April 13: I Stumbled Into Daisies

 

 I Stumbled Into Daisies

 

 Hiking to the mailbox this morning in the fog,
I cut across a meadow, misty and hazy
And stumbled on a clump of grass
And planted my face in a patch of daisies.

They smelled lovely so I laid there awhile,
Contemplating the softness of the verdant  Spring
Rolling over on my back I took a little break there
In the grass. The fog over me a live thing creeping

It took a while to get my feet back under me,
The fog began to slink away across the land
So, I followed it resuming my early stroll
To the mail, a fistful of letters in my hand.

From the road back up the lane to home
Little patches of sun play among the leaves
Along my path, burning the dwindling mist away.
As upward the little wisps of vapor weave.

There are days like this that sneak up on you.
Days that leave my collar damp, and air
That thickly hangs, then all in a sudden sunburst
I can breathe again and the morning's fair..

© 2024 by Tom King
 

 

 

April 12: Music From the Other Side of the Woods

Music From the Other Side of the Woods

Coming down the stairs just now I heard the sound
Of children's laughter drifting through the trees.
Like tinkling bells on the other side of the wood.
Carried on the scent of fir and cedar all the way to me.

I'm gathering evergreen boughs for my darling girl
 To festoon bookshelves, window sills with verdant drapes,
The sort you need to proclaim the coming holidays
 With red and green and just the right touch of snowy 'scapes.

I set off in the direction of the those merry voices...
And found a grandmother with two kids in tow
Exploring the woods behind their Grammy's house;
Giving names to puddles, ditches, trees that grow.

That dry ditch they named Collin's Creek, anticipating
  That seasonal rains will provide them water in the Spring.
The patch of grass ringed by evergreens like Christmas
"Is Evelyn's meadow," Grammy says. "Where wrens and juncos sing."

I can't reach the branches of the Douglas firs high overhead,
But a couple of drooping cedars give up boughs for free.
The breezes sigh among the treetops. I walk and listen;
Laughter of children, wind like music in the forest sings to me.

Finally, loaded down with fragrant bundles, I turn for home;
My old knees crackling, popping protestations all the way back.
I smile at the noises of my well-worn bones - percussion that
Compliments the music and woodland scents that waft along the forest track.

The chill breath of autumn riffles maple leaves and sends whirligig seeds
Twirling down, brushing past me on their way to earth.
I'm glad to be gathering holly and cedar boughs on a day like this.
Reminds me what a woodland walk can to a soul be worth.

© 2024 by Tom King

April 11: Where Lies the Tempest

Where Lies the Tempest

Tempests and teapots are linked inside my head,
   A word association some shrink would likely find
Troubling should he stumble upon it testing me
   To check my fitness to roam loose with such a mind.

He'd have a field day tracking the dusty pathways in my skull;
  Oddities that lurk along the crooked tracks inside my mind,
Collected there during a life  not entirely sure just where,
  I was going or what next thing I was going to find.

I can't say any of it was very easy all in all,
   Surprises have a way of being quite uncomfortable.
My friends who disapprove of my politics or religion,
   Find my haphazard pursuits the height of unsustainable.

Good thing the God I serve sees what's up ahead
   And knows precisely how it all works out.
He, unlike those who think my life is unsustainable,
   Speaks to me in whispers. He has no need to shout.

I hear Him when I wander woodland paths and forest streams,
   Nudging me to take the trails He knows I ought.
Comforting me in rain, the wind or summer heat,
   Reminding me that tempests often originate in pots.

I find I can rest assured trusting no other guide than He,
   Just His whispers in my ear when thunderstorms arise.
From teapots in their majestic insignificance.
   He tells me hold until the latest howling tempest dies.

 © 2024 by Tom King

April 10 - Me and My Man Brain

 

Me and My Man Brain

I have but one best friend in the world
   And he is not actually a he.
It can be the loveliest thing in the world
  When your BFF and the love of your life is a she.

When your bestest friend in the whole wide world
   Is the other half of your soul,
You may not be hunting or fishing buds,
   Or hang out at y'all's fishin' hole.

But without her you're totally incomplete.
   No one to talk to; nobody to share,
Your latest tall tales and jokes with,
   Or to pat her upon her firm derriere.

Sadly for us I'm afflicted with man brain.
   It's a terminal condition I fear.
It means a brain not very good at networking,
   Or maintaining a circle of peers.

Man brains are goal-directed as are our
   Expressions of love and affection.
We'll climb mountains, swim rivers that rage.
   And cross deserts in unlikely directions.

Every man has the ability to think about nothing,
   Sometimes about nothing or double
So when asked, "Whatcha thinking?" we can truthfully say,
   Nothing that will get us in trouble.

But we suck at anticipating the needs of our women.
   We've never been any good at that.
We never quite know when to offer a foot rub,
   Or how to spontaneously say, "You're not fat!"

My poor sweet Baboo now that I am retired,
   Receives the brunt of all my man-splainings.
She needs women to talk with about relations and feelings,
   Other ears to share man complainings.

I don't mean to hurt anyone's feelings it's just
   That my style's always been problem-solving.
When she wants me to listen I'm at total loss,
   Fidgeting when I'm supposed to be evolving.

