Saturday, October 19, 2019

Time is best seen at daybreak


What else has dawned on me this morning?
The intrinsic beauty in what I see and say "lovely."
Playfulness of word order.
Joy in the non sequitur.
That persimmons have arrived.  And are not at their best.  But will be.

Friday, October 18, 2019

Seen in normal light


above ground.  Calligraphy.  What is being written is open to interpretation -- gnarled or gone underground.  Reminds me to edit that poem -- again.  Reminds me it's time to roast root vegetables.
Serve on a plate in evening light.

Thursday, October 17, 2019

Pumpkin time


Autumn is time's hinge.  At it's center, you can see the moon working out the arithmetic -- necessary & beautiful.  No different than baking squash.  No different than editing a poem.  In all instances, look toward the moon; herein lies wisdom.  A tad of mischief, too.

Wednesday, October 16, 2019

When pens become triangles


what is being measured?  Do nouns and verbs understand equidistant in a poem?  How would a wooden spoon related to these conditions?  The air is shifting; time, falling.  Pens might just be the corral to hold us together.

Monday, September 30, 2019

Where is this going?


from northeast to southwest?  Or southwest to northeast.  Which way will it be swiped?  How does time influence this movement?  Is weather involved?  The advent of persimmons?  The lessons of plums and pluots?  How many poems will be read this morning?

Never forget the edges,


the margins.  Or the shadows.  This is true with cooking.  You taste what you don't see.  This is true with a poem -- you taste what has been editing away.  Fragrant, not fragile.

Friday, September 27, 2019

Glass, light


 & ink.  Delicious trio.  I've never been one to favor squid ink.  Are you?  For me gestures in black ink inspire.  Much like a  favorite wooden spoon darkened by use stirring a favorite stew.  Or those black rimmed appetizer-sized plates.