Bird in the Desert

 

"Bird in the Desert"
                by Sheila King

Just like a little bird,
Flying out into the desert,
All of my hopes and dreams,
Had flown away.

Without a chance at all,
Go I into the desert.
That's when I heard a voice,
Saying to me,

"Come drink from my well,
Where the water is cool and free.
You will not die here alone.
I promise you'll be here with me.

I care for My little ones
And I care for my sparrows.
Stay for a while, you are my child.
Live here with me".

Just like a little bird,
Flying out into the desert,
I left my home, took off on my own,
Let life pull me away.

But what does a sparrow know,
Of life out in the desert?
Unable to fly, waiting to die,
'til I hear Him say..."

"Come drink from my well,
Where the water is cool and free.
You will not die here alone,
I promise you'll be here with me.

I care for My little ones,
And I still care for My sparrows.
Stay for a while. Be My child.
Live here with me".

April 15: Learning Silence

  Learning Silence

  by Tom King 

 People like me, boiling over with thoughts
We talk too much for others' taste.
People for whom an excess of words
Seems too much; a thorough conversational waste

The truth be known, we chatterboxes.
Collecting knowledge's a kind of hoarding addiction, 
Sadly we delude ourselves that all of you,
Are also info junkies, sharing our affliction

We're trying not to be annoying, but like a pot on a stove,
We bubble over, given the least encouragement..
We have come to suspect you don't want to hear all that,
Probably you want, for your time, some reimbursement.

So on behalf of all us ADD know-it-alls,
I'd like to extend to all of you an apology.
So I'm writing blogs and books and poems instead,
As a way to address my own pathology. 

So I'm sorry.
    I'll shut up now!

  

  

April 14: My Writer's Vow

This story better end very soon!

A Promise to My Readers

I will never write a story that's click-bait.
They'll never bear that particular trait.
There'll be no endless clicking,
There'll be no reader tricking.
I promise I'll always play it straight.

I refuse to write endless click-bait.
I won't post a story you all hate.
I might post things political,
To your opinion antithetical.
But for the end you will not have to wait.

I won't put in extraneous material.
It's a story, not a soap opera serial.
And believe it or not
There'll be an actual plot
Whether serious, informative or satirical.

I want you to enjoy the story
Doesn't have to be sensational or gory.
No blind alleys or facts without purpose,
Or advertisements coming in surplus.
I won't tell tales aged and hoary.*

If you're mad when you finish what I've composed,
Then I feel like on your time I've imposed
So, I'll not fill it with fluff,
When done you'll say that's enough.
And maybe try another sample of my prose.

© 2024 by Tom  King
* Hoary = white headed

April 13: Christmas State of Mind

 

Christmas State of Mind

I look forward to the first cold winds of November
   And the coming of an early snowfall;
Old Man Winter's breath on the back of my neck,
   His yearly reminder that I need to unpack my coat and gloves.

There are other reminders. The stores have been decorating
   Since sometime in September; stringing lights.
Forklifts and pallet jacks moving stacks of boxes up and down
   Newly empty aisles where pool noodles and summer sports once reigned.

I actually like the commercialism promoted by community businesses,
   Big box stores, parades, festivals, lights along the main streets.
Kind of like putting on a tie for church services each Sabbath.
    Our towns and villages, cities and special places putting on Christmas.

Every year we wish each other peace on Earth, good will toward men,
   And sure enough we mean it - those of us who believe in that sort of thing.
We smile at clerks and taxi drivers. We wave at friends we haven't seen for a while,
   Ignoring the incongruity between the baby in the manger and Jolly Old Saint Nick.

There is something about the approaching solemnity of winter that invites celebrations
   Like Hanukah, Kwanza, Thanksgiving, Bodhi Day, Omisoka, New Years and Christmas.
But Christmas is unmatched for inspiring stories and traditions that go with the season.
   Such that even the unbelievers put up Christmas trees, shop for the kids and string up lights.

I love being in that magic place, whether it's sitting by a fire with snow falling
   Or stretched out in a folding chair on a beach listening to waves roll up the sand.
My heart and my mind needs that, whatever time of year it happens to be.
   Snow or no snow, jingle bell sleighs or jet skis; I need that Christmas state of mind. 

© 2024 by Tom King

  
  

 

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