From The Lowest Limb


I shuffled down the dirt road at a snail’s pace

trying to prolong my existence,

in a feeble attempt to postpone the inevitable,

my back to a howling wind that pushed me along.

The whistling in my ears muted the sneers

from a multitude of dust devils.

High noon was fast approaching,

bringing to light a tortuous certainty.

I stared down at the loosely hanging shackles

that bound me to the filth of poetic injustice.

Muttered a curse to the sentence pronounced.

Swore to the gods through the pangs of retribution.

I knew where I was headed,

and followed the footsteps of many a man most assuredly


‘Twas the last leg on a short journey to the outskirts of life.


Stoic and reserved, the old oak cradled the edge of town,

as if guarding it from the motley graveyard just beyond.

No one would go near its wickedly crafted branches at night,

haunted as it was.

“Home to a hundred killer’s souls, or more…” was the talk going round.

As I looked ahead to this unjustly demonized, grand and stately tree,

which was now but a mere block away,

it became a welcome sight that beckoned me on

to greater planes of being.

It was to host my homecoming, and would be my final resting place.

A known destination that was soon to hold my soul in the balance.

Suddenly the wind died down, and I began to hear whispers.

As I neared the mighty oak,Β  I realized just who was doing the talking.


With fierce quickness,

that old tree told me a thousand stories I’d never heard.

Then all became quiet,

and I was left in silence to speak these last words.






89 thoughts on “From The Lowest Limb

  1. Hanging in the balance, Scales of Justice, hmmm….. give me a tree, any day!

    Loved the enfoldment of this one, Keith.

  2. I was going to cut and paste my favorite lines but realized I’d be putting the whole poem in this comment. This is beautiful, beautiful piece about mortality and loneliness, though perhaps I’m projecting. Excellent work, Uncle.

  3. Makes you want to die under one…huh, Ed?
    Lucky is the worm that makes a home in this oak.

    That damned snaked will lose those scales
    when the devil’s come around.

  4. I don’t have to wonder, Eva.
    Those were more than just stories.
    That Wild West had many a tall tale to tell.
    Shuhbang kaboom! I’m a gonna be pistol whipped.

  5. M’lady,

    I had hoped that you and your morbid fascinations
    would stop by to gander and ponder at this.
    I guess it wasn’t scary after all, but still,
    I’m so glad you liked it. Thanks!

    The big ol’ oak tree was pretty lonely. You’re right about that.
    What with all the dead folk hangin’ out on it’s limbs all night,
    I can see why. You do know…
    he didn’t ask for that killer job in the first place.
    Talk about a wrong-way chosen one. Yikes!

    And when Tree finally falls to the ground, guess what happens?

  6. You Americans and your ‘worms’ Caterpillars, man!!
    They often hang by a silken thread when disturbed by a ‘predator.’ (sync)

    Tree co-operates, got no place to go, but I don’t sit under it in a storm…..

    Man has always been hanging loose. Trees tighten their nuts for the squirrels in Heaven, eh……what does huh mean? How the Pond does mute, and the mind sensitise πŸ˜‰


  7. Oh, Ed, does not the worm’s presence have ramifications
    on the positive side of goodwill towards men? Or towards trees?

    Something is missing in this symbiotic relationship. A raven, perhaps?
    On yonder golden pond you will see the illusory flying squirrels
    with nuts in tow. “That which falls from the heavens must
    have had a screw loose in the first place,” or so says Wun Hung Lo.

    You know what they say about the appearance of calm, muted
    reflections on life…”Still waters run deep.” Diver down and done for.
    Mock the muck, the cock and duck all you want. I don’t mind them.

    And yes, you beat me up by two hours today, Zed Leppelin. Rock on!

  8. I do like the narrative in this piece. The self reflection and the self judgment come through quite clearly though I doubt the oak holding the souls of a hundred killers is your fate bud.

  9. Lol, long may the lumberjacks spare you and dat evil boid wipe the beak on yer gnarled old bark!

    Ickey thinks the ‘squirrels’ are reptilian. God really should have used loctite…..but there we go, freewilly was first grunted…….now we’re talkin’ Apex?

