Crime and Punishment

 I am saddened by weakling Christians who harbor resentment and don’t have a forgiving spirit. My friend two doors down came by in her car. I know I was visible and she used to honk the horn and wave. But she went on past never acknowledging I was waving. And all over dog poop and my saying it doesn’t bother me when they go in my yard or out by the road. And I took up for my friend with the two small dogs she was blaming. She said on her facebook post, I guess I lost a friend. No, she lost. You can disagree and still be friends. 

Through the magic door

and in that far,far gone day    as we outgrew our trikes  we settled in our chairs by evening light   to rise and enter the pretend door to play

Long enough

 And thus the Lord said...."You have compassed this mountain long enough: turn you northward.  Deut. 2:3

The weather vain gets stuck in one position. And so our days are spent in whatever direction it is left pointing. Year after year, woe is me, for the south valley I long, for the east winds i pine, for the westward life I lust, and on it goes.

Would be we have an unsticking of our direction and we get on with our northward direction.

Go far

 Go far

John Clare Stokes

I knew you’d go far

The moment I laid 

Eyes upon you

Determined to go

So far

That I’d never hear

From you

Ever again

Don’t get me wrong

Traveling is grand

But did you have

To go

That far?

Ten years after

 In July-August Lake City Reporter Currents Magazine.

Rudy

 Rudy Medlock

I rate Rudy as my all time favorite art professor at Asbury. A potter, he taught color theory, but it was his humble, wise, inspired way that won me over. This is his home outside Wilmore I'd love to spend time in again.

My first art teacher was Mrs Cy Groves in Monticello. I began in acrylic and then oil. It was a great two years riding my bicycle across town with my canvases. 

It wouldn't be until high school that Sandra Levy would inspire and at the same time slay me with her beauty in her art class at Williston High.

As a crow flew

 As a crow flew

john cla55

As a crow flew

it was a straight shot 

to you

bypassing Orange Hill

the chills

going around the grotto

the chills

the moon would rise

i would howl

don't know why

seemed the thing

to do.

But I was grounded

it was a long way 

to you

going right through

the cemetery

the chills

swimming through the grotto

the chills

the moon would rise

i would howl

now i know why

still seems the thing

to do.

JH

 Another Pleasant Saturday

by john cla55

Just another pleasant Saturday up and

down the Noble Avenue  

JH was taking his usual afternoon stroll

stopping to chat with Travis at the

Standard Station who was filling the tank

and giving full service to Mrs Rutland,

who was coming from the parsonage

committee meeting, seeing that the

drapes were yet intact from the new

family recently occupying for the time

the aging white house along the Noble 

Avenue,straight through town, just as 

JH stepped up the curb by Mrs Wilsons 

boarding house, pausing to side

step another tennis ball, not seeing

well at all, squinting by the impediment,

continuing on, up the hill past Mrs

Blackburns trailer home, who was inside praying

that one would marry a Williston girl,

and about the time of her amen, and

the leaving of Mr Cheeley, her tame

Mockingbird let out a chorus, as one came

along, to retrieve the tennis ball, sent

soaring over the wide Noble by Bruce,

his way of wearing his opponent down,  

as Mrs Valerie rose to tell the boy that

she has prayed for him, that he would 

marry a Williston girl. He turned and threw

the ball back across Noble Avenue and

for the life of him could not think 

of the girl he would marry, for there were

much more pressing things to worry him,

like how was he ever going to keep 

Bruce from wearing him out.

Never dreaming, the girl was there all along,

 in Kindergarten and him in seventh grade.

Prayers answered just the same.

Tennis games with Bruce Smith to blame.

Pinkies

 I enter the homes

Of the Pinkies

The Blue Boys

Portraits when

Plaid and polyester 

Were vogue

Hair was permed

Glasses thick black

And try to discern

Which blue boy

Which pinkie

I'm talking to

Unrecognizable in 

Their bonnets and 

Plumed hats

Bottle tree

 Bottle tree

The bottle tree came from my fathers place in Crawfordville, then Williston, then to my sisters. She is planning to sell so I will number the bottles in order and move them, there are two, to our place. 

We do not recall what we drank

We recall those with whom we drank.

I’ve since moved the tree to my place. 

Unless ye abide

 Unless ye abide

By John Clare

My greatest desire above all

To abide as one upon the vine

Bringing forth fruit in time 

Then resting come the fall.

No need to depend upon me

But simply let the vine

Flow the sap into mine

All from Him, simply freely.

And after the harvest ends

The Master wields his knife

To end my dead life

So new growth can begin

In the vineyard across the road

The shoots are never pruned

They multiply until all too soon

The vine breaks under the load

The fruit spoils upon the ground

No wine at the wedding flows

They bundle up the dead boughs

Up to the heavens flames abound

Meant to grow in the light

The vines made a grand shade

The husbandman abandoning the blade

Stealing off under cover of night

But in the vineyard of the King

The clusters grew in the sun

Upon new vines upon the one

As to the bride the finest wine did come.

My dad and I for years grew muscadine grapes. I dearly miss them and the lessons learned from them.

Klingon Hall

 Tired of the same ole Star Fleet coffee and doughnuts? Tired of Federation theology? We invite you to attend Klingon Hall. 

We embrace your prideful ruthlessness and brutality.

Where phasers are set to fun.