Rainstorm

A Haiku by Tom King

It comes in a rush.
God bathes the dusty city.
Umbrellas blossom.

EXPLANATION: In church today we were talking about how God wants to bless us and sometimes we hide from those blessings be cause we want to avoid the discomfort that might come with receiving them.  I had the city picture in my mind and I imagined a rainstorm over crowds of shoppers and pedestrians. When the rain came, the umbrellas began to pop open as people tried not to get wet. I like to raise my face to the sky and enjoy the first rush of the shower. I though about God washing the dust from the city streets and buildings with the rain. The picture of God bathing the city and people raising their protective "blossoms" just came next. I might have put this more obscurely, but the haiku form demands a very rigid economy of words. That's why haiku is such a wonderful teaching tool for poets. It makes you write more strongly and with fewer words.  The picture is of a friend of mine, Steve Marshall, a guy who knew something about rain and the need for a good wash now and again..........and for umbrellas.

(c) 2009

First Love

by Tom King

I loved you first of all,

Any sad experiments I later made,

I was only looking for you..

In all that wasted time

It was you I loved.

You I ached for in the night.

Did you know, I prayed for you

When I did not know

Who you were or where you lived

Or what your name would be.

First love felt empty

Till I found you and was filled.

(c) 2011

Photo: Autumn 1974

Pine Forest Academy

I Sat Down in This Damnable Chair

My Grandpa playing the harmonica - 1984

I sat down in this damnable chair
two weeks ago now it was.
I can't lie down, I don't want to sit up
SPEAK UP I CAN HEAR YOU TALKIN'
It's my family that hovers over by the door
just out of ear shot
I know what they're whispering about
I JUST HAD THE SUIT CLEANED

I hate the idea of spending money to clean a suit
They're just going to bury me in.
When they close the lid it'll smell like dry cleaning
I HAVEN'T EVEN BEEN TO CHURCH
Not in 2 years have I worn the thing - except to two funerals
That was last fall, I didn't think about it then...
I kinda wish I could take some of the wrinkles with me
I GOT THOSE AT MY BOY'S FUNERAL

Haven't been a deacon in 30 years or sat in church
for I forget how long now.
I wish they'd say something to me besides
ARE YOU COMFORTABLE, DAD
No, I'm not comfortable. Would you be in my place?
Everybody whispering about burying me!
I just said it and I don't feel anything like I thought
I would when I was 12.
BURY ME?

When I think of myself as a child I'm always 12.
Don't know why. It was a good age I guess
I was a boxer then, listened to matches on the crystal set.
I HEARD DEMPSEY WHIP TUNNEY
Used to let people hit me in the heart, big fellows
Gonna show 'em how tough I was
I heard someone tellin' that story in the kitchen just now
MAYBE I'D LIKE TO HEAR THAT STORY TOO!"

My heart's finally payin' me back; givin' up on me
Just when I figured it all out.
Nobody listens, though, they figure it's pain medication.
MAKES PERFECT SENSE IF YOU'LL LISTEN
I have! I've figured out what it was I really wanted
when I was a thick headed 12 year old.
Now nobody listens, and I can't get it out.
I WANT SOME BREAKFAST,
THE DAY'S JUST STARTIN'

"Dad, it bedtime, now. How about some soup......?"

(c) 1989 by Tom King

Daisy in Distress

© 2011 by Tom King

I hardly knew how much she meant to me.
this furry dog-child curled up upon the floor.
I suppose it's cause the kids are up and grown
And little need my company anymore,
That I have grown attached;
That I find my heartstrings
Played upon when only lately such sweet music I forbore.

We have them for so brief a time, a spring
It seems, and then they slip so quietly away,
And leave a wounded heart behind to soldier on
And face the living wars and troubles day to day;
No warm breathing by my chair
No dark eyes shining up at me.
I miss her already, even though she has not gone away.

To love a thing that much, so fleeting in its passage
Whether, wife or child or friend or even hound
Lays bare the heart to wounding when the loved is lost
Or threatened even by injury or illness found;
A trip to the hospital,
An overnight at the vet,
Leaving the anxious heart to flutter and to pound. 

God in His mercy surely makes provision,
For kids and wives, beagles and hounds - a place
Beyond this life; a treasure house where loves
May be renewed. For surely in His grace
His tender heart could never bear
A love forever lost;
A loved one's shining eyes, no longer looking up into His face.

