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Sunday, March 19, 2017

The Earth Breathing

Photo © by Glenn Sackett
The Earth Breathing

Sunrises are the opposite of sunsets.
Sunsets make you breathe out,
Sunrises make you breathe in.
The deep and rhythmic breathing of the day.

© 2017 by Tom King

Friday, March 17, 2017

Lifting With My Legs


I remember skipping down a woodland path
Because when I was young - it was faster than walking
And not as much work as running flat out;
Skipping’s just the speed for taking in the scenery.

I was a kid then with strong bones and healthy joints,
Because I got my daily servings of dairy and vegetables
And I avoided swimming for at least one hour,
After eating all those recommended daily allowances.

Over the years, I was told to stay out of drafts
Because I might catch pneumonia
And wore a hat in winter so that
I would not catch my death of cold.

My bosses told me lift with your legs
Because it will save your back from damage
And so I religiously lifted with my legs.
And sure enough it saved my back.

I have never had a broken bone in all my life
Because of all that calcium and the veggies,
And I wore a hat and never got pneumonia – not at all;
And never drowned and so far haven’t caught my death.

I seldom skip these days, satisfied with a more leisurely pace
Because all that lifting with my legs apparently wrecked my knees
Running’s too much work, skipping’s out of the question,
But my back’s terrific - so far so good.

© 2017 by Tom King

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Music on Demand





 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Music On Demand


Sometimes you have to break out in song;
Maybe when you’re driving down the road
And a song you like comes on the radio
Or you grab a CD stuck in the visor.
Life ought to be a musical.
It actually is one in my head,
Whether anybody can hear it or not.
Inside I’m singing my heart out.
                   
                      ……and maybe dancing a little.


© 2017 by Tom King

Thursday, January 12, 2017

Roses as Garnish




Roses as Garnish

Our doe has left her hoofprints
In the new snow along the driveway
On either side, the prints of her young in tow
A yearling and a spring fawn.

We call them ours
For they live in our wood,
And feed in the bogs and gardens
And steal fruit from our apple trees.

I’d buy some bags of corn
And set it out for them except
If I did the neighbors would complain
About the roses eaten as a garnish.

We never know, deer nor dog
Nor human being, just when to stop
Nibbling at the flowers even
When there is plenty of corn to be had.


© by Tom King


Sunday, January 1, 2017

Plush Angels



Plush Angels

It’s in their eyes you see it
Trust looking back at you from dark pools;
Eyes shining full of animal love.
Dogs and horses are like that you know.
God’s plush angels; ministering spirits
Unconditional love in those eyes
The master teacher delivering lessons
Through the humblest of teacher’s aides.

By Tom King


© 2017

Saturday, October 29, 2016

Love Played Out


 

Love Played Out


God gets a bad rap
From those who know His mind
And yet have never met Him
Nor studied the psychology of the infinity.

With impossible arrogance
We confidently accuse infinite love
Of being responsible for every evil thing
That we ourselves have done to one another.

We demand freedom
From God’s meddling ways
And then we turn around and blame Him
For not making us behave ourselves.

Love is the only thing
That awakens love in creatures
With the free will and self-awareness
That enables us to create as He does.

Infinite Love weeps while we discover
To our dismay that the gifts of choice
That make us what we are can be misused
And God won’t interfere until we’ve learned.

Love cannot be forced
Creation without free will and choice does not exist.
Infinite power must be restrained while classes
Are still in session and so long as we still are learning.

Love requires a demonstration
We learn by experience hard-earned.
We must see love played out before our eyes or we cannot
Allow Him to deliver us even from ourselves.

© 2016 by Tom King

Sunday, October 9, 2016

Rain on the Skylight




Rain on the Skylight

It’s weird, lying here, looking up
Rain dropping from thousands of feet above me;
Pelting down, reaching terminal velocity
Splattering against the plexiglass a few feet from my face.

I wish all roofs were clear and you could see
Through and straight on up into the sky.
Skylights are stingy and even on a clear day or night
They only grant your eyes a narrow view of heaven.

By day the shafts of sunlight in neat rectangles
Track across the carpet, reminding me,
That time is passing and I should be
Out the kitchen door to join the open spaces.

At night, I have to shift myself about the darkened room
To keep my eye upon the scarred moon’s face as it sails by overhead,
Peering down through the plastic as it passes, yet,
Ignoring me altogether, accompanied by the stars.

Because I cannot live outside these days,
I must content myself with my little windows
And the narrow piece of sky it grants to me for comfort
And the wider peace of heart it nurtures in my soul.

© 2016 by Tom King