The sequoia stands so stately
that all humans ooh and ahh.
They have not seen the sun lately.
Above, birds hoot and caw,
knowing not where to find water.
Creatures cradled in her crown
can attest the climate hotter.
In ashes, most fall down.
Except she, who is too thick
to catch colds – let alone fire.
Her hardy bark, red as brick,
seems to announce something dire,
like: “If you don’t see me soon,
better send a search party,
or a rocket to the moon.”
Now, Sequoia, don’t have me croon.
Published by Atticus Review at http://atticusreview.org/the-trees-issue/
If I should die before I wake, lay me ‘neath
a tree where lichen grows in whiskers, for I
fell in love with a stubbled chin that trailed
the forest across my collar, up-over my mounds,
and no one was allowed to cut pink slippers, he said,
around here, the Lady is scarce as hen’s teeth
to hear it mark your drums with turpentine, but
did it make sense to recluse into romance, to build
a sound heart for two?
Wash for two minutes,
all employees, you must
save some for the fishes.
Salt and pepper dash
to and fro, with purpose;
make seasoned, not spiced.
gunpowder and lead
steep fully or not at all
poison in a cup
follow the reader
who knows no poets
solves for both—?
greatness and impatience
frost on the grass
thank God for mittens