Guest Poet David Miller


As the grass grows high and thick,
Long before it turns a golden hue
Ripe with foxtails ready to burst and
Provide the seed for next season,
The hills above my birthplace home
Are bold and bright and fuzzy-green,
Almost as if squeezed from tube to canvas.
These prehistoric ocean islands
Rise above the citrus groves and housing tracts
Like a caravan of camels
Waiting to drink from an oasis pool.

December 1997

David Miller's Questions:

Can you see "Coronita?" My intention was to capture a glimpse of my part of the world.

The original version had the line, "Appear to me as Van Gogh paintings," between lines five and six. However, I was told that it was "painterly enough" without it. Do you feel that this is the case, or that it should be returned?

What do you think about this place? Do you feel that you may have been there or passed through? Perhaps you have. Does my description make you want to visit or turn you away?

Correspond with David Miller at
with your ideas about this poem.

The Albany Poetry Workshop