    Never did like the beak πŸ˜‰

  10. I’m glad you liked it, Mark!
    And thanks for telling me as much. I thought about being
    this oak myself to start with, and watching this ‘criminal’
    comes towards me, but I don’t think I’m ready to pull that
    one off yet. And since I’m playing the bad guy here, I had to
    find a way to meld with a tree that’s sorta like me. Dead or alive!

  11. You know, Ed…
    I didn’t even remember what I wrote to you this morning,
    and I might have to use that line later on. I like it!

    Cold-blooded killin’ flyin’ squirrels with fangs, eh?
    There be blood suckin’, and bat nut chuckin’ goin’ on there, boy!

  12. Marvelous poem, congratulations uncle.
    Of course you know this, but I am going to tell you any way: just let go things, hanging to them results more painfull. Not letting go ends up being as bad as you imagine or even more terrible.
    I never told you this, but for me a tree has 2 strong meanings, and one of them is related to death and injustice. This is due to the song called strange fruit, that the only brave soul who dared sing it, and was also black herself was billy holliday. The song talks about the kkk, and it says “Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.”, guess what that refers to.
    Sorry for writting such a sad comment.
    I love you uncle

  13. Dear Mariana, is there some ‘thing’ that you had in mind?
    I wonder what it is that you think I’m holding onto. Regret?
    False hope? High expectations? Doubt? Resentment? Hmmm…
    Or did you mean material things, like money and youth?

    You only told me one of your strong meanings. What’s the other one?

    Strange fruit, indeed. Yes, I know who Billy Holiday is, and I’ve heard
    all about the KKK, but I have had no personal encounters with them.
    That they hung more than a few innocent men, I have no doubt.

    I left the criminal’s history out of the story, so you can imagine
    whichever or whatever comes to your mind as a reference point.
    Horse thieves, bank robbers, Jesse James’ Gang…those types are
    more what I was thinking about. Kinda like in an old Western movie.

    The majority of history lessons are sad, aren’t they?
    Maybe it’s easier for us to learn our lessons that way.
    Luv you, too! And thank you for bringing up that point.

  14. I think I misinterpreted the atmosphere of the poem, I thought there where really mean spirits surrounding the protagonist, and that the feeling he had was of extreme darkness and of being surrounded by dangerous things.

    The other idea I have of a tree, I did not told you cause I guessed you would infer it, Is like the concept that I have of a person like yourself (and also of a real tree with certain caracteristics), of a strong being which is alive and transmits this will to the others, and also can enlight us with its wisdom, which is a think that occurs pretty often.

    And you are right at least about me, I learn quicker when things are really sad for me.
    But you see I was half happy writing about the idea indeed.
    Lots of Love mon oncle

  15. I’m glad your at least half happy, Mariana.

    Back in the old days folks used to line the streets to watch
    a death sentence being carried out. At first, women weren’t
    allowed to be witnesses, but after awhile they let children watch too.
    Whether it was the guillotine, a gun fight, or a hanging, people
    couldn’t help themselves but to view these gruesome exhibitions.
    (These spectators were the dust devils of whom I spoke. But of
    course, it’s possible there were also pint-sized tornadoes whipping
    around in the dusty streets, along with sagebrush quickly rolling past.)

    That is sad sight, and it took a long, long time before humanity learned
    it’s lesson. But not all of us, as we still see by the news of today.
    I think you caught the atmosphere I was trying to portray just fine.
    That is how I wanted you to feel, whether there are such a thing
    as ghosts or not. I threw in a little Sci-fi too, just to spice things up.

    So you think I’m strong and wise, and able to transmit(force) my will
    on others under my jurisdiction? Well, bless you. What a nice thing to say.
    School started here, so I’ve been extra busy lately. Pardon me, okay?

    Luvz and hugz, sweet niece!

  16. To be honest, UT, as I read this I didn’t see the references to the events you mention in your comments, that it was a unjusty condemned person in shackles moving towards their view of the hanging tree. That is quite chilling. However, I do see that in the poem read second time around.

    On the first read, I thought it was a metaphor for leading a hard life. Someone perhaps even with a terminal illness shuffling towards the end of their days and seeing a tree by their graveyard. That tree being not a mark of death, but a symbol for life and something greater. The only part which didn’t tie in with this interpretation was “β€œHome to a hundred killer’s souls, or more…” That confused me, but I thought was there to give the tree a further contrast.

