Sunday, May 29, 2016

Why do we say a garden blooms

when really it explodes?  Just as a fresh tomato or berry implodes in a mouth.  From familiar words, a poem explodes with tastes & textures.  And always, light.  

Saturday, May 28, 2016

Definitely flutes

by day; pens at night
stitching in the folds.   
Who said there is only 
one center?  Or a house
is sustainable by a single

Friday, May 27, 2016


and spun.  Spun?  Is that what happens when a meal is pleasantly plated?  And what of a poem? Is there an app to spin words?  As a matter of fact, there is.
Check-out Wordle.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Presenting fava beans

Food, especially just picked from the garden, is like a poem.  Your initials all over it.  Whose initials
on the vintage glass plate?  My Mom's.

Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Choosing the instrument to create

Whether pen, brush, musical instrument or spoon what we choose to create with influences what we create.  Or perhaps, simple and necessary as the dialogue of hoe and weed.   By the way, can't you hear an oboe in the above image?

Tuesday, May 24, 2016


All about perspective, isn't it?
Here's how I see desiccated roses --

and roses see themselves, seeing me:

I think the same may be said of spent carrots.  How about a poem?  How does the poem I wrote this morning, "Abandoned" see itself, seeing me?  Carrots most likely, forthcoming.

Monday, May 23, 2016


Yes, beautiful & luscious.  But not fragile as she might appear.  Hardy.  Prolific.  The alstroemeria.   Some foods are like this, too.  Dainty red raspberries pack a wallop of taste.  Now, consider the haiku -- both the poem & the cat (see May 22, 2016 post).  Hardy & beautiful.

above photo app-enhanced, Circular

When is there too little to harvest?

My roommate and I planned fava beans to put nitrogen back into the soil.  One bean took a liking to it's particular spot in the backyard.  Now, we have 3 fava beans all that glorious fava bean green. The garden is singing a little louder for this.  Add this to my to-do list:  write a minimalist epic to the fava bean.

Alas, lunch didn't include fava beans but the garden's mint -- minty.

Sunday, May 22, 2016

Light is an envelope

a gateway to the essential.  For instance, blue squares on green are nothing less, nothing more than a poem coalescing or a meal in the mouth of imagination.  With back facing light, the cat invents the perfect box.

Saturday, May 21, 2016

Colors of the inside voice

Make no mistake; flowers have inside voices.  Consider, the poppy.  Here's one to get you started:

And here's my point.  Below is what the poppy hears when its inside voice sings to the garden.

Now, I'm trying to picture the inside voice of the avocado I enjoyed for breakfast.  Or the inside voice of the poem I wrote this morning about an

Friday, May 20, 2016

Billet-doux: the language of hands

a poem

Tuesday, May 17, 2016

Why does a spiral preen?

I'm thinking of birds; how they preen.  How wind, just lusts to be a spiral, and spiral all winged-ones upwards.  And onward. Their itinerary, never casual nor complacent.

I'm thinking of how changing light fashions a haiku.

How a spoon spiraling, fashioned last night's chicken-lemon-curry soup.  How that spoon then was the proper tool to serve.

For sure, a spiral preens the inward and the outward.