Miracle of the King Pole
Jesse Doiron
September 6, 2026
But of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, thou shalt not eat of it: for in the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die.
Genesis 2:17 KJV
That ol’ king pole been around a while
and seen a lot of backwoods roads –
Chautauqua to circus to this here revival.
Growned up in the piney parts of the Big Thicket,
felled and stripped and coal-tarred special
for an ordained task – shelterin’ God’s people.
Thirty-three feet of Samson strength.
They even named’m – Mighty Samson.
Now, settin’up a great big tent pole like that
aint exactly easy in the woods,
not that Moses’ tribes had it any better in the dust,
but forty years o’ practice damn sure give’em edge.
Well, looky here; ya got Samson and his brothers
and more’n a thousand-foot square up to cover.
That’s a lotta line-pullin’ and men gruntin’.
Ya got canvas stretchin’ and Red Man spittin’.
Ya got sheepshank knots and comealongs,
go-ahead-ons and back’em-ups, drag’m-rounds
and put’em-downs, smoke’m if ya got’em
and a whole lotta cussin’ goin’ on long before
anybody ever get to pray, includin’ revern’.
But when’s finally done, Mighty Samson
was a standin’ strong and tall agin the fallen angels,
and all the wannabe saved was mass assembled.
Up there on the tabernacle platform,
raised in the middle of the pitable,
slappin’ on Sampson’s shoulder, preacher call,
“Are ya hungry?” friendly like, at first.
’Nother couple times – louder ’n louder –
hangin’ on the hung part each,
“I’m a askin’ are ya HUNGry?”
Insistent as hell and almost angry.
Then all a sudden he’s in the air – both feet –
and just a sudden both heels hittin’ on the planks
o’ sanctuary stage so hard make the pulpit hop.
“Again now sinners! Are ya hungry?”
Which they was for sure, I knew damn well.
Hell, ever’body was from crick to trees
down to town and almost assuredly
next one over where the trashy folk live;
all God’s chil’ren was hungry all the time –
and ‘nother four hours – back then.
Damn Hoover and the ’publicans.
“I mean, hungry for the Lawd?” preacher swoon.
Now, that last one was amazin’ cause it come with
a wind and a boom and a bolt of blue-white lightnin’.
Set up such a tulmutt of “amens” and “save-me-Lawds”
the whole tent was a shakin’ with the fervor.
First five rows of add hearants rose up in the blow –
cryin’ and gnashin’ and runnin’ with the rain
to preacher on the planks,
and they was all a stompin’ and a jumpin’
in the sweat and fever of their sins,
beggin’ for the Lawd to feed ‘em holy manna
from the heavens and give’m grace and goodness
from the one and only everlastin’ tree o’ life.
Just then, ol’ king pole decided
he was gonna up and dance along with ’em.
Can you feature that? Mighty Samson!
In the throng and song of hymn number seven.
That ol’ creosote tree – been around
from time immoralable – maybe even longer –
and seen a lot of back roads in the woods,
Chautauqua to circus to this here revival.
Ol’ king pole just up and jumped his riggin’ –
jiggin’ with the faithful in the spirit of the Lawd.
I mean, he done pull his tethers from the sacred ground,
flew away his spikes and grommets and guys,
ripped his canvas clothes both ways
up and down – heaven to hell and all around –
the rest of the poles a droppin’ with him
wherever was a body to fall on.
When the Lawd was a-finish thunderin’
the word – in his ununderstandable tongue –
there was more’n a dozen of ‘em
washed in the Blood of the Lamb,
restin’ with the preacher all dressed and
blessed and saved forever – in eternity.
Amen.
Jesse Doiron has worked in Europe, the Middle East, and Asia as an educator and consultant. His teaching experience ranges from English for international business at the UC – Berkeley Extension in San Francisco to creative writing at the Mark Stiles Maximum Security Prison for the Texas Department of Criminal Justice.