    Anyway, a most interesting poem and subject matter. And not altogether an easy one to write about in a way that wouldn’t offend someone (somewhere) but you managed to convey your message without any over the top graphic dramatics.

    Now I want to hear the other nine hundred and ninety nine stories.

  17. You’ll have to wait a long time
    to see the other 999, Matt.

    As far as my references go…sometimes I have to go back
    and read the tags to see what the author is talking about.
    The Hanging Tree was a movie, so I couldn’t name it that.
    I try not to underestimate the intelligence of my audience.
    I was also hoping “High Noon” would give away the time
    frame of which I was thinking. I thought about, and could
    easily have made this into a short story. Maybe I should have.

    That it was possible for a tree to capture the souls of the men
    who died by hanging from it, and that it could keep those
    souls there until it finally fell towards the ground to rest…
    that was just my imagination getting carried away. It’s
    no wonder that it’s confusing. Original ideas are like that.
    At least, it’s a new idea for me. And I’d like to think it’s mine.

    The idea, or the subject matter, as far as waiting in certainty
    for your death via capital punishment goes, that topic I
    borrowed after reading what Dostoevsky went through.
    He faced a firing squad before they lessened his sentence
    and called it off with only a few minutes to spare. He talks
    about it through the hero in his novel “The Idiot”. That’s
    what I’m reading currently, and man, what a story it is!

    Thanks for your willingness to point out ‘this and that’
    without sounding offensive. Makes me think your a teacher.

  18. Rest is not to be confused with sleep, right Cindy?

    “Today you will be with me in Paradise.”

    That thief didn’t have to wait and rest awhile
    before going where we all wish to go, did he?

  19. “That it was possible for a tree to capture the souls of the men
    who died by hanging from it, and that it could keep those
    souls there until it finally fell towards the ground to rest…
    that was just my imagination getting carried away. ”

    I think that is just a brilliantly original idea, UT.

    “as if guarding it from the motley graveyard just beyond.

    No one would go near it at night, haunted as it was.

    β€œHome to a hundred killer’s souls, or more…” was the talk going round.”

    To me, I read that excerpt as if the graveyard was the thing being home “to a hundred killer’s souls”. I know now that you meant the hanging tree, but as the graveyard is mentioned directly after the oak it feels as if you’re refering to that. However, it may be just how I read things.

    On a side note, the novel by Dostoevsky sounds fascinating. I’ll have to look it up.

  20. ‘Home to a hundred killer’s souls, or more’

    When time and space run out for you and, yet, embroiled in the traumatic and unresolved vengeance of your kind you hang around this Earth plane instead of catching the next plane, I think you’ve captured something in your excellent poetic way, Uncle Tree. Even psychometry is wooed!

    Yes, great job, Keith, in making us think, and slant at you πŸ˜‰


  21. Thank you dearly, Matt!

    I was a able to see exactly what you meant. I’ve changed, or made
    an addition to lines 3 and 5 in the second paragraph. It’s easy to get
    stuck on ‘it’, and I should have been more descriptive at that point.
    If the idea was actually original (which is darn near impossible), I would
    not want it to be hidden, or missed, that’s for sure. Better now?

    I also wanted to show my (the criminal’s) sympathy towards this tree
    by giving them something to have in common, like a bum rap. That’s
    what I’ve tried to do now with line 5. I hope that helps a bit.

    I imagine most of my friends have already read this, and you and Ed
    may be the only ones who’ll see the new edition. No matter, Matt.
    I appreciate the fact that you’ve helped me to finish and polish this.

    I’m not well enough equipped to judge poetry or prose in their
    technical aspects, so I’m not much of a helper in that arena. You are
    apparently, and you’d probably make for a good editor or critic, if
    your not one by profession already.

    I can say, I’m glad to have met you, and wish I could return the favor.
    Have a great day now, whoever you are and wherever you go!


    I’ve read a few classic novels in my day. Most of them are listed under
    the top 100 of the 20th Century. “The Idiot” was published in 1868.
    Hermann Hesse really talked this guy up, and held him in the highest
    esteem, right up there with Goethe, who was his idol. I just couldn’t
    resist any longer, and I’m damn glad I finally checked it out. I can see
    why it is still a favorite read. There were several well-used copies
    on the shelf. It may be awhile before I write again, sorry to say. Okay?

