Long Live the Lorax The Grickle-grass grows, blows, in the far end of town lives Lifted Lorax.
No birds ever sing; miles of bare empty field, so who is the Lorax?
Ask Once-ler to tell how the Lorax got lifted and taken away.
Back when grass was green, pond was still wet and clouds clean; this glorious place
I first saw the Trees. Great leaping joy in my heart for Truffula Trees!
Oh, Truffula tufts - sweet smell of butterfly milk much softer than silk.
For bright-colored tuft I chopped down one little Tree made Truffula thread.
With soft thread we knit Something-That-All-People-Need, I give you a Thneed!
How business did grow to the sound of chopping Trees - Super-Axe-Hacker.
‘I am the Lorax, sir, because they have no tongues I speak for the Trees.’
'Mister I ask you, please at the top of my lungs – stop chopping down Trees’
Thneeds are quite useful, the factory working full tilt and no harm is done.
Humming-fish gills gummed biggered loads of Thneeds ship out Brown Bar-ba-loots leave.
More smogulous smoke, Swans can’t sing with smog in throat they too must move out.
Last Truffula falls - sickening smack of an axe. No more Trees or Thneeds.
The Lorax silent; gives sad, sad backward glance when lifted from mess.
Left behind one word 'UNLESS' and Truffula Seed to plant one last Tree.
Give it clean water, Truffula Trees we all need, and feed it fresh air.
Grow then a forest. Protect it from hacking axe. Lorax may come back.
BIO: Catherine Moore lives in Florida with her husband and two children. She’s been a "scribbler" since handed a pencil as a child. After graduating college with a degree in English Literature, she has spent most of her career working in fields of education and public relations. A few years ago she turned serious attention back to writing fiction and poetry. She volunteers as an ESOL (English-to-Speakers-of-Other-Languages) tutor at the local library. Her online webpage can be found at http://Writing.Com/authors/novacatmando
This poem is written in Seussku, her own form of Spamku, which is of course, a Haiku. When her own muse wanders Catherine revisits her favorite childhood author, Dr. Seuss; to quote her “its either Muse or Seuss.” As of result, the author has many fantubulous re-tellings of Dr. Seuss stories in variety of poetry forms.
Mari Mitchell lives in the high deserts of California. She has been married for over ten years, has two sons, two pet rats (who are actively plotting to take over the nearby space port,) and one very round, very loved cat (who is passively-aggressively taking over the couch and computer.)