I Cannot Help But Sing

I Cannot Help But Sing

I don’t know everything there is to know

I never took the time to find out why

The warm sun spins and the rivers roll

And time keeps flowing by

But I’m filled with wonder for I see

His love followed me around,

When I was lost He loved me and still

Loved me when I was found

Every plant and rock and breathing thing

Holds creation’s mystery.

I’ve searched not understanding,

What every sense was telling me
For love’s the very essence,

The song in every living thing

God’s breathing, silent, strong and free

And all nature cannot help but sing.

I cannot help but sing,

In the wind the music sounds

The very mountains ring with it,

The oceans roar and pound

A joyful percussion moving in me

So strong I could not help but sing

I know he’s watching over me

He loves me and I cannot help but sing.

© 2018 Tom King

Down by the Cool Cool Water

Down by the Cool Cool Water

    E                             A

1. A long time ago a woman came

            B7                          E

    To a well where Jesus taught her,

                                           A

    That if you never want to thirst no more,

                         B7                   E

    You’ve gotta come to the livin’ water.

Chorus:

              E            B7

Oh Lord, let me live

                                  E

Down by the cool cool water
     E                      B7
Spread out like a healing flood

                                          E

Oh l want to live down by the water.

2. When I was a young man I didn’t know

    Which way to go and what I ought to

    Till I stepped down with the preacher man

    Down into the cool cool water

Chorus:

3. Walkin’ along the road of life ,

    Had a couple of sons and a daughter

    Side by side with a loving wife

    We were thirsty for that living water.

Instrumental break

4 We’re all livin’ in a thirsty land

    And it keeps on gettin’ hotter.

    But you’re never gonna have to thirst again,

    If you’re livin’ every day by the water.

Chorus:

5. One day soon we’re all goin’ home

    Each precious soul Jesus fought for.

    I know there’s a porch in heaven for me

    And it’s down by the cool cool water.

Chorus:

End:
  B7                          E
Down by the cool cool water.....
 B7                               A          E
Down by the cool cool water.


© 2018 by Tom King

They Demand You Give Them Facts

They Demand You Give Them Facts

 
They demand you give them facts,
But refuse to accept them when they've got them.

They only give you feelings and cynicism in return,

And think they've won the argument.

They say that you have nothing to offer,

And it breaks your heart that you know a secret,

That they do not.
That life is full of joy

Of meaning and purpose,

If you give Him half a chance..

© 2018 by Tom King

The Moth Girls

 

 

The Moth Girls

Up and up the moth girls ascended

On heated zephyrs with iridescent wings,

Lifting them up toward the flickering stars

Above where aerie heights beckoned “Join us.”

And in their brief ascent toward the high places,

The moth girls touched the flames along the way;

Flames that fed the updrafts that were lifting them

In exchange for the kind of fuel that feeds a fire.

Hashtag angels, judged worthy by the very fire

That singed and blackened their nacreous wings;

Flames that judged their further worth by whether

Their youth and beauty had yet been all burned up.

Pity the moth girls weary of the long climb,

Wings tattered, crying out because to be a star

Seems now too great a price to ever pay,

Now that the aerie heights seem finally lost to them.

They join a thousand other me-too moth girls

Spinning down, trailing smoke, emitting thin pathetic screams

Because in the cold and pitiless air of the descent they feel

Their burned skin and the nakedness of their wings. 

And so, the hastag moth girls cry, “The cruel flames above;

That fed our giddy ascent must be extinguished!

For the brightness of the light must not draw the innocent

Upward toward our once high places, bought with our own iridescence.”

© 2018 by Tom King

 

 Pressing Business

My shirts tend to be a bit wrinkled these days.

   I don’t even own an iron anymore.

       Perma-press, though not permanent or pressed

            Will have to do for me, I have no ironing board.

I guess I ought to get one just in case,

   I ever have to go someplace formal,

       Or even semi-formal with a tie and all

            Though I haven’t donned a tie in ages.

Things are changing for us baby boomers,

    Even simple things finally settle into a rut.

        With other comfortable things we’ve tossed in there

              Over the years, collecting the best things in life.

Trouble is that once we’ve become set in our ways

     And predictable in our moods and appetites,

           No one is interested in asking us anymore,

                What we care about or whether we’d like to try something new.

So we get along fine without irons and ironing boards          

     Our music collections grow more slowly and selectively.

           And we eat the same things for supper and brush our teeth

                 With the same danged toothpaste we always use.

And furthermore we don’t even care if adult children don’t like it.

     And think we’re no longer even relevant.

           And isn’t it nice to be content to be just who we are,

                  And finally free of caring about the judgment of others.


© 2018 by Tom King

We Ain’t Going Quiet-Like

Getting old is not for sissies

   If you’re weak they bundle you off

Somewhere you can be taken care of

   Somewhere they can drop you off.