  22. How about you, Ed?
    Do you see what Matt was driving at in his comments?
    Did you understand on your first read that the tree
    was possessed of “a hundred killer’s souls…”, or did you also
    think I put the haunting in the graveyard, as normally occurs?

    Psychometry, eh? That is a weird talent, and I’ve read about a few
    somewhat famous incidents, and they were intriguing stories, too,
    woo-woo or not. Maybe you’re hinting at how I could go about
    finding, or remembering those other nine hundred and ninety nine
    stories that are held in store by that tree character in my head.
    Halloween is on it’s way, and that’s a helluva good reason to give
    it a shot. Thanks for the nudge, bud! I’ll patiently wait and listen
    for the next tale that voluntarily comes to mind. One that would make
    for a frightening, and possibly enlightening, great adventure after all.

    I’m glad you’re enjoying this, Ed. Me, too.

  23. UT, I think the slight changes do make it appear clearer. The tree definitely overshadows the graveyard now as being the central focus at that point. There’s no mistaking that it’s a tree unlike any other hanging around (please excuse the terrible pun). it’s interesting, the tree also didn’t ask to have that significance in the lives of the town and yet it holds up still, as the man finally walking towards it has to hold up to the bitter end. There is common ground there and saying that it is haunted makes an awareness between both become seemingly possible as if although the fate will be hanging, the tree will do it’s best to do it quick. In short, it understands. That’s what i now get from the piece. You really do have some great ideas, Keith.

    “It may be awhile before I write again, sorry to say. Okay?”

    Nope, not okay. Okay? You need to get your words out into the ether and we need to read them!

  24. When ‘my’ words come to me, Matt,
    a certain compulsion compels me to jot them down.
    My ears are open, and I’ll be keeping an eye (3rd) out, no doubt.

    Thanks for the compliment, the encouragement, and the critical
    support you’ve given to me, over and under the swift call of duty!

    Sincerely, Uncle Tree (who’s leaving right now to go fishing)

  25. The two little catfish were not worth keeping.
    But I did catch a most beautiful sunrise
    over the water that day. I got
    the chicken liver blues.
    Not dry enough.
    Bite, nibble,
    bait gone.

  26. Note to two little catfish

    If you spot above
    a saucer of milk,
    don’t be fooled
    into taking a sip.

    It’s only the lure
    of a dogged fisherman
    keeping company
    by the silvery bob
    of the moon.

  27. If you keep telling them that, Matt,
    then I’ll always end up going home
    with nothing to show for it,
    except blood-stained empty hands,
    stinky fingers, and a stringer full
    of unfortunate hangovers.

    I do like your doggone poem, though,
    even if it does smell a little fishy.

  28. An old pike’s dream.

    If heaven be the end
    of a taught line,
    I’m not ready
    for that schooling.

    I intend to still feel
    the sand surge my fins,
    to ride bellyflop
    with a glint in the eye
    under the wily rods
    of the confounded,
    and watch the anglers
    grow tired of my

    before I ever do.

  29. Your pike has a peak all it’s own, Matt.
    I might just have to spare the rod this time around.


    My staff can eel electric gills that filter the static unknown.


    Heaven will forever be above water. It is the only unsinkable thought.


    “Catch and Release” is the touchable piece of a fisherman’s love.

  30. Thanks for joining in the fun, Vic!
    That’s what Uncle Tree’s house is all about.
    Welcome to the club. Feel free to stop in anytime.

    I’m glad you liked this one.
    I’ll have to come and visit you the first chance I get.
    Happy Friday!

  31. Well, thank you, Mariana! I am flattered.
    It’s very kind of you to think of me, too. However,
    I still harbor some resistance towards endeavors of that nature.
    Let me think it over, but please forgive me if I decide to decline
    your splendid invitation. I certainly appreciate the thought. Luvz & hugz!

  32. Please my dear uncle, feel free to as you please with the nomination, I am just glad to have been able to give it to you. Now I want you to do what you think is right for yourself
    Love you a lot

  33. Hello, everyone!

    There is a sequel in the works, one that will be fitting for this season,
    and for Halloween (I hope). Consider this a ‘shout-out’, or a ‘heads-up’,
    for we are going to ring another man’s neck with a noose real soon.

    Stay tuned.

  34. Uncle Tree,

    I read that one twice. The flow was wonderful. I imagine an old ghost town and the large oak at the edge of town. The whole poem is perfect, the feelings of fright it congures up.

