[RCL]

Tree Letters to the World

These are our letters to the world
On paper made from Trees -
Essential truths that must be told -
But far too few can see

The messages we now deliver -
From Groves that all should see -
For love of Life, as we decline,
Our messages are pleas

After Emily Dickinson (Franklin #519; Johnson 441)

From Tiny Seeds Literary Journal

[Gail White]

I've been re-reading this thread and thinking what a great anthology it would make. Also realizing I've never posted this one, from "Visiting Frost", 2005.

TRAVELING WITH CATS ON A SNOWY EVENING

I've no idea whose woods these are,
but I'm not getting very far
from Albany to NYC
with two cats yowling in my car.

These dratted cats must think it queer
to stop without a sandbox near,
but listen, guys, I'm twice your size,
so use the woods or else, you hear?

They give their big round eyes a blink
to ask each other what they think,
and I can tell they'll make life hell,
and plan on driving me to drink.

The woods are lovely, dark, and deep.
The car is slowing to a creep.
Why did I try to cross NY?
I'm breathing cat hairs in my sleep.

[Catherine Chandler]

Dear Gail,


Your take on Frost had me in stitches. Thank you for making my day!


Cathy

[James Midgley]

Personal Pelican
Apologies to Heaney

As a kid, they could not keep me from birds.
I'd throw them chips I bought from the fish van.
I loved the quick flit and the way they soared --
a gull or sparrow to the outstretched hand.

One on a Brighton beachfront with yellowed eyes.
I liked the way he trotted on the sand
and with imperious comport capsized
in my lap, made off with the contraband.

A nervous one under a bare hedgerow
debated on the topic of the seeds
I scattered far too long, until a crow
swept in and snatched away the choice to feed.

Still others you could grab if you were quick,
caress or tickle, shove into a pocket
or, with some bravery, give a little lick.
I caught a barn owl with an upturned bucket.

Now, to tear the bread, to finger a feather,
to toss a pigeon at the sky or chatter
back to the parrot, is far and well beneath me.
So I wax lyrical upon the matter.