Thursday, April 30, 2015
It's not only food but photos and poems bring forth memories. And, yes, precisely -- food. Thinking of butterfish dipped in buttermilk and coasted with sesame seeds. Sauted -- gently.
Back in SF, reading Broken Land, poems of Brooklyn which Nina gifted.
From a specific address to butterfish to poems about Brooklyn. How? Because friendship matters.
Thinking of Judy G and Ron. Where are you?
When are you coming home? Below, haiku is the maven of such a question.
And the next question, what's for a late breakfast? No doubt, a salad. Because if a salad, there's sufficient color to prompt a poem.
Contemplative pocket park at 53rd, NYC. Loved this park when I worked at the Harper & Row buidling (gone) though I lamented all the people during lunch hour.
Nirvanna. Here on a late Sunday afternoon on an otherwise sunny day, the perfectly beautiful grey of a city comes forth (NYC or Paris?). I saw what my mind-eye always did. People-less beauty and yet footsteps & voices rush as waterfall. Harmony.
And, yes, the lunch -- lovely Chinese eggplant & prawns (spelled pawns). A lunch with Bob,
Cin, and Karen. Those chairs beautifully sat upon.
And, yes, overspilling with laughter.
Perhaps, my next salad will include sesame seeds. Perhaps, not. Happy noshing, travelers.
Friday, April 17, 2015
Sun to appoint.
Reading to enliven.
And a poem, tucked inbetween the scrubjay's beak.
A salad, of course. It's the poem to accompany which will be the surprise.
Meanwhile, the farmers markets are flush with fava leaves. Yes, leaves of the fava.
Tuesday, April 14, 2015
tree with a void of crow. Lush ice plants. Pond, vibrant with waterbirds, including an unseen great blue herron. And sun to frame. What the crow eats for dinner is chance & the fancy of wing. I'll go for a salad and poem. Decidedly about a crow. The poem, that is. And you?
|Photo by Ann F. Biderman|
A day of good luck
with a gathering of
lady bugs. Eight on one bush. Here's a loner.
Such wonderful lucky parcels. Petite, portable poems on a
sunny day ripe for a picnic in Pacifica.
& outside. Contrary. Sometimes birds are best seen inside. On the outside of water, but the water, accessible.
Sometimes tea is best sipped outside.
Poems like birds/like tea are best when both enjoyed inside & out.
Now, consider daffodils, poems & picnics.
And always, yellow. Yes.
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
hidden among the wild roses. A 6' x 6" foot prickly pear
and this shiny & optimist nopales. Not something I will
tackle to prepare although the fruit treasured. I love the prickly
pear's otherworldly presence. It's profound & biting sense of
I grew up with wild roses & have fondness for that memory
& their first sweet smells of spring.
Here, wild roses & nopales make a keen friendship --
believable, and slightly not so.
And the next poem -- what unlikely combination?