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Sunday, July 31, 2016

April 23 - You Built This

With boards and nails,
With bricks and mortar
You build the edifice,
That is the life you live in;
A steady stream
Of mights and maybes,
Yes and no and compromise
Choices conspiring together to bring you
To the place where you are now.
I am, you are
What we have chosen,
But also what He has made
If we have called out
In desperation as our handiwork crumbled.

We pick the foundations
We pick the materials
We choose the architect
Ours now to build or break,
But His if we'll have it
His if we'll allow Him,
The gentle corrections that keep
The construction on course
Till at the end it is you we know
It is you o' Lord
It is you who have done it.

© 2016 by Tom King

Thursday, July 21, 2016

April 22 - The Return

The Return

Your eyes are open, but they do not see.
Your ears catch the breeze, but they do not hear.
Your heart beats, your lungs fill with air,
But your mind thinks of nothing but itself.

Your eyes brighten at the vain display of princes.
Your ears tingle at the sound of empty promises.
Your hearts beat faster, you pant with excitement.
Your mind is filled with only that which satisfies its vanity.

See the signs that He is coming.
Hear the warning that time is short.
Do these things that your heart may turn to Him;
That you may breathe the air of heaven;
That you may yearn in your inmost self for His coming.

© 2016 by Tom King

Saturday, June 18, 2016

April 21 - Mouths Wide Open

Mouths Wide Open
by Tom King

Mama bird cussed me out today
I got too near her hungry brood.
Her babes have hatched she didn't say
I knew it by her attitude.

She doesn't mind so much when I
Go out to water the flowers and plants.
She calmly watches me pass by
With my dripping plastic watering cans.

I, beside the planter, left her a bit of seed,
But now the eggs have hatched that she has lain;
The nest is filled with hungry mouths to feed.
And she'll no longer tolerate my artificial rain.

She sits, a bit of seed held in her beak
And chitters angrily at me - no song
From a nearby branch she'll chirp and squeak,
At me till I consent to move along.

Five open mouths wait for their mama there
Packed cheek to cheek they cheep and call,
Open-mouthed, demanding mama's instant care.
And I remember what it was when ours were small. 
It's seems we moms and dads were always shoving
Food or drink down open mouths; taking them to pee
They demanded time, energy, and unconditional loving.
And we were as tired as mama bird must be.

Were we ever such tiny hungry mouths to feed?
All day did our poor mamas stumble back and forth,
Till she had tended to her childrens' never-ending need,
 And gave and gave again for all that she was worth.

I left more seed this blustery afternoon so she,
Would not have to fly so far to feed her bunch.
And then I called my mother just to see
If maybe she would let me take her out to lunch.

© 2016 by Tom King

Friday, May 20, 2016

April 20 - A Good Life

A Good Life

By Tom King

You know I've had a good life all in all
The usual struggles of course, but then
That comes with the territory I suppose.
It's not so bad getting old if you don't
Have a lot of high expectations.
I've got more books than I can read,
A few I've yet to write,
More films than I can watch,
More trails than I can walk,
And Sabbaths stretching out for eternity,
Even if I sleep through a few of them along the way.
I wish you lovely Sabbath days
And if you don't live to see it,
May you be safely tucked in
Until Jesus comes looking for you.
© May 2016

Monday, May 9, 2016

Mamaw's Hands

Mamaw’s Hands

By Sheila King

The withered hands once strong and sure,
   Though weighed with time and trembling now,
Moved by love, through pain made pure;
   Oft touched the fevered brow

They toiled in diligence and patient love,
   The precious fruits of life to tend,
As though guided from above
   All cares, all sorrows, theirs to mend.

Frail hands I wrap safe up in mine,
One last sweet touch, then softly gone
To fold in rest until the time
They wake and journey on.

© 2016

Saturday, April 30, 2016

April 19 - Confluence of Numbers


 Confluence of Numbers

They’re just dates, ages, times and amounts.
Rolling by, leaving marks in history,
That no one a thousand years from now will see.
But here in the moment they feel like everything.
They mark the paths of their lives.
By merest chance a birthday crosses a day
With someone’s death in it;
Losses falling on anniversaries of life;
Days of celebration marked with pain.
It can’t be helped I’m sure.
God knows the way we need to go.
Every day’s somebody’s celebration.
Every day is someone’s sorrow.
Only time will smooth it over,
Eternal life’s the only thing that can
Leave behind the grief and keep the holidays.

© 2016 by Tom King

* Picture courtesy of

April 18 - My Daisy's Bear

Daisy gets a vacuuming in our old chair....

My Daisy’s Bear

She’s gone too suddenly
I’d no time to prepare.
So I sit here of an evening
In our broken down old chair

Daisy thought she was a lap dog
She’d jump up in the chair
With me for her daily cuddle
And take a nap up here.

Sometimes she’d bring her bear
Or squeaky duck or mouse.
We’d play a game of catch and shake;
Romping all about the house.

She’d watch the world with me.
Lying there on her rumpled bed.
Or she’d sit beside my recliner
And make me scratch her head.

Now my chair’s half empty.
And broken down and battered
By a heavy man and big old hound
A Fellowship that to us mattered.

I sometimes see her shadow
On my old companion’s bed.
So I keep her old bear by me now
And sometimes scratch her head.

2016 by Tom King