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?

Eucalyptus


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 red....shoes.
By the way, who doesn't love beets, red peppers.....


Attraction


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.

Sometimes it's not the mountain that steals the show

It's not always a spoon that stirs the pot?
It's not always a favorite pen that
finishes a poem?
Sometimes. Sometimes not.

Allium & nightshade

When a simple allium and nightshade conspire to become a basket what will be contained?  What left out?  Much like composing a meal.  Or a poem. Just that -- shape & color.
Of course, taste, too.


Tuesday, July 11, 2017

The centrifugal force of baby eggplants


It's unlikely you've considered the centrifugal force of baby eggplants & tomatoes & olives & bulgar. But why not?  Or to change the direction of the question -- why am I considering this right now? I'm unsure but this I do know: words are gleefully centrifugal on a page.

P.S.  Aren't you smitten by the basil dark lady and the salad burnet on the edges of the top plate? And how do these two herbs flavor centrifugal force?

Monday, July 10, 2017

Eating ecologically







Goats R Us -- always a welcome sight.  Their website says a "grazing company."  I think poets are grazers -- diverse individuals in a creative community.  Grazing on words -- imagine that.

Saturday, July 8, 2017

Mom, I said I wanted a chapeau not this irksome bonnet...




Three weeks -- you're joking!
For the second time in his almost 14-years, haiku has a head covering. This time it's a fetching blue cloth not that ecologically-iffy plastic cone.  Can't call him a cone-head this time around. Here's the backstory:  haiku had surgery for an ear-tear.  He's fine, healthy & impatient.  When he's not eating or miffed at his head-gear, he does want you to know he's grateful to the staff & Dr Ellis at Civic Feline in Walnut Creek (CA) -- a cat-only vet practice.

Thursday, June 29, 2017

A forest knows itself as a dancing spirit



The deeply vegetal is a close kin of the dark. Except at its center -- where the dancing spirit haunts.  You feel as vibration, as music.  When the body dances, what does the mouth taste?  How many words in a poem make a meal?  How many chairs fit the table?


It's not only the sky which tethers stars



Soil and a fence collaborate to tether this profusion of star jasmine.  Such a heady fragrance; it dizzies the nose.  What's the equivalent in food?  In poems, fragrance can be dicey.  A touch goes a long way.


Weeds are tenacious friends


Specifically, purslane.  Hearty.  That omega-rich weed.  Crunchy and vegetal.  Just what a poem aspires to be.

Wednesday, June 28, 2017

The lost art of assembling a fan


from your imagination.
Will there be breeze?
A plate of purple
edibles?
One line
masquerading
as title?
Will it siren
bees & hummingbirds?

When a flower encounters its reflection


Does it see the seeds of its parents?
Or its children?  Or the fire
of being alive?
The same can be said of the flower
of the fig which I ate this morning.
The poem that needs writing today --
what is it reflecting
upon?

The dark makes the most of language


as do dreams.
A simple line goes a long way in the dark
and in a poem, line breaks curve;
the brakes, disassembled.  
There is no thought
of summery salads --
haphazard & giddy
with color.
Perhaps, simply said,
this is
crow-talk.

Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Because a friend gave me a gift

of farm-fresh eggs,
I tasted the sun. 



Then, I witnessed the sun turn into a breakfast star.


And should you ask, bacon is its own galaxy.  

Thanks, Bev.  

There is a spiral to everything

which greens:
herbs
vegetables
fruits
poems
even
lists.

Thursday, June 15, 2017

Do you know the first words uttered by Spring's red onions?



Roast me with balsamic.  Of course.  What a bending of stalks.  How their skin shines.  Shimmers.  Just what a poems is seeking -- a shiny skin and just the right touch of vinegar.

Wednesday, June 14, 2017

When wind sirens


water pays attention.  Moves off-center into a splash-orbit where poems form.  Listen, centrifugal force is laughing.  And out-of-sight, the Fuyu persimmons are thinking of ripening. There is joy in persimmons.  There is wetness to a poem.

