The Chainsaw

He quietly cursed as he pulled on the starter rope. This was the third attempt to get the chainsaw started , and the second time he’d adjusted the carburettor settings. It was always the same when he’d had the machine apart for cleaning; it never liked to start first time. Putting his toe back in the handle grip, he gave the rope another sharp pull, and the saw spluttered – Excellent! Pushing in the choke lever, he pulled again, and the saw chugged into life. This was the dodgy bit. He mustn’t try revving it up yet, or it would die on him, and be the very devil to start again. The sound of the exhaust was almost like laughter, the saw teasing him, and urging him to pick it up and flick the trigger, but no, not yet – it wasn’t warm enough yet. Let it run another minute. The saw slowly settled back to a more regular chuckling noise, and he recognised from the changing tone that the engine was warming up now, and the playful pixie in the engine had given way to a more workmanlike wizard – one who was ready to magic its way through any log  that it was rested on.
He picked the saw up and tickled the trigger, the saw burst into life, and the chain whirred, flicking sticky chain-oil forward. Tweaking the trigger again, he immediately pushed the back of his wrist against the safety bar, which jumped forward, and the whirring chain stopped dead. It was said to stop in milliseconds, but a chain could still do a lot of damage, given the speed it was travelling at full tilt. Still, a few milliseconds was better than seconds in the event of a kick-back or snag,  or stumbling while working which is such an easy thing to do.
Thinking to try out the newly cleaned saw, he revved it and gently laid the chain against the bark at the butt end of a recently felled tree. The chain started to bite and a shower of chips streamed out from the underside of the blade, shooting out behind the saw off to his side. The cut felt good and even, each tooth of the chain cutting the same sized chip as the one before it, a smooth flow of minute slices which would make easy work of the log. Pushing the toothed dog at the front of the body into the bark, he pulled harder on the trigger and levered the saw to put more cutting pressure on the chain. The exhaust note deepened as the engine worked harder to take a deeper slice. This wasn’t necessary, as the saw would perform best if not under pressure, but this was a trial to see how the engine performed under pressure, and it passed with flying colours; no coughing or spluttering; the settings were just right for a change. There was nothing worse in his book than a saw spluttering or failing halfway through a felling cut, leaving him “out on a limb”, with little control over how the tree would behave until it was finally through.
He was pleased too that the newly sharpened chain was in excellent condition – he took great pride in his sharpening prowess. It had been the same with hand-saws – there were very few could sharpen and set a saw these days, very few who had even used a two handled cross-cut before, but that was how he had  started, and it was a fine introduction to learning how to “feel” trees, and just what was going on inside them. It just seemed to him that there was very little point in having an edge tool that didn’t have a sharp edge, be it a saw, axe, chisel, knife, plane or chainsaw. Sure, you could burn your way through a log with a blunt chain and a lot of brute force, but what was the point of that, when your saw could zip through a log like a hot knife through butter with the least effort on your part, and the greatest satisfaction of a job well done?

He knew that he’d never fell another tree. His forestry days were long over, and the Juggernaut logging machines had come to take the work from him. One man in a cab could fell, sned, cut to length and roughly stack a tree in a matter of seconds, and all without even having to lift his backside out of the seat.

Picking up the saw again, he gave the trigger a squirt, and turned, smiling, to the stack of logs he was to cut today.
All his cordwood was delivered these days on a truck, (all of it spewed out by the loggernaut machine) but nobody would ever deprive him of the pleasure of using the tool that had been an extension of his right hand for so much of his working life.


©Rob King 2014

The Internet

Since I've had access to the rest of the world via the internet - about ten years now - I've come to realise just what an amazing bunch of people there are living in this world.
People who connect, and are willing to share whatever it is they have in their lives, be it something very small and seemingly insignificant, or something blindingly life-changing. There are people from all walks of life, from all over the world, living in situations ranging from near poverty to having everything they need, doing all kinds of jobs, or voluntary work, or art, all with their own particular interests and passions, but the one thing they all have in common is sharing.

I feel very privileged to have "met" so many of these people, and to have shared friendship with them, even though I might never physically meet, touch, or talk to most of them. Even so, there is a bond between us all, like strings that connect us, and the more we give of ourselves, the more connections are made and strengthened.
I consider that I have friends in places and positions that I once never knew of, and every one of them teaches me a little more of their world every time we connect, and they learn a little more about me at the same time.
This connection is the remover of ignorance - the slayer of fear, and the unifying factor that should be in everybody's life, not just the lives of the chosen few.

