Tuesday, February 21, 2017

What the dream sees as it awakes

She insists the narrative won't become clearer.  She won't put on a sweater.  She won't remove the pearl necklace.  She refuses avocado for the third straight day.  She knows time is never straight, bends away from light.  Bends into the dark.  She mourns that red coat with a black velvet collar. She pines for a persimmon.  She becomes impatience for asparagus.  She knows she will never own another red coat with a black velvet collar.  Now she knows why every dark moon will speak her name as if the title of a poem.

Monday, February 20, 2017

What creates the intersection of image & word?


The answer is simple.  Light, of course. Because a question always begets another, we see the image above and what words are appearing?

And the intersection of image & hunger?  What will you eat for breakfast? And what will the image of avocado on toast inspire in words.  Something green & buttery.

2/19/17  on misreading a line

all else is butter

Saturday, February 18, 2017

Companions


a lizard walked into a patio and found the spine of a snail quite comforting.  a good place to soak up the sun.  the spine of the snail seemed to be okay with it.  much like a spoon is okay with stirring soup.  the pen left in the spine of a book soaks up a poem

Wednesday, February 15, 2017

An iris goes incognito


in its next dream.  It dreams itself an abstract so it no longer has to hear everyone who walks by say, "Look at that yellow iris."  In the dream the bearded iris does all the seeing.

This reflects a poem's experience, too.  A poem wants to do the seeing and wants to be seen as as the sum of its abstraction.  Where exactly is a poem's iris?

Now shall, we move on to contemplate beets?

Tuesday, February 14, 2017

Gratitude and grapes


Sure, there's sugar in grapes.  Indisputable.  There's also gratitude.  Just take in that uplighting spirit, reaching for the light.  And if these remind you of kidney beans?  Good.  Who hasn't been grateful for a well-seasoned bowl of beans.

Since it's Valentine's Day, here's a poem -- a tad dark, perhaps?  Let's stretch for the light and call it a pillow poem.

as usual I left
the valentine on your pillow
I no longer believe
the dead can't read

Monday, February 13, 2017

Volunteer


Among the planned, the landscaped, comes the lone volunteer.  I'm gaga for iris, in particular, the bearded ones.  Probably the first flower that captured my delight in the otherworldly.  Speaking of imagination, the iris below contemplates its stem in water.

I'm thinking of lunch and what bulb-like food, which tuber might tempt me.

This morning during a quietly spectacular sunrise, I sketched (with words) a rather darkish valentine. For some reason I want to tell you that.

Sunday, January 29, 2017

Repetition with variances is fetching.



Sometimes it is the simple, repeated.  Enlarged.  Rotated.  Time rotates light.  I've heard it said, verbs rotate meaning and in the extreme can cause a metaphorical vortex.

P.S.  Tonight's stirfry was a fetching confluence of taste & texture.  Color, too.