Flower Man II

Flower man stands by the stop sign
Sellin' roses two for five
We have a little arrangement
The flower man and I

 I roll up, slide down the window
He plucks out two for five
He knows I'm in a hurry
Waves as I go by

The flower man doesn't know she can't
Watch roses fade and die
She told me weeks ago
Said they made her cry

I don't know why I buy them still
Two bunches for a five
Maybe cause the flower man
Still waves as I go by.

© 1992 by Tom King

The Flower Man

The flower man who stands by the stoplight
Sells roses two for five.
I know. I asked him
  even though I'm broke today.

I want to buy some one day,
  when I have five dollars
    and can time my stop at the traffic light
      so he and I connect.

It's not just his tattered shoes and hungry look either.
I have a lovely woman at home;
  a woman to write songs about,
    and buy flowers for in winter time.

Today, I think I forged an alliance with the flower man.
He, will look different from now on standing by the stoplight.
Next time I shall not see the tattered shoes,
But I shall see the face of the flower man.

© 1991 by Tom King

Roadside Stand

  (c) 2011 by Tom King 

Up ahead... 

A breathing space beside the road, 

Heaps of sustenance, rich dirt-toned, 

Plucked from the Earth, 

Gifts to be had from the land itself, 

To those who have the strength of arm  

             ... or three dollars the peck 

Pull over... 

Walk among the over-flowing baskets, 

Find something from the place itself 

Something drawn from the open-handed Earth 

Lifted whole and good in the farmer's naked hands 

A blessing to those who will gather at my table; 

            ... a reason, now to hurry home. 

*Picture by Patricia Moore used under Creative Commons License

Hoping

By Tom King

We are made of star stuff;

Our bones of quicksilver and moondust.

In our sinews are longings

Which cannot be satisfied

On such a dusty rock as Earth;

Proof we are meant to live forever.

Evidence - a faint trail

Left upon our souls,

By Him who made us.

(c)  2009

By the Road to Ninevah

by Tom King

Build me a place in Your heart
Wherever that is.
You are so vast and yet so near
Beside me in the mess that is my life.
I do not know what is left undone.
I suppose You will tell me when you're ready.

It's not like you've given me a map or anything.
You said all things work together for good.
And then you leave me standing in the sand like Jonah,
Covered with vomit by the "Road to Ninevah" sign.
I still do not know what is left undone.
I only know I have a long uncomfortable walk ahead.

Is it too much to ask of you
As much as I love you, as far out as I am hanging,
To get a little more light on this trail here?
I can't see a thing from here.
How can I know what is left undone?
But I suppose I'll find out soon enough
……If my heart holds out.

(c) 2009

Time to Fill the Feeder

By Tom King

Time to fill the feeder

Greedy little buggers come and gone

Left only dark husks on the ground and flew away

Once in a while they come and thump the window

They're mad at me.

I'm forgetful and it's late winter

And they like the sunflower seeds

Particularly well

I stall a bit and let them thump

When the tray is empty they have to fly further

To other feeders; even to dry fields and emaciated weeds

To stoke the little fires

That keep their bellies warm

And give them wings in winter

Oh, I'll give them a break soon.

Just want to make sure they understand

The proper use of wings and beaks

And brains and claws.

In case something happens to me.

And no one remembers about the feeder.

(c) 2009

Cold Bones …..Warm Feet

By Tom King (c) 2013

Up here in the North Woods it’s damp,

I don’t mean your standard cool weather with rain.

It’s industrial drizzle, unrelenting gray skies

 Late September to early in June in the main.

 My bones slowly chill till they creak;

Frost accumulates in my joints.

My knees, My toes and fingers never get warm,

Except when I curl up in bed at night

Next to you. 

* Photo (c) 2013 by Tom King

Fresh Powder

Fresh Powder 
(c) 2011 By Tom King

A Texas boy, I’ve never seen

Fresh powder, soft, nearly dry

It kicks up on my boot toes

As I pass shuffle-footed alongside the dog

Two pair of footprints and a row of holes

Where my cane punctures the pristine sheet of snow.

It’s night now – me and the dog

Lookin’ for a place to pee.

She’s never seen snow like this before

And rambles herky-jerky ranging back and forth

Sticking her nose under bushes, into little drifts

Snorting when she gets a noseful, shaking her head.