    I love the western influences it gives it a romantic feel. Like Sleepy Hollow or have you ever read Stephen King’s Dark Tower series? It has that same feel.

    Beautiful writing.


  35. Hello there, Kristen!

    I’m mighty glad you liked this piece about the western frontier.
    If there is such a thing as a perfect poem…ahem. Well, I’m
    perfectly fine with that. Don’t know if it is or knot, but Hey!
    Golly dang! I appreciate the kind thought, and me and all
    me limbs thank you for laying it on so thick! πŸ™‚ Whoa!

    No, I haven’t read anything by Stephen King, but
    I imagine that’s a fairly just comparison. He-he! I wish…
    The sequel is a short story that further expands the legend
    of the Hanging Tree. Thing was…I couldn’t stop there, and so
    I sorta kept going last year until the next thing I know, I’m in the

    the midst of writing a story that wouldn’t end. My unfinished novel…
    Anyway, since you said you can’t wait, here’s the link to start the show:

  36. Do I see chickens roosting in ye olde oakay tree πŸ˜‰ I’m the fox and I’m outta here……………………………….

  37. At least the end was mercifully quick! I have often pondered the pondering of someone who knows they only have minutes more to live…

    You did an incredible job of illustrating such. You are very talented sir!

  38. Thank you very, very much, Gayle! πŸ™‚

    I got the idea after I read Dostoevsky last year.
    He went through something like this himself…in real life.

  39. You’re very welcome, Kevin. Do you go by Kevin? Or would you prefer Uncle Tree–please let me know. πŸ™‚

    Great idea to write about–done so well.

  40. Oh, darn it! I’m sorry for that faux pas, Keith. (I hate when that happens)!

    I’ll never call you late for dinner–that’s a promise! πŸ™‚

    Thank you, Sis! πŸ˜‰

  41. a very fascinating story,
    it seems like the ending inspires your blog name, you speak of last words…

    very enjoyable indeed.
    Thanks for the participation.

  42. UT reminds me of University of Texas in Austin, everyone calls is UT.
    have a good laugh…
    enjoyed your company..

    hope that you have a fun week.

  43. Thank you, girls! πŸ™‚

    Hello, Riika! Liked this one, eh? Great! Thanks a bunch!

    A children’s story, Olivia? About a hanging? Hmmm…
    Oh, yes! Intense. I’ve been called that before. I try to relax, but…
    Glad you liked it, though. Thank you, O! See ya soon.

  44. Being new to your blog, poetry and writing, you appear eldest of all visited by me.
    You have expressed a lot about old age through this tree.
    Dealing with old age through my patients had never been so expressive, though they too appear to convey similar sentiments, in different words.
    Great read indeed.

    Have a nice day and lot of ‘Poetic age’

    So you see me as The Elder Tree?
    Well, fine and dandy! Old comes free.
    ‘Tis good to know you read UT! πŸ™‚
    (The Poetic Age is yet to be.)

  45. Imaginative poem..I like these lines..made me stop and read them twice

    I knew where I was headed,
    and followed the footsteps of many a man most assuredly

    Thank you for being specific, Uma!
    I love it when folks let me know what caught their eye.
    Darn thing is…poets are usually more WANTED
    when they’re DEAD. I prefer ALIVE, but that’s just me.

  46. Powerful, you really captivated me!

    Your thoughts are not lost on me, Misty.
    Thanks for stopping by and speaking your mind!

  47. I love this. It flows like a story, and it has some beautiful phrases (I am a sucker for aesthetic value in words) – my favourite is ‘dust devils’. You’ve got the rhythm and tone very carefully balanced so that the sense of impending fate is there but in a more subtle manner that doesn’t outweigh the beauty of the moment. Great handling of a very intense, deep subject. More, please? πŸ™‚

    That is a super-unique critique, Jess. I myself am in awe.
    As a review…well, I am flabbergastedly tickled to death at how
    you’ve made me sound like a proven and respected poet.
    He-he! πŸ™‚ More? The follow-up short story I had to write is here:

  48. Don’t you just hate “torturous certainty”? It’d be so much nicer if life was full of glorious certainty instead! lol I enjoyed this one, very suspenseful!
    Shawn in the rally

    So happy to know you enjoyed this one, Shawn. Thank you! πŸ™‚
    “…if life was full of glorious certainty” Oh, my! Yes, yes. Ahem…
    Certainly, certainty brings a confidence to faith. Once we learn
    to trust, we come to worry much less about the fullness of the cup.