Be careful in your golden years,

   You might want to move far away.

Where the kids can’t watch you deteriorate,

   And maybe send the grandkids to stay.

I blame my Irish ancestors

   That land of youth from their stories

Has given us committees now to determine

   If we’re still in “worth treating” categories.

The Golden Years it seems have gone brass

   Not in favor with those who advertise

So they cancel our favorite TV shows,

   We’re the wrong demographic I surmise.

But the youth of the rising generation

   Have underestimated this generation of geezers.

I don’t think we will go very quietly,

   Though we may be a bunch of old wheezers.

© 2018 by Tom King

The New Sea

The New Sea

What will God do with us sailors?

   In the New Earth if there is no sea?

I can’t imagine a world without dolphins.

   No whales, no old walruses like me.

I had plans to build a sailboat in Earth made new,

   A catamaran, a schooner, sloop, or yacht or

A ketch I can launch, board and sail on,

   Surely God can spare enough water.

Jesus likes fishermen and sailors.

   They were the first ones that He chose.

So for now I'll trust Jesus, who loves me,

   For my love for the sea He knows.   

  

 © 2018 by Tom King

In a Moment

 

In A Moment

In a moment, I knew God had breathed in me.
I knew it the way my body knows
Oxygen when I draw breath
In great gasping lungfuls.
After diving deep beneath the water
Far from the good cool air.

In the twinkling of an eye, I saw light
Pouring through a crack He opened
In heaven’s door for me so I could see
My way in the world by its gleaming;
A light that follows me down the years
Till even now it shows the way.

At the last trumpet, I will know Him
Hear the hoofbeats of his coming in the distance,
And feel the thunder of his approach.
As the clouds roll in and the sky breaks open.
I see the signs, smell the season’s changing,
And hear the wind among the ripening harvest.

We shall not all sleep but we shall all be changed.
 Feel the stirrings of endless ages yet to come
Within our hearts. and in the stillness of the morning,
Rumblings in the Earth and lightnings upon the mountains,
Announcing the moment, the twinkling of the eye,
In which eternity begins, and tomorrow sings of endless joy.

I Corinthians: 15:52

© 2018 by Tom King

Four Letter Words

 

Four Letter Words

Mom’s firm with them kids that were hers,

Don’t cuss, don’t sass, wipe your feet.
Don’t soil, don’t muss, your best duds.
Moms like when your suit doth stay neat.

© 2018 by Tom King

Mono-Syllabic

As president, Cal scarce did say aught,

"Use long words?" he said "I shall not."

Just words that are short

Were for him favorite sport.

He kept his conversation quite taut.

© 2018 by Tom King

Hyperpolysyllabic

If I use words ginormously and complexically

I may conjugate inordinately lexicographically

Using verbiage polysyllabic

Is a most formidable trick.

Big words are problematic philologically

© 2018 by Tom King

Cathexis

Cathexis

    A Haiku

It is your passion.
Hold fast, dig deep and obsess.

Create collections

© By Tom King

In Spring the Owls Hoot

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In Spring the Owls Hoot

In spring the owls hoot back and forth,

   From one end of our 50 acre wood

To the other; singing solemn songs

   To one another in double couplets.

Two wise old birds looking for love,

   Casting feathered sonnets on the breeze

Whispering through the leaves and branches

   Searching for the hollow of another owlish ear.

In spring the owls, high in the branches looking down,
    Are at it all day when usually they are sleeping,
Startling jays and crows with their gruff songs of love,
   And scaring the crap out of the squirrels.

© 2018 by Tom King

Vegan Secret Sin

Vegan Secret Sin

There was a young woman from Seattle;

A vegan who would not eat cattle.

She ate only veggies,

And leaves off the hedges,

But has a weakness for chicken don't tattle.

© 2018 by Tom King

Infinities of Choosing

 

 

 

 

 

Infinities of Choosing

Paths diverge in the woods.

Not just one or two, but ten and twenty.

Choices ad infinitum

Stretching out ahead among the trees;

Among the hills and waterways.

A thousand choices, a thousand paths,

Each choice a share in all creation,

Each selection a partnership with God.

We wend our long befuddled way through time

And vast and breathless spaces.

For without the act of choosing

Creation would have faltered at the start.

Unless the first footfalls of the making

Of the universe were chosen by a warm

And wise intelligence that loved us and built

This infinite home with room for children yet to be.

© 2018 by Tom King

Now I'm Sixty-Four

Now I’m Sixty-Four

Happy birthday to me

I grew up in the trees,

Now I’m just an old ape-man,

With two gimpy knees.

© 2018 by Tom King

Rows of Soldiers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rows of Soldiers

Painted footprints on the sidewalk

In front of the recruiting office

Where young men and women line up standing tall

In a row, their first time as soldiers.

