A Haiku ...

Large melon cooling

in a tub of ice water -

the flies gathering

© 1996

(originally published in Potpourri)

Slice of Summer ...

The cavitating fan,

patiently oscillating,

slicing the air,

lets it fall

like cold bacon

across the griddle

of my overheating

horizontal body.

© 1996

(originally published in Anterior Poetry Monthly)

The Only Tree ...

I grew up believing

that a cedar was

the only true tree

for Christmas,

plain, struggling

stubbornly

on hillside clay,

having so much

in common

with folks like us.

© 1996

(originally published in Capper's)

That I May Know ...

When I am old

and wizened,
feeble and forgetful,
then I hope
you will read to me
a poem I wrote
in younger days,
so that I may know
once again
what it was like
to dream.
© 1996
(originally published in Poetic Eloquence)

In selecting the art, I try to be as careful as I am with the chosen words which make up the poem, as careful as I am in selecting the poem itself.
I don't want the art to overpower or distract, but to illustrate the point I'm trying to make with the poem.
In this instance I believe I have a match.
I like the stump simply because of the way the sun plays across its features. It also speaks of all those years spent growing in the woods ... and now this final stage of giving way, of returning to the soil from which it came, devolving into nutrients for new plants.
The presence of green in the photo represents the onset of this new growth. It is spring, a time of renewal. The stump remains, that symbol of the past, but it will eventually be overrun by new growth, new flowers, new dreams ... the renewal of life.
In the poem I am attempting to address this ongoing cycle of life, attempting to bridge the gap between the old and the new ... the present and the past ... a bit wistfully, perhaps ... while also trying to touch on the future. 

Mulch Ado ...

What with all
the sowing, mowing,
watering, weeding,
feeding, spraying
and trimming,
it's been a challenge
that's a yard wide
and a summer long.

© 1996
(originally published in Mature Years)

Summer Rain ...

It was an impulse,

a sudden shower,
plump, ripe drops
deeply dimpling
the dancing dust
before skipping off,
sending shudders
up thirsting rows
of corn, a sound
like a child running
a dry stick along
an old picket fence.

© 1996


(originally published in Anterior Poetry Monthly)

Solitary Candle ...

My candle sculpts

itself in its corner
of the room, flame
gyrating in the draft,
tiny avalanches
of wax slithering
into the maw,
a fungible, seething
mass that labors
back up the wick
to sacrifice itself
as a bit of light,
distant warmth. It
flickers, warning me
that I shall soon miss
the warmth, its quiet
companionship, gently
flowing memories, its
solitary, sustaining
work of holding
the darkness at bay.
© 1996
(originally published in Anterior Poetry Monthly)