The word love is used a lot among these friends of mine, and it has very special meaning for me, as it reminds me that we are all one, all of the same source, a part of the same universe.
I don't give a fig for religion - my personal belief is that religion is an artifice, a man made system that has been designed primarily to control, and I'll have no part of it. Let others believe as they will.
My one wish is that EVERYBODY could have the opportunities that the internet has given me - the chance to connect, without let or hindrance, to every other person in the world, and to share, and to love.

Hmmmm - that turned into a bit of a rant, didn't it?

I'll lighten up now with a pretty picture, and a poem from  2 years ago, all about love. :0)

First Date

We shared a bench for lunchtime

Miss Amanda Trott and I

she had a pot of salad,

And I had Grosvenor pie

I really liked her company

but couldn't help wonder why

She'd asked if she might share a bench 

with me.

The sun was very pleasant

neither too hot, nor too cool

and childrens voices cracked the air

down by the paddling pool

Amanda chatted easily so

I didn't feel a fool,

I just answered all her questions and 

we smiled

I could feel the threads between us

building layers like a rope

Her easy manner helped me,

made me feel that I could cope

and although I wasn't confident

It really gave me hope.

that we might do the same again

tomorrow

My watch relayed the message 

it was time for us to part

but I really felt attachment 

by these strings from heart to heart

so I blurted out the question

"Do you think that we could start

to see each other when we aren't 

here working?"

She looked at me quite kindly

and then she gave a wink

and she said "I'm doing nothing 

Sunday lunch-time - do you think

that if I gave you my phone number,

you could take me for a drink?"

and I just sat there with my eyes and mouth 

wide open.

Well, we couldn't leave the park through 

separate gates now, that was clear

although that was the way we entered 

when we first came here

so she took my arm,(the rope intact)

and I grinned from ear to ear,

and we walked back to work again

Together.

© Rob King

Storm surge

The howling wind the willows bend
their heads bow down  in unison
and as a wave they rise again
to straighten like a spring
without their leaves they feel the cold
their backs are turned toward the gale
and bend they must, or break they will
as winter batters in.
The threatening storm pervades the air
and whisks the clouds in frenzied flight
the temperature is falling
feeling colder than the frost
but still the fleeting air is dry
no snow or ice apparent yet
but come the darkness without moon
then - what will be the cost?
The wicked winter tide is rising 
"Spring-tide" only in her name
and joining forces with the North wind
Southward looks to play her game
She thunders up along the beaches
hurling gainst the seawall strong
seeking, searching for a weak spot
to concentrate her efforts on 
but man has worked to keep her out
since fearful night in '53
when terror struck and souls were lost
in acres under sea.
Precautions taken, with good fortune
stop her claiming back the land
and so she heads around the coast
to find the softer sand
of Happisburgh, Palling, Caister, Yarmouth
places all aware of flood 
and washed out beaches, fallen cliffs
and brackish river mud.
With any luck a few degrees 
of changed direction for the wind
will keep the very worst at bay
and let the tide rescind
But be aware! The power of nature
never ever will give way
and Norfolk's coastline will be changing
when Nature choose the day.


©Rob King

Sunsets

I love sunsets....in fact, I spend  quite a lot of time looking at the sky, one way or another. It's the first thing I do every morning, and the last thing I do every night, and I spend a disproportionate part of my day looking up in wonder as well. I take lots of pics of it, and I have a Facebook page of Norfolk Skies too.

This time-lapse video is one I assembled from 1092 jpgs, shot at 3 second intervals on my Panasonic Lumix DMC FZ150 bridge camera.

Just another day!

Facebook, Facebook
everybody take a look
see who's really happy now
or see who's really sad
post, like, poke, share
I don't really have a care
PMSL!
'cause the worlds gone mad! 

©Rob King

The bench

The poem was inspired by this photo, courtesy of Gwyn Stephen. Thank you Gwyn


The fallen leaves lay undisturbed
the park bench moist with moss
it's been this way for several weeks
since Albert suffered loss.
He used to sit here every day
and share lunch with his chum
but sadly, Dicky is no more
so Albert doesn't come.
The bench remains, adorned with fallen
leaves - old years are finished
but come the Spring, new friends will sit
and share life, undiminished.


