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.

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)