David King will be reading and conducting a workshop at the Little River Poetry Festival!
David King is a retired English teacher who composes poetry about the North Carolina mountains and the Jersey Shore. He has published a book of verse, This Side of Forever, about his late wife to whom he was married thirty-six years. He reads at various venues sharing his depictions of character and place in his work. He now resides in Moore, South Carolina and devotes his time to the pursuits of cycling, hiking, sports cars, collecting antiques, photography, and Civil War studies with his wife, Char.
From the archives…
I worked out on the knob
Till I was near eighteen,
Toiling among the rock
That were sprinkled on our farm
Or driving in the cows
That we kept enclosed
By some boards we stretched across
Where the hillside jutted close.
For Daddy Jim was up at light
And kept the place so clean,
It was a truly sparkling sight
White against the valley’s green.
We were taken most every day,
I mean the boys that is,
When the sun was slanting far away
To hoe the field of corn that was
Just beside the rocky creek
Whose sweet water nourished it.
We’d weed and scrape away the dirt,
So suckers wouldn’t discourage it.
For daddy said the corn was like
A woman with a secret love,
Needing some gentle talk
Not a clumsy, heated shove.
Daddy took one tool and worked
Busily along the rows
While Fred, and Tommy, and tall Jack
Spread out with their hoes.
It was early summer then,
And the stalks were close about my waist,
And looking out across that corn
My disaffection took a rise.
So I called out to him,
“When will this work be done?
For I’m fed up from
Sweating in the hot sun!”
He said, “Now Lee, you better
Git it right. I run this place,
And we’re gonna hoe this field tonight
If we have to give the moon a race!”
All of a sudden that old hoe
Blistered right up in my fist,
And I couldn’t wait to go
From that rocky, hoe-scratched place.
And I did. I left right then
With just these parting words to him,
“This God damn hoe don’t fit my hand!”
And I threw it in the corn.
Since then it has been many years
And I have known a lot of strife
From Kasserine Pass to Sicily,
And I have two girls and a wife.
But whenever I meet my dad
His mouth is thin and drawn,
As he says that old hoe blade
Is still rusting in the corn,
But he says it with respect,
And he firmly takes my hand
As if I have been brought
Into the company of men.