I want to be helpful, be wise and very supportive.
   To provide like a man I know how to do.
But now in my dotage, what ought I provide?
   Most times I haven't a clue.

Women on average live longer than their men.
   Why? I can only venture some guesses.
It's a mercy though given the relief it must be
   For them not to have to put up with our messes.

© 2024 by Tom King

 

April 9: A While With You

A While With You

It seems like only yesterday
   That I was just a boy.
I was chasing after what, I did not know.
   Maybe it was comfort
Or an easing of the pain,
   Or just anything to fill the empty place,
                                     ...inside my soul.

 And it seems like just this morning
   I was stumbling blind and lost,
Not knowing where to go or what to do
   But I guess God was watching me;
Heard me down upon my knees,
   For when my head was lifted up again the one
                                    .... standing there was you.

At long last you had found me lonely, lost.
   You picked me up and brushed me off,
And then you took me by the hand and whispered
   I am going, I am going, I am going this way too.
So, whatever dusty road or winding path that lies ahead,
   Would you mind if just take your hand and tag along
                                            .... a while with you?
  
It seems like just an hour or so ago, we started out
   First hand in hand, then arm in arm up the long road
Toward unexpected tomorrows, not knowing when or where
    Or even how we'd go, but there's been an angel at our shoulders.
 And a light just down the road, and I know we'll be arm in arm,
                                                  .... in a million years or so!

© 3/30/2002 & revised 4/9/2024
         by Tom King
(It's more than 50 years & counting)
  

April 8 - Old Horses, New Riders

 

Old Horses New Riders

I spent 2 years and a half, five hours a day
 In the saddle, twenty horses in my little remuda, introducing
Horses to children whose ride through life had been such,
That their hearts and their minds were in need of repair.
They told me I was crazy, I'd get a child killed
If I put them up on a horse, worse if I let them ride
Without a rope to keep them from riding away.
The kids were autistic, developmentally delayed, and abused
The scars on their bodies; the scars on their minds
Made it hard for us to go home and sleep every night.
Horses and dogs (there was a border collie hung 'round the barn)
Proved well able to heal wounded children. I'd saddle them up
And off along the woodland trail we'd go riding softly along,
Tiny children on giant horses, quarter horses, ponies, cutting horses, even a burro...
Retired from the rodeo and the ranch, in retirement befriending kids
Who needed a friend that would carry them places they were otherwise
Afraid to go alone. Like the little mute girl, so beaten down she wouldn't speak,
Who one day, while brushing down her horse, began to chatter like a magpie.
Then she began to talk to us since we were the friends of her big friend.
Patient teachers the horses were. Loyal friends. Therapists on the sly.
I miss their patient love, the deep soft eyes, the warm breath on a cool morning
The unexpected nose nuzzling your neck when they sneaked up on you
While you put out their feed, brushed them down and cleaned their hooves.
Best job I ever had. Most loyal friends I ever new. God's equine angels.

© 2024 by Tom King

Letter to Mom & Dad

Derek "Cheese" Keen in Afghanistan

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Letter To Mom & Dad

Dear Mom and Dad,
Don’t cry for me.
Shed not a single tear,
For time to weep has passed.

I know it hurt you
Because you were not there
In my last fleeting moments.
But I was not alone.

An angel of light quietly
Slipped into my room,
And called out my name.
I answered, “Here am I.”

Jesus sent an angel band
To take me on to home
Think instead of the times
You both were there for me.

The times you took us all
To Little League and football games.
When I heard Mom’s voice from the stands
Shouting, “Go Cheese go!”

Dad, you gave your life to the highway
To put sneakers on my feet
And food on the table.
As I grew to be a man.

And man did I grow?
Knowing you were proud of your boys.
Knowing how much you loved us,
How much we loved you.

I remember Mom dressing us
In our little brown and grey suits
And driving us to Walmart
To get our pictures taken.

Mom you always had a camera,
Picture after picture of us
Grinning like possums,
And we knew you were so proud.

Dad taught me and my brothers,
How to fish and to hunt and
To love pickup trucks and music
In the living room on a Saturday night.

Dad, I heard you say,
“He was my soldier.”
But Daddy you were my hero.
And you will always be.

You two raised a soldier,
A poet and a fireman.
Not bad for ordinary people
Not ordinary but extraordinary.

Well done, you two, your hearts
Filled with love for each other.
You taught your sons to love and now
You’re teaching grandkids just the same.

The angel came and took my hand
“But Mama and Daddy will be sad,
That they were not here,” I said.
“Fear not,” the angel said as angels do.

“You’ve been so long in this bed.
Jesus has seen your suffering.”
“Enough,” He said, “It’s time to go.”
These angels here will bring them through the days ahead.”

“Come home, my boy.” He said as I drifted
Off to sleep and in the twinkling of an eye,
I'll wake whole and young again and
We'll be going straightway home.

Don’t be sad for me. I’ll be waiting,
Through birthdays, holidays and celebrations.
I’ll be in your hearts just where I’ve always been.
Cheese is signing off for now………

                                  But not forever.

Love,
Aunt Sheila & Uncle Tom