Issue 8
September 2001
Harding Stedler
Five years ago, I retired from teaching at Shawnee State University in Portsmouth, OH, after 34 years in the classroom. Today, I work at a local publishing house, designing Language Arts materials for elementary-school youngsters. And, this is my third and final term as secretary of the Poets' Roundtable of Arkansas.
As Professor of English at Shawnee State, where I spent my final seventeen years of teaching, I was a charter member of the South Central Ohio chapter of Phi Delta Kappa, housed at SSU. I also founded and advised The Phoenix Writers, a fraternity of poets at the University. I continue to conduct their fall writers' conference held at Murphin Ridge Inn, in September, in Amish country of Southern Ohio.
TO SEAL THE ROOTS OF SUMMER
Rain comes just in time
to seal the roots
from Friday's planting.
Islands full of spreading green
will grow still greener.
And eager buds
will burst with flower.
What better time
than start of summer
for a soaking rain to fall
to dispel
the vengeful drought
of August?
CHURNING ACROSS HIGH SEAS
Islands ago,
across rough seas,
we churned our way
from Sandusky shores
in search of Ontario.
Kelley's Island
and Put-in-Bay:
respite along the way
for travelers.
Seasick teens,
lined against deck rails,
and who begged to return
to the mainland,
ultimately convinced the captain
to reverse direction.
Some hours later,
when the ship pulled into port,
passengers staggered
back onto land, grateful,
and in search of equilibrium,
a quick drive home,
and healing sleep.
FASTER THAN A PICKUP TRUCK
On gravel roads,
roadrunners
outdistance pickup trucks
that pursue them
at high speeds.
They weave in and out
of tree lines,
back onto road again,
gaining on the straight
and narrow.
Footsteps too fast to count,
they escape unscathed
as we who chase
are consumed
by hysterical laughter
in obvious defeat.
SOUL IN THE MESSAGES
When I met you electronically
the other day,
I felt like I'd known you
for a lifetime.
You taught, as I once did,
and write, as I now do.
I solicit from you work
to include in my weekly column.
I read your soul
in typewritten messages
and discover your spiritual side.
There is a you
beyond things worldly.
A soulmate, perhaps.
Time will tell
if we're on the same wavelength
and if friendship
is worth pursuing.
OLD CHRISTMASES
The shallows are full
of used pine.
It is now Christmas
without lights
for spawning fish.
I do not enjoy the look
of old Christmases.
Something about brown needles
does not ring true.
But folks who bring the trees here
rid themselves of reminders
of foolish spending
and fancy wrap,
which have little to do
with the cause they celebrate.