  49. Once in a while I come across someone who has what I call “the touch”. It could be a manager who handles things with so much ease it is a pleasure to work for them, or a crafts man that puts things together in a way that awes many, but some of the greatest are those that can tell a good story.
    you are an amazing story teller my friend…you have “the touch”. I have added you to my “Awesome Writers Worth Reading” list. I enjoy your stories and tales …Reminds me of the “Old West” and “Frontier” magazines I used to read as kid. Have a good day man.

    Hot-diggedy-dog! I have the touch? Ya say, good sir.
    Now, why in tarnation can’t I also have the look?
    Such a fine compliment…I can’t begin to tell ya
    how much I appreciate ya spellin’ it out like that
    fer yer good ol’ geezer of an uncle, Uncle Tree.
    And, WoW! Thank ya much fer puttin’ me on that there list, too!
    Yee-Haw! and Howdy-Doody! πŸ™‚ Ya made my day, young feller!

  50. Touching ..Enjoyed reading it!

    What is it with all this touching stuff anyway?
    No, really. He-he. Just kidding. Thank you, ma’am!

  51. yes the tree that captures the souls of the men who died on it. Indeed it does – even though when I first started it it sounded like it would be from a children’s book. In some ways it is. Maybe it is the image you have there which gave that first impression and then it shocks into the realization of ‘high noon’. I love it. I think this is a great poem.

    Oh…you’re right. I don’t look none to scary up there, do I?
    A mask of some sort would help, methinks. And while we’re at it,
    how ’bout a re-do of this caricature of me for all four seasons?
    I wish, I wish, I wish…Thank you for the sweet compliment, tho! πŸ™‚
    Didn’t mean to lead you on to greater planes that might be shocking.

  52. Interesting prose narrative to the underscored emotional complexity..despite the worms and being ‘american'( re Ed’s comments)
    smiles.. nice write.


    Someone’s been taking a leisurely stroll through my woods again, I see.
    Ed and I get carried away sometimes, yes. This is true. A couple of goofs.
    Thank you much for hanging around! πŸ™‚ I’m glad you found it interesting.

    Cheerz backatcha! And have yourself a nice and unremarkable Sunday.

  53. hi again- when I say a children story- I mean one of those English lessons poetry in books where children are left to wonder why such an intense one? Why at all such Intense one.. At an young age, they seem to be ignorant (wish that was the ongoing state of being) about Life’s reality.. fairy Tales are just that- not real!!
    Your poem made me go back to my school. I saw myself reading this poem as from the great poets of all times..
    The feelings expressed are all personal.. The sadness was covered with a beautiful story spinning act.. I marvel at how you weave them..
    Wishing you a beautiful weekend- xx

    Thank you for that clarification, O! Didn’t mean to freak you out. πŸ™‚
    Your words have caused me to feel implicated. I am humbly honored.

    Whether we wish to admit it or not, most mere mortals
    fear death to some degree. People only die in fairy tales.(?)
    You can’t find the real Heaven in any religious book.(?)
    This is Life, Olivia, and it is damn real! At least, it is for me.
    I marvel at myself sometimes. It has been a good weekend.
    Hope yours has been swell as well. Luz and Hugz! UT

  54. deep, intense, profound… i’ve always wondered what went on in the mind of a man who’s about to meet his death. this piece is hauntingly beautiful, uncle tree.

    Thank you very much, Bing! πŸ™‚
    I do a whale of a lot of guessing.

  55. “I stared down at the loosely hanging shackles

    that bound me to the filth of poetic injustice.”

    beautiful, on so many planes. a haunting story indeed. πŸ™‚

    Thank you, Joanna! πŸ™‚ I’m glad you see it being as such.

  56. A poem with many layers … and ultimate insights. Nicely done.

    Happy Rally and Potluck days … poem on …

    Poem on! That’s cute, Jamie. πŸ˜‰
    Thank you for dropping me a happy word or two!

