April 7 - Same Paths, Different Times

Same Paths, Different Times

Feet shuffling along in the snow,
Hooves and sneakers several hours apart.
Going the same direction but drifting
Slightly either side of center
Paths shifted one way and another
By terrain hidden beneath the snow,
Chance steps pushing our paths gently
Sometimes together, other times apart.

© 2019 by Tom King

April 6 - Ya'll Lookie Here!

Ya'll Lookie Here!

I'm a Texan and I always will be
I thought my state was ground twice blessed
Grew up between the piney woods in the East
And the wild grasslands in the West

I got some redneck goin' from somewhere,
I got some interestin' genes from pop and mother
Teachers and preachers up one branch
Rednecks, and union men up another.

I once taught school and another time rode
And wrangled 20 horses, 7 hours a day.
I never broke a bone, just sprains and bruises
That was something of a miracle I would say.

Now I'm sittin' in a padded chair my feet
Propped up, my knees iced down and medicated.
Rethinking stuff I jumped off, climbed up and fell from.
Almost regretting some of the joints that I rotated.

Notice I said "almost", 'cause I'm not so sure I would
Take back, the fun and make the joint pain disappear,
Those times I got to thinkin', "Hey what if I climbed up on..."
Threw up my arms and shouted, "Hey, y'all lookie here!"

© 2019 by Tom King

April 5 - Space Commander Tom

The Space Commander Brothers

Space Commander Tom

Third grade was fun and surprisingly literary.
Every day Mrs. Rogers read us nap time books
About Little America and Admiral Byrd,
And Caddie Woodlawn exploring fields and brooks.

That year I was a troll, dressed all in black;
White beard hanging down. I said "Forsooth!"
Then broke into song in front of a crowd of people.
(I still considered parents people in my youth.)

Mama bought us space commander shirts
For my brother and me - "V" necks just like 
Lost in Space and Captain Kirk on Star Trek.
We built a cardboard starship on my bike.

We were heroic space commanders that whole year.
Aliens quaked, trembling in their icy crevasses;
Fearful of the mighty space commander brothers,

Especially of the handsome one with the glasses.

© 2019 by Tom King

I'm the only 3rd grader in the cast with a beard.

April 4 - Hate Speech

Hate Speech

Once in a while we get kind of tired,
Of talking at one another.
Wouldn't it be nice if that happened
More often.

To speak to say your truth in the open air?
Are words, then, a privilege granted by kings or queens
Or a right of birth; sacrosanct and holy?
Inviolate?

I never met a word that ever made me bleed.
Is anything more powerful than humans choosing?
I never heard a speech I could not resist,
If wanted to.

I once wondered what we should do to stop all the hate.
As if it were "our" responsibility to do so.
The arrogant answered, "No choice should be allowed."
Exactly what I feared.

People with mouths that speak unbidden are dangerous no doubt.
Minds that choose whether they would love or hate or fear.
Cannot be fixed nor made better from the outside in - only from
The inside out.

© 2019 by Tom King

April 3 - Like Silly Putty

Like Silly Putty

A man named Walter McGillicuddy
Was considered a little bit nutty.
He fell for a girl
Who made his head whirl
And she handled him like Silly Putty

April 2 - Lost Graveyard in an Empty Field

Lost Graveyard in An Empty Field

A solitary stone cross stands alone in a hayfield
Where a home stood, children played and supper bells rang the time.
But time marches on they tell us and homes fall down; and big farms
Swallow small ones at last leaving only standing stones behind.

They're buried here, the first generations who walked behind the plow.
They were well-respected, well-loved and finally duly mourned.
The grass grows high, the names on the stones now hidden from passers by;
From the cars that rush by this place, the drivers otherwise concerned.

They were loved, those who sleep undreaming now beneath the stones.
Each stone placed by someone who did not want to forget their resting places.
But in scarce a hundred years both sleepers and those who placed the stones,
Are long forgotten, no one left who knows the names or remembers the faces. 

Save One who marks each soul that was His; who remembers all the faces,
That once looked up, trusting, knowing He to whom they once surrendered;
Who carved their names into His own hands in a lonely place much like this,
On another cross, had promised even lost graveyards like these would be remembered.

© 2019 By Tom King

April 1 - Sentinel

Sentinel

As the sun fades in the west it casts
   It's last light upon the sentinel's hoary flanks
Illuminating her frosted tresses of snow settled like
   Silvery locks hanging from the mountain's shoulders.
A taciturn presence she looms above the lands below;
   Quiet rivers and streams running down
From her rocks and high places
   Carving valleys across the plains at her feet.
You can feel her frowning down at you 
   When the light's like this and the sun's upon her.
A kind of menopausal fury waiting to be unleashed,
   To roar down the valleys she has carved.

© 2019 by Tom King