Wednesday, November 29, 2017

I See the Lightning


I See the Lightning

I still see the lightning flash
Even though my eyes are closed.
Illumination comes to me even when
I do not wish to see it.

I still can write in shaky cursive,
Though I have only printed
Since I was a boy back in seventh grade
And my poor teacher begged me to write legibly.

I still can ride a bicycle
Even though I'm old
And my center of gravity
Has shifted considerably.

I still get the urge to take off running
Even though my knees can't take it anymore
Just for the sheer joy of the thing,
To fly like wind across an open field.

I still carry in me all that I have learned
Though most of it I learned when I was young,
It was part of growing up back then,
And to my surprise, a part of simply breathing now.

© 2017 by Tom King

Wednesday, November 15, 2017

A Country Boy and Girl







A Country Boy and Girl

We live up among the trees; second floor garage.
She and I have always been drawn to places
High up and for us sometimes a little lonely,
Blue sky above; below the broad green spaces.
Fine places to bump along, warm companions,
Holding on to one another on dark and rainy nights
And building fires on cold and blustery days.
In December, stringing up the Christmas lights.

Leaves blow across the drive as we walk down
To get the mail and disturb our doe and her fawns
Nibbling at the blackberries growing on either side
Bordering the backyard verges and fresh-trimmed lawns.
Our path is marked by God; hedged about by His creation,
Nudging us along the way that He would have us go,
Winding up in quiet places by lakes and streams, in woods
And here where the breathy firs and ardent brambles grow.

We’re country folk, even when we live in towns and cities
Vegetation seems to sprout around us of its own accord,
Softening even asphalt, road signs, wires and concrete -
Fluffing up a nest around us a gentle gift by a kindly Lord.
We don’t mind the confines of a nest so much.
These days it feels the right and proper thing for the days,
That come upon us quiet-like almost unnoticed,
And hugged us warm about through all our yesterdays.

© 2017 - Tom King

Tuesday, September 12, 2017

Voluntary Victims

We are victims of the worst propaganda.
Sadly we all sign up for an 80 year tour.
We stamp our feet and demand that things
Go our way, bend themselves to our will.

Religion's to blame the secularists say,
For all the ills in all the world.
Religion is the cause of all wars, not the kings
All pain and all suffering's from God.

And like Eve in the garden we accept the lie
And all that comes after it.
The original lie was "Thou shalt not surely die."
The second was "You will be like gods.

And we bought it as though it were true
Because some snake said it was so.
Ever since we have believed ourselves immortal
Despite evidence all to the contrary.

Since we swallowed that lie we've believed
We could create for ourselves a paradise on Earth.
All by ourselves without interference from God.
And we banished Him and left Him for dead.

Get out of our schools and nurseries,
Get out of our homes and our cars.
Get off our televisions and radios.
We don't need you, we're fine as we are.

And even in some of the saddest of places
We've run God right out of our churches!
And He has honored our choices and allowed us
To mess up our once very fine world.

And now we blame God for not fixing it.
We blame the church which can't fix it
Anymore than a hospital can stop drive- by shootings or wars
By patching the wounded or pronouncing us dead.

And we blame it on the God who loved us
And Who gave us our way as we demanded,
And we blame it on the hospitals for sinners
That treat our wounds, self-inflicted.

And we blame it on those who have warned us
And we kill them for all of their pains,
For in more ways than one, we have taught ourselves,
That the paycheck for sin's always death.

And now we demand that God fix it.
Well, there are verses where He said that He would,
But the fix involves burning it all down
And starting the Earth over anew.

An uncomfortable proposition for you
If you cling to the notion you're a god
Simply because you ate some fruit in a garden.
Just to prove you've free will and you could.

© 2017 by Tom King

Sunday, September 10, 2017

Nobody At All

I'm nobody at all
I've lately figured that out.
A once great frog on the wall.
Now I'm nothing about which to shout
Thanks to the rough education
God's lately delivered to me,
I've experienced an edification
Uncomfortable as a lesson could be.

The loss of my fine reputation
Though is not too heavy to bear.
And I've shortened my day's preparation
Now that I'm losing my hair.

I'm tossing the hair gel and mousse,
The red power tie, three-piece suit.
All trappings of being somebody with juice.
The question of costume's now moot.

