Word Play

 When submitting my poems and short stories, I often begin my short bio with "Ginger Dehlinger writes in whatever genre fits the story she wants to tell." 

For me, writing a poem is the joyful experience of weaving a few well-chosen words into a very short story, one that delivers a satisfying conclusion. I can immerse myself for hours, arranging and rearranging the feast of words in the English language into a variety of poetic forms, tones and rhythms. It's a pastime I liken to playing word games or assembling puzzles.

Recently I wrote an epistle. According to the Oxford dictionary, an epistle is (1) "a poem or other literary work in the form of a letter or series of letters." Also (2) "a book of the New Testament in the form of a letter from an Apostle."

I had way too much fun writing the following poem.

The Epistle of Thistle

 Dear beloved partisan,

I am soon to depart for Damascus after a brief sojourn in Jerusalem where I visited Cousin Artichoke. I trust your deep-rooted diligence will prevail after I take leave.

 Let it be known by you and all mankind that henceforth I shall propagate these lands with emissaries by the hundredfold. I am called noxious and evil (lies perpetrated by Philistines), whereas I am neither immoral nor leprous. I am merely an ageless purveyor of herbaceous greens often trodden underfoot. I am magnanimous. I deliver pollen to makers of wild honey, seeds to doves and raptors without prejudice. I provide bedding for hatchlings, leaves for larvae, roots for redemption.  

Granted, my spines can be weapons. I am a pacifist at heart, although it did not distress me to learn my prickly progeny once saved Scotland from Norse invaders. The Scots, who have made me their national emblem, depend on me for their Black Thistle gin. In turn, I provide solace for their livers and dyspepsia.

Enough of my glories, for I must bid thee farewell. I have many lands to cross before my mission on earth is complete. Pray, I beseech thee, for steady winds and deliverance from scythe, plow and contagion as I journey on.

Your steadfast friend,
Cirsium of Antioch