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

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