©Rob King photopoetry

To catch a rainbow...

The spider strove throughout the nightTo weave a net to catch the flight
of insect, humming through the space
twixt soil and grass, a hectic place
where wings do shimmer, buzz and beat
the insect searches food to eat
yet all the while , the spider tries
to make a living snaring flies
but come the dawn, he's only caught
A rainbow!      Now... who would have thought?
©Rob King 2013

Insomnia

I lie quiet - darkness-shrouded,
toast-warm, but uncomfortable,
the ceaseless torrent of chatter
wearing smooth the jagged points
of my thoughts,
then upsetting them,
washing them, churning, separated,
to new resting places
on the bed of Nightriver.

My mind switches subjects
as a Pony Express rider
changes horses -
from stirrup to stirrup,
never touching solid ground.
No time for rest, not even now -
the dedicated time of sleep.
(The mail must get through!)

The button-pressed, blue-figured, back-lit clock
silent shreiks
"Too late to be night-time,
too early to be day-time!"
those unaccounted hours
belonging neither here nor there -
the Limbo of Insomnia
foist upon me
like a prison sentence
awaiting appeal.

Refreshing my position
both physically and mentally
I attempt meditation
that I might silence
the noises and voices,
the screech of speech,
shouted word unheard
but loudly imagined -
to block out all
with a warm blanket of
"Om."

Silence falls.
blessed peace
for one minute -
maybe two,
and then the chattering starts anew,
insistent and persuasive,
devilish and grinning,
prodding, poking, snarling
"You - will - not - silence - ME!"

With renewed determination
I try to shut it out
to bar the door against the ram,
to sand-bag the breach against the flood
to patch the cracks with wet clay
'til nought but the faintest trickle
remains.
Breathe slow and deep -
"Om."

Peering deep into and beyond
the backs of my eyelids
I feel the darkness
slowly closing in
on the candle flame
of my imagined vision.
Concentrating
on the flickering dancing
tear of light
I am aware -
the peripheral vision slowly fades
from red to black,
like a vignette -
gradually sucking light
from the centre
into the dark edges until
all is absorbed,
all is edge,
no light remains.
I sleep..........
............
The day creeps round the curtain edge
and slides, spiteful, along the wall.......

©Rob King 2013

Politics

I haven't written for a while, but here's a little something I've just put together.

Politics

I feel the need to write today
although I haven't much to say
not much, that is, that makes much sense
I feel I'm perched upon the fence.
My mind is filled with questions, sure,
but lying round me on the floor
are  answers, screwed up, thrown away
detritus of a fruitless day.

I never have been much at ease
at seeing wood because the trees
are almost always in the way
and block my vision, sad to say.
But should I rouse, and take a stand
on subjects that of me demand
opinions strong, I know I'll rue
when I hear the others' points of view.

My mind is swirling in full spate
made giddy by the great debate
that voices make, while shouting loud
each side appealing to the crowd.
They bend the facts, tell downright lies
they hide the truth from searching eyes
but if another proves them wrong
they start up with a different song.

And so I ask "Whom to believe?
Who is not trying to deceive?
Where do I find the one to trust,
the one whose cause is true and just?"
I fear that I will never find
an answer fitting to my mind
I know not where to make my mark
while groping blindly in the dark.



© Rob King 2013

Field Maple

Field Maple

Field-maple seed, with twin attached
so silent whirrs, on autumn breeze
and slowly earthward progress makes
away from parent trees.

Touching down it comes to rest
among the upright blades of grass
and nestling closer to the soil
awaits my foot to pass

Delicate wing so soon decays
as Winter water wets the earth
and foot-fall comes and presses seed
to find a place of birth.

When daylight lengthens after snow
seed case splits, root downward probes
and shedding case with upward thrust
reveals two unfurled lobes

Now the time of greatest danger
grazers teeth or mower blade
but fallen branch provides new shelter
first year leaves now fade

Second spring the whip is taller
standing higher than the sward
proudly bearing leaves palmatum
thrusting heavenward.

The branch is moved, the sapling spotted
trowel uproots and lifts it clear
the end of Maple's fine endeavours?
never need to fear.

With care the the sapling is replanted
In a hedge-gap by the lane
and safely there, the maple starts
the cycle once again.

Not many years before the maple
showers seeds with coupled flights
and spreads it's progeny to leeward
small green whirling kites.



©Rob King 2013