Monday, July 31, 2017

Who doesn't love an olive

especially when a fanciful bird delivers such a tasty morsel.  Why flights of fancy.  Now, sit down with a cup of tea and imagine your imagination.  Avoid the pit.

The intersection of store bought and farmers market

is a simple box of cherry tomatoes as it dreams of being a large tomato.  Or a peach.  Or a pluot. Or having it's own plate on which to reside.  Is this how one word relates to a page where a poem resides?  How far is a poem from the ripe, you ask?


I'm smitten by the name.  And the dusty green that always seems in motion.  And the size of a mature tree is enough to make you giddy.  I think of Calder and mobiles.  I think of eucalyptus as grandmother trees.  I think of oatmeal.  I think of each leaf as a poem.  I think of...

A gift from the neighbor

beautiful as a ripe peach.  Or maybe a pluot?  And the dry shall always dream of water.  Which  is to say, water is another media for reflection.  What's for breakfast you ask? Pluots and feta with fresh herbs of a choosing, of course,  With a side of reflection.  Which is another way to say, poem.

Sunday, July 30, 2017

@the blue umbrella

sometimes a phrase says it.
Sometimes, that memory of a favorite lunch.
Sometimes, the favorite word -- perhaps?
Sometimes you want to rest in the color of a particular
word.  Yes.

One foot in front....

walking is a meditation in imbalance -- one foot, off center, then the other,
bringing back to balance.  I'm thinking of cooking and heat & alchemy.  I'm thinking of words and blank space and why I have an affinity for white dishes.  And why I will never give up a love of red shoes.  Or a line of poetry that smells of
By the way, who doesn't love beets, red peppers.....


Food for bees and hummingbirds.  Eye-food for me.  Amazing to watch a hummingbird hover and sip.  Similar to reading a lucid writer -- well feed on the color & taste of words.  Reminds me of roasted peaches with goat cheese.  Nectar for all.