In antiquated tidy rows they learn to stand,

Row on row on parade grounds marching,

For commanders who still love rows

Despite their lack of usefulness in modern war.

No one attacks in close formation anymore,

Or boxes like Napoleon’s or static lines like Redcoats.

No one lines up neatly to be slaughtered anymore

By other men in other lines with guns and standing at attention. 

Instead they fight the way our fathers fought,

In the beginning when with rifled muskets, taking pot shots.

American soldiers hid behind the trees and rocks, not fighting fair,

But fighting for a purpose; fighting to be free.

And in the end our soldiers, not so young now,

Come home to stand in neat lines on parade grounds

One more time to give us one last look and a chance

To show our gratitude,

          ... for their service.

 © 2018 by Tom King

We See the Sun

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We See the Sun

Even when the sky is gray

And the clouds so thick you can’t see where

Or if the sun is shining still,

And yet we know the sun is there

For by it I see everything

In the scattered light of day.

I know tomorrow grass will grow

And soon the clouds will roll away.

Storms may hide the sun sometimes

And in the darkness fling the thunder,

Lightning, hail and sheets of rain,

And cause us all to wonder,

Why the gentle warming sun

Would allow the wind and snow.

Until you see the daisies rise
Among the puddles, then you know.

 
© 2018 by Tom King

Zombie Piano Player - A Limerick

The Zombie Piano Player

There once was a conspiracy theorist,
Who fell in love with a concert pianist,
But got it into her head
That he was already dead.
Saw no future with a zombie. She's a realist.

Prelude to a Nap - A Haiku

Prelude to a Nap

Ratty recliner.
Old man lowers himself down.
Knees pop. Dog climbs up.

© 2018 by Tom King

Toward the Light

Toward the Light

There is a place beyond the pales
Beyond the sight of mortal man.
Within our reach and yet just out
Distances too great for us to span.
One day through space, across time
When we have reached the end of days
We'll rise to meet infinity
And touch tomorrow on the way.

© 2018 by Tom King

Geezerdom

Too little time these days for leisure.
   I thought when I got old, I'd just slow down.
Instead I only shifted to a lower gear.
   My motor's still going as fast as it can.
But it takes twice as long these days.
   To do half as much and the kids?
They've got little patience for us old people
   Grinding along at senior speed,
But here's a secret they forget.
   We've got control of most of the money.
And if they get too saucy with us,
   We'll just spend off their inheritance.

© 2018 by Tom King

China Clipper

China Clipper

My little boat with all sails set
   Across my desk goes she,
A clipper on its way to China,
   For a cargo of jasmine tea.
A little world all it's own,
   Cannons run out their ports
To fend off pirates and brigands
   Ships boats resting on their thwarts.

The sheets upon the decks coiled down,
   Neatly as any decent crew would do.
Orderly to facilitate 
   Operation of rudder, line, sail and clew.
A ship of the age of sail; a complex
   Creature of machine, materials and men;
A breath-taking symphony all parts singing
   Across the waves on the howling wind.

© 2018 by Tom King

Perspective - A Haiku

Perspective

The tadpole just hatched

Looks round and sees the edges

Of his scant puddle.

© 2018 by Tom King

The Hobbler

The Hobbler

There was an old man from Puyallup,
Whose knees would no longer gallop.
In the sun and the drizzle
He hobbles fo' shizzle
With a cane and pain-killers - a dollop.

© 2018 by Tom King

Railroad Marbles

 

Railroad Marbles

When I was a scruffy kid back in Texas,

   We used to go down to the tracks that led up

To the old fiberglass plant. There was a turn there

   Just before you got to the plant.

The hopper cars were filled with railroad marbles,

   The stuff for making insulation and fiberglass;

The big sheets of pink stuff that makes you itch.

   But we didn’t care about that, there were marbles.

Lying along the right of way where Santa Fe

   Thoughtfully spilled some cargo beside the rails for us,

Some scruffy kids who gathered up glass railroad marbles

   By the sack for their collection jars and marble bags. 

© 2018 by Tom King

.

My Grandpa Vlad

When you get curious about your kin,

   And climb up in your family tree,

You just might find a nut or two,

   A king or a duke or three,

One rainy afternoon I logged onto

   The site of Mormon genealogy.

It didn’t take long before I found

   Kin I only knew from archaeology.

Old King Cole I found among

   The family’s distant upper branches.

Grandpas who lived in castles, some in huts,

   Grandmas in teepees; and some on ranches.

I found St. Arnulf a bonafide patron saint

   When he was dead he proved quite clear

His sainthood by producing for his flock

   A miraculous bottomless keg of beer.

There’s Boadicea the warrior queen,

   And a knight named Halfdan the Old

Grandpa Chuck “The Hammer of the Moors,”

   And Welsh King Conan the Bold.