If you're nobody, then nobody's looking
To find you and put you to charity work.
You're not part of the plans they are cooking
You've no noblesse oblige' left to shirk.

I find it all quite liberating,
Being no one makes you strong and not weak.
To not care about the critics' berating.
Sets you free of the "somebody" clique.

I don't care who thinks my way is silly.
I'm a big frog in my own little pond.
And I'll decorate my pad on a lily
With some moss, a flower and a frond.

Just what I have, not what they say are
The things I need to be one of the favored.
For life is a banquet set just where you are,
It only takes time to be savored.

© 2017 by Tom King

Thursday, June 1, 2017

April 30 - An ABCDErian on Social Justice

Image found here. No copyright info available.

An ABCDErian on Social Justice

Bill in
Congress can’t
Design people
Even a little
Finer with a new law.
Greater people don’t come from
Having lots of laws to hedge them
In. You cannot change living people
Just by applying pressure from outside.
Kicks don’t work for teaching principles to kids
Likewise one cannot pound goodness into human
Men and women. It doesn’t even work with horses.
Nowhere, nowhen does law enforced entirely with bullwhips
Or chains cause hearts to become better or people to become
Purer or to obey moral laws. Such things only teach to fear
Quickening the rebellion that responds in human hearts to bully
Ruffian discipline by resisting with stubborn implacable rage.
Slaves, even well-kept ones revolt against their masters and eventually
Take up arms to free themselves from even the most kindly lordly rule when promised
Utopia fails to materialize and the sun comes up to reveal the sham,
Virtually naked in the light of day. The smoldering ruin stark, shadows of smoke
Withering upward sucks the last of life and breath from the empty husks left by masters who
X’ed their servants out. Their own willing hands given in service to collectivism little more,
You can see in retrospect, than a binding into bundles to be burned for a temporary warmth;
Zeppelins that touched the mast, sparked, burst in flame and death taking all to Earth, uneducated, lessons learned.

© 2017 by Tom King

Tuesday, May 30, 2017

April 29 – Absorbed


Science calls it flow.
   The way we get when we’ve found
Something that gets deep
    Under our skin and down in our bones.
That wraps us up like skin
    And warms us like a hearth ablaze.
We need it periodically
    To dive down into something that stretches
Our skills and tests our mettle
     And makes us gently better than we were before.
I’ve been that absorbed.
    It hurts in ways that feel like itches scratched
After which, we’re healed
     A little more each time; pressing a little further on
Toward mastery; competence
     Completeness - what you’ve always hoped to be.

 © 2017 by Tom King

Wednesday, May 24, 2017

April 28 - Pushing at the Edges

Narcisse Diaz De La Pena - Fontainblelau Forest

Pushing the Edges

I think we all get at life from the edges;
Pressing hard near the fences and the hedges.
The boundaries that keep us both out and in. So,
It depends which way you've set your mind to go,
As to whether you wind up where you first intended
Or found some other place where your story could have ended.

Anyway, only a bit of life is lived deliberately,
Most of it's more unfocused, much ado done vigorously,
And though it takes you roughly in your general direction,
Near enough that with the occasional course correction
You get somewhere that it was your original intention
To go had you chosen better and paid a great deal more attention.

I take the blame, though not without some reservation,
For though the roads turned, they were not themselves causation
Not entirely, for I could have gone a different way instead.
And sometimes I chose well, but sometimes I, the signs, misread.
Then it was stumbling through the brush, half-blind, trying hard to seize
Upon a beaten forest path I could not see from here - down among the trees.

Were we not promised accompaniment along this dusky path?
Were there not with us angels standing by to shield us from the wrath
Of forces cold, malevolent, hungry, utterly ill-intentioned?
Did we not feel evil press our edges, wolves best left unmentioned,
Lest they become substantial, too real to ignore, too hard to bear
Pressing us onto dark paths we had never really known were there?

Still, the light has kept pace for all this time that we have stumbled,
Forward, picking up our steps, while overhead the thunder rumbled.
And as we draw near the place to which our journey long has wended,
And glance back across our shoulders toward places where the light has ended,
It's harder as we take each step to feel regret for fences and the hedges
For we'd not be the one's we are without, we'd gently pressed the edges.

© 2017 by Tom King