethel died Aug 1, 1937.  Earnest remarried to my second grandmother, Bernice Beatrice Boykin Feb 17, 1939. From her came William Clark, Jimmy Boykin, Billy Ferrell and Mary Carol Watkins.

Hissing toward Eden

Hissing toward eden

by john clare stokes

Eve was told to leave it

but she did not believe it

and in the beaming face

the long remembered sweet taste

of the first deed.

Oh we marry and bear seed

we live to ripe old ages

but as the favorite book

of the dog eared pages

we return again to the beginning

as if by some distant imprinting

we long for the taste

before the years laid waste.

The face loses the beam

our glory covering

tempted we long to close the book

and to the secret garden look

walking a hundred miles perchance

where awaits the old romance

Serpents lying along the way

hissing us toward the sweet memory.

Homespun

The homespun dress is plain, I know, My hat's palmetto , too; But  then it shows what Southern girls for Southern rights will do. Photo of Anna Hackel at Olustee.2012 

Oil boy

 Oil boy

John Clare Stokes

It’s the little boy yet dwelling

Wanting so badly to tell anyone

come and see what he has done

Proud in the creating of a painting

though crude and elementary 

a masterpiece to the little boy

and to hear that word of praise

the smile of satisfaction 

sends the little boy down to 

the store for more oils and canvas.

Art teachers dog

Monticello

1964

Stay Home

 Stay Home

I will wait here in the fields

to see how well the rain

brings on the grass.

In the labor of the fields

longer than a man’s life

I am at home. Don’t come with me.

You stay home too.

I will be standing in the woods

where the old trees

move only with the wind

and then with gravity. 

In the stillness of the trees

I am at home. Don’t come with me.

You stay home too.

Wendell Berry

Homestead near Dowling Park

Suwannee County

He said

 He said

He said it was a pretty scene

Looking up from his fishing

The calm water

The white egret in flight

The evening clouds reflecting

And so I agreed

Lifting the camera

What voice

What voice was it within the wind

that told you now is the time to begin?

Were they whispers ever so near

or shouts that rang within your ears?

And as you circled and stalled,

were you counting the number called,

looking upon me longing below,

waiting for me with you to go?

Water vows

 Water Vows

john clare stokes

Today the water heater rusted out

Flowing through the nice pink 

rooms with abandon, piped up

all these thirty~six years 

the blame falling squarely on

the groom, for don't you recall

when you made your vows

that you promised for better

or worse not to let the hot water

burst?

Famous in his mind

Upon the realization of his fame, wherever he had spent time, plaques were erected. He went through Starke and on that asphalt track, a single hurdle with the inscription, here lies the hurdle that he tripped upon in 71. As he made his way in Monticello, upon the far fence down the hill, here was the spot he touched in 64 when he outran Jimmy Pafford and the entire third grade. In Trenton in the end zone, here he caught his first touchdown pass. Over in Perry, this is the spot he finished his fastest 10K. It was wonderful for the time, this recognition of every little thing. But before long, the fence was torn down for a wider road, the hurdle was moved into storage, and after fifteen minutes, all the plaques had faded away. And again, he sank back into obscurity. He had his moment of fame, it came and just as the last hurdle in the 180 yard race, was forever forgotten.

The kiss

 The kiss

There are things we frame

Things we remember 

Things we held onto

Some long gone 

Never to again know

Others with the hope

Of coming again 

Preserved behind glass

Held fast