But when you shake the family tree,

    You sometimes find a jewel,

I shook loose a Moldavian Count

     His name was Vlad Dracul.

     

Yep great grandpa he was Dracula,

    The Impaler. Used to slaughter dozens.

Kind of a shock at first, but then again

   It might explain some distant cousins.

Think I’ll take a break for now,

    From ancestors and searching them out.

So far tonight as I shake the tree,

    Rotten apples keep falling out.

© 2018 by Tom King

Toward the Sun

Toward the Sun
                    A Haiku

Parallel lines stretch

Away coming together

Approaching the light.

A Haiku
© 2018 by Tom King

If You Could Swing on a Star, Would You?

If You Could Swing on a Star, Would You?

If you could roller skate in a buffalo herd,
   Why on Earth would you want to?
If your chewing gum lost its flavor on the bedpost overnight,
   Why did you leave it there in the first place?
If you got tears in your ears from lying on your back, crying your heart out over me,
   Why in the world would you lie on your back to weep?
If you are your own grandpa,
   Perhaps you shouldn't marry widows who are pretty as could be.
If Grandma got run over by a reindeer,
   Maybe you shouldn't let her go out there all alone in the road?
If there's a dead skunk in the middle of the road,
   Why don't you drive around it?
If you're Henery the 8th you am, Henery the 8th you am, you am,
   Why can't you shut up and behead some wives or something and give us all a break?
If they're coming to take you away ha, ha, to the funny farm where life is always beautiful,
   Do they need directions?
                       ....have them give me a call. I can tell them right where you are!

© 2018 by Tom King

The Little Man at the Bottom

\

Can I hold the ladder for you Dad?

I want to stand at the bottom and look up,

And see the steps you’ve taken to get to the aerie heights

Where you conduct your business.

Can I catch the seam of your trousers, Dad?

I want to walk as quickly as you do

With that firm step that says you know

Exactly where you are going.

Will you pick me up Dad?

I’m getting a little tired down here,

And need to rest my head against your chest,

Where it is safe and warm and comforting.

© 2018 by Tom King

In the Land of the One-Eyed King

In the land of the one-eyed king,
   The two-eyed man can see the borders clearly.
Depth perception is highly under-rated,
   By a citizenry that is mono-opic and/or the blind.
So, when the ravening hordes pour across
   The nation's boundaries, waving swords and spears
Only those who can perceive the distance
   Feel the threat of what is coming toward us.

© 2018 by Tom King

Counted Blessings, Uncounted Curses

Counted Blessings, Uncounted Curses

Hardly a day goes by that I

   Don’t try to count a blessing or two

Or three. It’s kind of a race

   I run against discouragement and despair.

Counting a blessing really does work

   Even if that blessing is as simple a thing

As a faucet that works again after an easy repair,

   Or a car that starts the first time you turn the key

When it’s raining cats and dogs and you need it to start,

   Or a something as simple as a banana in winter.

Blessings are everywhere lifting us up

   As effectively as counting up the curses

Makes you bitter, angry, melancholy,

   Less certain about moving forward.

So I call them out one by one by name.

   Even the little goodnesses you seldom think about.

It takes a little effort, staying ahead of despair.

   Counting up the tiny gifts that come our way.

But it’s worth it if it helps you stay ahead

   Of the darkness of the counted curses.

By Tom King

© 2018

Harbingers and Heralds

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Harbingers and Heralds

There is a warning that comes before

   The moment when a smile lights up your face.

The touch, of a lover’s hand portending

   In that long breath ahead of an embrace,

An electric harbinger of sweetness coming,

   A neuro-chemical nudge in the tangled space,

Among the billion neurons where the mind,

   Whispers, roars, and rushes on apace;

In the dark behind the eyes, the soul knows,

   Whether by instinct, intuition or wild guesses

When something’s coming down the pike.

   Heart tightens as the mind presses

Strings of emotion, playing like a fiddle,

   In the deep places in the dark recesses

Where we gauge the imminently approaching

   Moment we expected as it softly coalesces.

Then there's that smile...

© 2018 by Tom King

By Babylon’s Waters

It seems we all are looking down

   The long road to Babylon these days,

In front of screens flickering.
   Grim images incessantly 

Anticipating the place where we will one day sit

   Heads in hands, humming wistful tunes

That Babylonians would wish for us sing

   In the aftermath of our doom.

Once we’ve crawled from out

   The rubble that must inevitability be

The consequence of civilization’s sins

   And humankind’s lust for zombie apocalypses

And sullen captivity and lots of living dead

   To mete out our punishment.

Down past the breath-taking end

   We know that we will one day sit

In the dust upon the stumps of burned out trees

   We once insisted we were protecting

And we will watch the thick brown waters flow by;

   Waters only God can make run clear again.

© by Tom King