Wednesday, June 7, 2017

If I were a bee

this would be my breakfast.
If I were a poem
waiting to be written
here's the notebook
I'd select.
If I were a honey
waiting to be made,
here's were I would find
the perfect pollen.



Tuesday, June 6, 2017

The desiccated is alive


Can you hear that yellow bird singing to roses, wooing them to life?  Can you see the roses beckoning words to bloom?

Can you see the roses seeing themselves as an abstract?

Now, picture a salad.  Perhaps, with tomatoes and fava beens, mint, roasted yellow & orange peppers, feta.  And, of course, arugula.  A mountain of arugula. Enough arugula to inspire a haiku. Imagine.

desiccated roses seeing themselves -- abstractly

Thursday, May 25, 2017

The nature of grasses


What was once -- moments ago -- green is now a healthy straw-brown hue. How a mild yellow sets it off.  You can hear the gears of growing.  Worms pushing aside dirt for grub.  You don't need to imagine a human in the seat of control.  All is not still here.  A meal and a poem stir.  Upheaval is imminent.


Never underestimate the power of a fragment









































Loving the fragment is the finest way to celebrate the whole.  Because a fragment is whole.  And holy. Now, think of soil as fragment.  Think of carrots; consider their tops -- delicious feathery fragments waiting to be gathered into a whole dish of pesto.  This is to be savored on bread with fresh tomatoes while reading Sappho.

Fragments are your friends.



Wednesday, May 24, 2017

Where's the thread?


Or is this a rustic keyhole?
Or a goddess with arms above her head in the shape of a tear drop?
This for sure, nature is both thread and needle.  And keyhole.  For sure, goddesses abound among the trees and metaphors.
Now think of the seasonal -- fava beans and petite poems abounding in farmers markets.  Yum.


Tuesday, May 23, 2017

What unites a bearded iris with a red, sliced onion?

Self-reflection.

Sometimes the answer is one word.
Sometimes the question which needed to be answered wasn't asked.
So, why would you link iris & onion?

It's in seeing.  Perhaps, a subset of self-reflection.

Yes, water is circular.  As are dreams.  

Why do I notice only today

these beauties? Bearded irises of a hue I have not seen before. Shape defines the what; color offers the awe.  It's the same with a meal, really. Or a poem. Can't you just smell it?  Taste it?  And, of course, there's the dream's take-on it. The dream always has a take on things and it's usually the final word.

Thursday, May 18, 2017

Anticipation is a state of tomorrow


because tomorrow our local farmers market opens for the season.  And I mean local -- as in walkable unless seasonal purchases too heavy with bounty.  Life can be sweet, can be healthy, can be non-toxic.  And life unfolds as roots dictate.  Soil -- believe in it.  Believe in the roots of words.  Love your Latin.

Wednesday, May 17, 2017

A few choice words in favor of the petite


Vegetables & poems unite.  Usually considered masculine, how extraordinarily feminine this carrot.  And the words?  As yet, undecided.  


Tuesday, May 16, 2017

Bread and a spread

and a star appears.  A carrot-top based chimichurri.  Perfect when the carrot greens shout "FRESH." And always, always good olive oil.  Have you noticed when a verb, a noun and a few of their friends show up on a page, a hue-ful poem might be ready to be served.  Might be ready to be savored.    





Saturday, May 13, 2017

Succulent


in more than one way.  Actually -- a succulent remade most luscious by the spin of color & chance. And water's magic mirror. Is that a byproduct of editing?  Or the processing of pairing tasty leftovers?

If I were an eagle...



From the sliding door window, looking toward Mt Diablo.  If I were an eagle soaring, I would zoom in on the Mariposa Lily (or butterfly tulips).  Those showy Calochortus.  Three blood spots in the shape of hearts.  The winged feasts on beauty.

Which words are eagle-like?  Which like Mariposa lilies?  What beauty shall I taste today?