~ Delta Poetry Review ~

James Scott Fleming

One Cat

I know you must be tired.

I watched you in the long light shadows,

Leaping, spinning, scratching

On the rough Oak trunk,

Hunkering down in your low crouch

After hearing the rustle from under the wide

Philodendron leaf.

A frog or mouse I’m assured is laying low

With wary eyes, and ears pricked for even

One paw's dance on the brick walkway.

Keep vigilant my friend,

You need to see another morning.

I pray you are fast and stealth.

I love this cat, but he is a silent killer

As much I would care him not to be.

So run, and I will coax him inside with a treat or two,

In from the night, in from the village of frogs

Along the drainage channel

Winding down through these Louisiana woods.

In from the reach to any brown mole or moon

Reflecting lizard on a grey rock.

He will trot in on silent feet, give me a mournful cry of desire,

And I will shut the door for the night

Leaving him to the warm brick by the fire,

Or on my lap as I finish perusing

“Birds of Louisiana and Mississippi - A Field Guide”

Before I too, must sleep.

I Moved From San Francisco

My wife and I

Moved to the Delta from San Francisco.

Had no clue,

No inkling of life here

In a small town that begs for just

A little bit of verse,

The poem of the land…

Just a little word or two.

The broad fields sewn,

The slow moving waters,

The gist of a continent left over from an inland sea,

Eons ago,

Now turned and seeded for rice and corn

Shipped out on freighters waiting on the gulf.

I now drive the fields tracing each side of the road

Out to my friend’s farm.

Early morning gift

Of egrets on the backs of cows,

Wisps of memories flying over

On the backs of redtail hawks

Or owls at night.

And how do I respond... ?

In silence,

Because that is now my call in this mysterious land.

In silence is how I stand

Listening to the call of woods just waking up,

Morning… evening…

That is where I am now

Where San Francisco is just a long ago continent,

Sleeping at the far away edge

Of all my new Southern dreams.

Does God Have a Dog?

I wonder, as my old Catahoula looks into my eyes,

Wanting a treat, knowing if she stares long enough

My soul will melt, my strength will wane in its’ steadfast

“No... Enough!”

I don’t have anything left

When her tongue hangs pink, groaning in her want.

I wonder if God has a dog

Sitting by his side,

He, slipping her treats on the sly

When the angels aren’t looking. Maybe she sleeps between his legs

And he has trouble moving lest he might wake her.

So, he lies silent, awake, staring at the ceiling of heaven

Wondering how long eternity is,

Because it seems like it as he lies there.

But then, His dog pulls up by inches with scrabbled paws,

Up to his waist, then his shoulders,

Then breathing next door to his ear,

A wet tongue licks his beard.

...Then he knows why

he went to all the trouble of creation,

Because he gets everything we get

In every last lick of love

We treasure beyond belief.

My Sweet Space

There is a place in my garden

With an old wrought iron bench from the 1800s

A friend gave me, and I restored.

She now sits in my garden,

Talks to me about who sat there

Through the years.

It struggled just to be relevant and utilized,

Like the rest of us.

So many hands rubbed her filigree arms,

So many folks, sitting down,

Wherever that was at the time.

Maybe in a New Orleans park,

Or along the banks of the Ouachita River

Where the grass runs down to the water.

If she was outside an old hardware store in Natchitoches,

(though she hasn’t let on),

I would feel myself there by the river,

Reclining on the boardwalk glazed in Summer shade,

Tinkling the ice from my sweet tea,

Not caring where the day went, or where it’s going.

She is on a patch of moss now

In the shade of oaks and pine.

Where will she be next, I wonder, after I have been and gone?

I think this is not the last of her.

Remember me on your continuing travels my friend,

On some distant summer afternoon.

James Scott Fleming is a fairly recent transplant to Louisiana, having moved from California in 2017. An architect in California prior to his move, he is now retired and is enjoying his work as a fine art painter and illustrator, as well as developing his craft as a poet and songwriter. He currently lives with his wife Christie—an Episcopal priest—and their dog Manna in Bastrop, Louisiana.