Matakar

By T.D. King

Man—they say—is Spirit: Manifestation of compassion and consequence. In composition, he is made of father and son—a father he praises or aspires to depose—and son, “an ideal thought.”

• Language: English
• Publisher: WestBow Press
• Release date: Nov 28, 2018
• ISBN: 9781973643159

T.D. King

T.D. King is a Philanthropist and Infrastructure Strategist.

Book preview

Copyright © 2018 .

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

WestBow Press

A Division of Thomas Nelson & Zondervan

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.westbowpress.com

1 [phone]

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

ISBN: 978-1-9736-4314-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-4313-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-9736-4315-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018912641

WestBow Press rev. date: 11/20/2018

Contents

1       The Origin of Love

Remember Me

Where the Heart Is

2       Spring

Hope and a Doozie spell

Adele, the First Girl—the One Who Taught Me How to Share

The Adoption of Good Nature

The Garden of Rose

Ten

The Great Big Party Mummy Threw

Butterflies

3       Summer

The Apple State

Anguish or a Similar Treat

Kind and Queen

Twinkle Toes

Bedrock

Innate Oddity

Valedictory!

4       Autumn

In unlikely event it happens

Pieces

Matakar’s Mesmerizing

Unbecoming

Love and a Funeral

Mourning

Olive

Grief: That Odd, Odd-Tasting Sound

A B Fruit

Black Rose: The Indecency of Neglect

Apprehension

Intermission

Good Night, Love

Autumn and Youth

The Weeping Tree

The Colors of Weeping

The Observer

Joymaker

Blueberry College

NotToo-Red Rosy Cheeks

The Makings of Hollow Sticks

A Dark Summer

5       Winter

Vendetta

Plutonium

Passion and Mathematics

1773

A Lion and a Lamb

The Last Song

Longing

Broken Compatriot

6       The Adoption of God nature

How to Ease Congested Chest

Twenty-One, the Year I Found You

Insanity

Poor Pumpkin

That Odd Black Night

7       Truelove

The Edge

Light Blue

Steadfast Love

Autumn 17’

For Lion,

Your love is big—

The kind that rocks foundations and shatters fiends.

For Eden, Love’s rose.

Grow from strength to Strength, never grow old.

Man—they say—is Spirit: Manifestation of compassion and consequence. In composition, he is made of father and son—a father he praises or aspires to depose—and son,

An ideal thought.

The Origin of Love

1

When I was a boy, my father took us on long drives into the wild. On our way out, he explained the geology—the forests, rocks, and sands. He loved the air; Father loved to share.

I saw a set of his old pictures the other day. In one, he sat on a motorbike and held the petiole of a green leaf in his mouth.

That’s how I remember him.

Dear Love,

I come alive in the stars; neither noon nor night.

I digest the universe and cough out regret.

Peacemakers make peace. Warmongers covet the brisk. I am the shadow in between: The Lion and wretched beast.

Hollow Sticks

Dear Lion,

You are the music; every chord of melody has your sound. And when we cannot speak, I sing to you in dreams. 

You are life of my love and love of my life.

Your favorite song,

Truelove

Remember Me

She smelt my heart and dust’ me goodnight. That’s how I think of it.

Ten feet from patter of tiny feet, Mother whispers good night, and I cry myself to sleep. That’s how I picture it—the bits I cannot dream.

And while I whirled in the night, I felt her hug my body tight’ and sing a delicious lullaby. 

Dear Lion, 

These nights are getting easier and harder. Still, You are the air and eerie atmosphere.

I smell Your consciousness and taste Your breath, my bit of forever-lasting. 

How