The path and snow-packed road wend away

Toward a lamppost at a corner someway off

Tempting us along like children

Sneaking down the aisle of an empty church

To steal a peek at things upon the altar

The snow, like linen drapes lying softly over the pews.

Fresh powder softly laid lends a holy stillness

Over the cold, dark world tonight.

Reflects the moonlight scattering little stars

Like jewels along the way ahead.

Breathless, still, yet almost a kind of music

An aerie song of distantly remembered home.

Blessed

Blessed

by Tom King

We've sailed this sea in tempest, storm and trial.

Some think we're cursed, I think we’re blessed.

The way I see it, if this life is truly all there is,

We may as well lay down and molder with the rest.

But on the outside chance that all of this makes sense,

We'll trust that we are watched by He who made the stars.

That He who set the worlds to spin in space.

Knows exactly where his troubled children are.

How sweet the sound, the unseen wind in treetops

That, if it will, may bring down mighty oaks about our ears

Or yet may fill our sails and drive our tiny boat

Across the pitching, heaving sea of years

I choose to raise our sails and catch the wind.

And cling to the tiller, cloak wrapped up against the spray

Trusting that soon again will come the morning

Steering small and ever on, only stars to guide our way

© 2011 by Tom King

HIGH WIRE

High Wire

Living without a net
Terrifies and delights
No guarantees
But oh, how utterly ALIVE!

(c) 2003 By Tom King - Freelance human

Whirling

Whirling                                  

I hear it first, then feel it;
The cool rush and whirl of dry leaves
Spun up on errant zephyrs,
Dancing in the face of the onrushing storm.

The very air is transformed - green and thick
The weather wizards waving magic wands.
Hocus and Pocus and the first cold drops
Spatter against my forearms.

The dog pulls at her chain turning back toward home,
Knowing what's coming;
And puzzled that I seem not to,
She nips at my hand to pull me along.

Stubborn me, I step deliberately
Oh sure, I've turned for home, but still
It's only rain and thunder and I'm sure,
That I would not mind a wetting.

But for Daisy's sake I step it up,
The hush of rushing rain behind.
Then trees gasping overhead as we are doused
Two steps shy of the porch and shelter.

The dog shakes off the rain and frowns at me,
Before she comes to stand pressed tight
Against my leg to watch the storm.
I laugh and Daisy grins, safe and sort of dry.

© 2010 by Tom King

Oak Trees on Fourth Street

Oak Trees on Fourth Street

Copyright 2003 by Tom King

My brother and I were never much attached

To earth; remorseless clay that never grieves

To catch our bones should ever we descend

The warm red earth enfolding fallen leaves.

When I was young we climbed the oaks out back.

My mother couldn't bring herself to watch.

She closed the kitchen curtains; lowered the shades,

And left us swinging limb to branch to crotch.

High up among the brittle boughs we sat

Long golden afternoons and fiery dusks,

Where God would whisper soft among the leaves,

The secret things He only shared with us.

When last I saw my brother he was climbing

Still higher slipping upward toward the light

But down there in the hard red clay he left

His bones behind; in payment for the flight

Nor was he last of those I’d lose among

The branches high and airy.

Did they hear, God whisper secrets, somehow I did not?

And is that why He’s left me waiting here?

High among the branches I drink sunlight

That trickles down among the leaves and boughs

Listening hard to hear a secret whispered

The one in all the years, I’ve missed somehow.

Vagabond Moon

Vagabond Moon
© 2008 by Tom King 

Neath a vagabond moon, on a crisp autumn night

I'm perched on the roof in the cold silver light 

Things are goin' too fast and they're always too slow 

And somewhere out there there is someone who knows 

Just how that feels... 

And just how my heart goes... 

And just why that old vagabond moon 

Makes me feel lonesome and cold. 

At the turn of the year, the sky's fadin' fast 

Tomorrow's not clear, my days seem all past

It's pale shapes I see, no forests, no trees 

Only shadows and whispers in the November breeze 

 Know just how that feels 

They know just how to sing 

The songs that make vagabond moons 

Feel so almighty lonesome and cold 

Just lookin' up there makes a man understand 

That it's true after all that he’s only a man 

It's God's moon every night and His sun every day 

And when He's finished with me it'll all be okay 

Cause He knows just how I feel... 

He knows just how to walk... 

In the shoes of a man 'neath a vagabond moon 

When the night is all lonesome and cold