The freshness
after summer rain,
honeysuckle wafting,
pie still bubbling,
smoke of a wood fire,
that new-car smell.
In a former time,
our aromatherapy.
© 1996
(originally published in Capper's)
Thursday, August 19, 2004
Tuesday, August 10, 2004
Running the Hurdles ...
Have you
ever noticed
how many more
things go wrong
when you're trying
to get away
early, or make up
for lost time?
© 1997
(originally published in Capper's)
Monday, July 12, 2004
Loafing on the Beach ...
I need a nice soft spot
And someone turning me,
In case the sand's too hot
Or the sun's burning me.
© 1997
(originally published in Capper's)
My apologies for being so late in posting today's poem. I can imagine throngs of people sitting at their terminals all across the Nifty Fifty, perhaps even beyond, waiting for it to appear.
Well, here it is, finally (not one of my best), accompanied by one of my watercolors (not one of my best watercolors, either).
Why so late? I've spent much of the day pacing here and there while the car doctors were tweaking my little red car back into good health. And now, this evening, it's much better, thank you very much.
I'll spare you the details. I can assure you, however, that regular readers of my weekly e-newsletter, "Squiggles & Giggles," (60 readers in 18 states at last count -- and it's free, free, FREE!) know all the details. So, if you really must know, just ask one of them.
Meanwhile, thanks for paying a visit here. And thank you so much for your patience.
And someone turning me,
In case the sand's too hot
Or the sun's burning me.
© 1997
(originally published in Capper's)
My apologies for being so late in posting today's poem. I can imagine throngs of people sitting at their terminals all across the Nifty Fifty, perhaps even beyond, waiting for it to appear.
Well, here it is, finally (not one of my best), accompanied by one of my watercolors (not one of my best watercolors, either).
Why so late? I've spent much of the day pacing here and there while the car doctors were tweaking my little red car back into good health. And now, this evening, it's much better, thank you very much.
I'll spare you the details. I can assure you, however, that regular readers of my weekly e-newsletter, "Squiggles & Giggles," (60 readers in 18 states at last count -- and it's free, free, FREE!) know all the details. So, if you really must know, just ask one of them.
Meanwhile, thanks for paying a visit here. And thank you so much for your patience.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
A Haiku ...
Large melon cooling
in a tub of ice water -
the flies gathering
© 1996
(originally published in Potpourri)
Monday, June 7, 2004
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)
Thursday, May 13, 2004
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)
Wednesday, May 5, 2004
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.
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.
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