April 7: Twenty-Six Miles From Here

 Twenty-Six Miles From Here

                    by Tom King

If I walk down the road a ways
To the edge of the Puyallup Valley
Overlooking the river winding upward
To the foothills of Mount Ranier,
And above it all, rises the snow-capped
Cinder cone, the remnant of an ancient
Spate of unspeakable geologic violence.
The ash pile left to remind us to be respectful.

It's twenty-six miles from my front door
Squatting there on the horizon grim and blue.
Pushing the clouds that roll in off the Pacific
Spiraling upward like a big fluffy chimney.
The big guy is overdue I'm told
For another noisy demonstration
Of the mountain's ability to wreak violence,
On a lot of puny mammals that get too close.

Puny mammals like me.
  Living just 26 miles away.

© 2022

 

 

 

April 6: Down the Blue Deep

 

 

 

 

April 5: In the Wake of the Sunset Clipper

In the Wake of the Sunset Clipper

By Tom King

 When I was in the second grade,
I drew a clipper ship on my Big Chief tablet
Not knowing how, I just figured it out on my own.
The shape of the hull, the rigging, the sails.
When Mrs. Rogers the 3rd grade teacher saw it
Hanging on Mrs. Pauly's bulletin board,
She liked it and borrowed it from Mrs. Pauly
To hang upon the 3rd grade bulletin board.
To inspire here art class to new artistic heights.
I was, after all, only a 2nd grader.

Year after year, I drew other clipper ships,
Some sketches black and white, the rigging
Becoming ever more complex; ever more accurate.
Some in color. I remember the year I turned the flags around
Realizing they would flutter in the same direction
In which the sails were filled and drawing.
Once I'd discovered that, I found I added clouds,
The horizon with the sun down low above the water.
Usually to the right ahead of my clippers in pursuit
But I didn't know if the sun was setting or rising.

All these years later, I still am drawn to clipper ships, tearing
Across the water faster than any of the other old windjammers.
But, I have figured out the thing about the sun, a last detail added.
Definitely it's a sunset and my ships are sailing in its wake 
Trying to keep up and prevent the sun from setting;
To keep ahead of the gathering dusk following along astern.
This I do know I cannot keep the pace much longer.
Darkness in a while will overtake my vessel despite
Her straining halyards, creaking masts and snapping sails.
The wind will die, and I will coast silently into eternity.

© 2022

 

 

 

 

 

April 4: Train on a Bridge

 

Train on a Stone Bridge
by Tom King

I used to build bridges when I was a kid.
I used to make them first from blocks,
Then from Legos, an Erector Set and finally
A dedicated bridge-building set my Matchbox cars fit on.

When I was two I got a Lionel train - OScale
My Dad played with it all Christmas day.
I loved my train. Mom used to plug it up for me.
I would lie on the floor and watch it go round.

I'd set my face by a curve and watch the train
Race toward me, then turn at the last second
And flash by with all the cars in tow
And disappear into a painted stamped metal tunnel.

One day, Mom was next door talking to the neighbors
And I wanted to plug the transformer in.
I thought, at 3, I was big enough to do it myself.
And in the process discovered what electricity is.

Mom cut the cord that day and my train became a pusher.
 Mom knew I could not be trusted to resist plugging
My electric trains with its painted tin tunnel,
And all the bridges and crossings I was planning.

I still love watching trains, big ones crossing bridges.
Stone bridges, truss bridges, suspension bridges
Watching them cross deep chasms on complicated
Wooden structures creaking and groaning with the weight.

Trains and bridges, tunnels and stretches of track
Winding along rivers, snaking up mountain passes,
Dragging a hundred cars behind a big black engine
Pouring great clouds of smoke into the sky.

In my garage there's a big board upon which
I plan to build mountains, tunnels, and most important of all -
Bridges - trusses, cantilever, stone arches and suspensions.
But, I'll be careful with the plug so no on euts my cord.

© 2022

 

April 3: Along The High Frontier

 

 

Along the High Frontier

by Tom King

I have never slipped the surly bonds of Earth
   Save firmly strapped in a seat in a big aluminum tube
Rocking along at 25,000 feet, someone else at the stick,
   Who knows how to fly this thing at preposterous speeds.
And ridiculous altitudes, but not in any danger of reaching space,
   Though if you can afford a ticket, perhaps...........

The high frontier for now is the province,
   Of very rich guys and scientists and celebrities.
Someday perhaps before the world blasts itself to atoms,
   A regular schlub like me might catch a ride
Beyond the stratosphere to where space proper has its boundaries.
   And I'd need a special suit to step out on the station's porch.

The High Frontier someday will open out before us,
   When we have had the time, the millenia to to figure out the tech.
Once the work of Earth has been completed and we humans
   Scrubbed of our sins and able to be turned loose out there
In the galaxy, without the fear that we will mess things up,
   There is so much we have yet to learn along the high frontier.

© 2022

April 2: Packages

Packages
by Tom King

There's nothing like a package
   Arriving in the mail
Unexpected or expected
   A kind of joy that does not fail
To make you feel all special
   Though you bought the thing on sale.

Even if it came from Amazon
   And you bought it for yourself,
It's the mystery of the packaging
   It's the hidden thing itself.
It's that moment of anticipation
   A happiness for myself.

I mean I know just what it probably is,
   And I knew that it was coming,
But still it is the mystery
   That sets my heart to drumming.
That pleasant little mystery,
   That sets me happily humming.

The thing is that until you tear away
   The paper and the shipping tape,
It might be something else than what
   You ordered. In a box the very shape
The other thing was supposed to be.
   From boring just a small escape.

Little mysteries, small offerings,
   Some big, some very small,
Some from near, some from far away,
   From romantic ports of call.
I love arriving packages,
   Wherever from, I love them all.


© 2022
  


 

April 1: Hats made of Fruit

The Girl from Saint Lucyer

I once knew a gal from St. Lucia,
She was know far and wide to be beautier.
When on her head she wore fruit,
She was really quite cute;
A work of art by the island's master frutier.

Tom King
© 4/1/2022