  57. Sir I apologize to you…I looked for you on my list today and did not see you there but you are now. I did not check one box and it did not list you I was very disappointed for this and if I caused you any bad feelings I do apologize. It is a pleasure to read your work… keep it up and I’ll keep readin’!

  58. No need to apologize, my good man. I didn’t come over and look
    anyway. I took your word for it. No big deal, as far as I’m
    concerned. From what I have found, most folks don’t use blog rolls
    or other type lists. (Although, Jingle is an exception to that rule,
    I imagine.) When I was first looking to make new friends, I used
    the tags in WordPress, or the category — poetry. It wasn’t easy
    for me. No, not at all. With these group-type projects, newcomers
    will most likely get visitors and comments right off the bat. That’s
    good, because a lot of people start up a blog only to quit shortly
    thereafter, due to a seeming lack of interest.

    That you think my poetry is awesome is awesome. I don’t think it’s
    awesome, but if you want to think that…great! Thank you! πŸ™‚
    I appreciate the sentiment. I reserve the term awesome for those
    very few poets from the past whose work has stood the test of time.
    If you ask me…in our current culture, the words awesome and
    amazing are way, way overused, which makes those words lose
    their power and their original meanings. Take “American Idol” for
    example. If I hear ‘amazing’ one more time, I’m gonna…yeah.

    Looks like I’m lecturing. Hmmm…anyway, hope you have a decent
    Monday. Take care, be good, and stay cool! Sincerely, UT

  59. My dearest Uncle Tree… I actually became quite emotional upon reading the line .. β€˜Twas the last leg on a short journey to the outskirts of life’s meaning… and I had to pause for a moment to awash myself in the feeling. I didn’t question why that line moved me so much, it just did.
    Then I felt comfort upon reading this … it became a welcome sight that beckoned me on to greater planes of being…
    and I found myself quieting and whispering down the last edges of the poems lines, as I like to read your works out loud.
    I love this telling of the welcoming home of a Soul… infusing Peace, no matter what happened with it’s flesh version on earth.

    Penny dear, your sweet heart is showing. πŸ˜‰
    You know…there are thoughtful and unique critiques,
    and then there are genuinely heartfelt responses put to words.
    Of course, I treasure them both but — yours really starts me
    to thinking, “Hmmm…maybe I haven’t wasted good precious time
    writing and creating and trying my best to be the original me.”
    Thank you, girlfriend, for letting me know how you felt as you
    followed my words, and spoke them aloud to your own private self.

  60. Uncle Tree,
    I followed you from afar, mostly from Happy Hour, and this is my first visit to your hallowed site. I am indeed impressed with the picture painted here and with what few words you have used to paint this most vivid portrait. Bravo, Sir! Bravo!

  61. Ah-ha! I thought I was being tracked! At least, you know…I’ve had
    that feeling where you keep looking around…to the left, to the right,
    and then you find you’re beside yourself because of a li’l paranoia???

    Well, I can see you plain as day now, Mr. Trip! I’m still looking for
    that there friend of yours, Sir Bravo. Btw, does your X follow you
    everywhere too? Damn. What a drag. Trade ‘er in for O, I say.
    Less drag, less friction…less collateral damage. Trip O. Smooth sailing!

    Thanks for stopping by to see me, and letting me know what’s what! πŸ™‚

  62. You have me in tears once again on this fine day, Uncle! Except this time the tears are from laughter! Thank you so much for welcoming my Happy Hour companion, Trip X so whole-heartedly! (You’re welcome, dear! πŸ™‚ )

    And, X … so glad you’ve decided to cross the river and come meet my dearest Uncle Tree!

    Was I leaving breadcrumbs again? πŸ˜‰

  63. Whoa, amazing poem. Took me to another world. I really love how you put a story in each poem, very good work. I am in awe of you and your talent!

    The ending sent shivers up my spine!

    That means I did it justice, dp88. Thank you for
    the momentous compliment! πŸ™‚ Much appreciated.

  64. Hi there, Caro! Thank you for the lovely compliments!
    This poem pretty much set the stage for my novel, and
    interestingly enough, a swing does play a part in the story.
    A rope for hanging was needed quickly, so the law-bringers
    took down a kid’s rope swing from a tree in the town of Bedlam.

    Long story. πŸ˜‰ Ye have made a big splash in my life, dearest.
    I bet ye, pw, make a big splash where’er ye go. Luvz and hugz, UT Mc

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