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?


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


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?

Resting against unexpected backdrops

The unexpected backdrop -- whether the time of day and the ensuing sky or a marimba as couch. Think of bright-hued peppers in a salad of predominate green.  Or words which surprise across pristine white sheets.  You get the idea.  Perhaps, resting is more active than the eye takes in.  Is the I ever at rest?  Oops, did I mean "eye?"

Tuesday, May 9, 2017

The image is complete but the writing of it

isn't.   Not yet in the editing phase.  More like a salad being composed and the final touches yet undiscovered.  In the doing, a poem like salad gets done.  Gets served.  Here the writing is on the inside of an eyelid -- sparks of light and luscious comforting graphite.  Trust me, on the plate (not shown) there will be hue-vibrant tomatoes & yellow peppers. Perhaps, pea shoots.

Saturday, April 29, 2017

As National Poetry Month winds down

it's time to let haiku rest.
Put down the spoon.
Let there be clear-eyed silence.

Two perspectives on daffodils

and why Spring is so beguiling.  I've always thought daffodils and asparagus have been lovers.  And each with her love of water and words which whisper.  

Perspective is concentric

when it comes to seasons; seasons greening.  Note the perspective above -- an inspired plating of salad.  Like the weight of the perfect word just as the line breaks and begins anew.  Ultimate "ha."

The place of the dream

Why do her dreams return to this place? Why doesn't she remember how she gets to this place?  By water?  By air?  On foot?  Why does she awake thirsty?  Why does she remember that fragment from Sappho?  Why does she long for persimmons?

What she saw in last night's dream

and upon waking, why these interlocking & perplexing questions?
When did she stop wearing her red boots?
At what time of day does the horizon appear watery?  Precisely.
Why do forests shape shift?
How does a poem know which word will come next?
Which tomato gets to keep the worm?
Why does conversation often come full circle, and precisely why do interlocking & perplexing questions resemble a cat?

Friday, April 28, 2017

A flower's bud is pure memory

A few days before, I spot these familiar buds -- tight pods of color -- and I think peonies.  The rational mind shouts "impossible, if not improbable."  Childhood is marked by a hedge of peonies and ants.  Vivid memory -- 60 years, plus.  Ha, again and this time --factual.  Indeed, multiple peony plants.  I'm in heaven as I recall my first favorite food & author.  If you guessed, cheeseburger and Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam, we're in sync.

What attracts the happy looker-ons

This beauty is created for survival not for us happy looker-ons.  Of course beauty is one of the major food sources. So get out and shop for free in nature's mega-supermarket. Take on the mind of a bee, of a hummingbird, or a blank sheet of paper. Never leave home without a pen.  


Bird of paradise are amazing  -- plant & aviary. The rooted kind have been known to fly at dizzying speed & heights.  At least in the eye's fancy.  And don't you think "birdamazing" is a fetching, necessary word.  I think we should also use "saladamazing" as a way to prepare for tomato, corn & pea season.  And with 3 days left to National Poetry Month, let's celebrate with "wordsamazing." Of the petite variety, of course, which break into silence.  Or it is "brake."

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

Have you ever seen rabbits this still?

There they are -- twins -- in the lower right corner (above). Still as metal. And what are they gazing upon? White bearded irises with a light as if cast by moon. Otherworldly, dream-scape. A quiet hunger.  Because bearded irises are rhizomes and edible rhizomes are miraculous -- ginger, turmeric, lotus.  All three of those words are petite poems waiting to be eaten.

Saturday, April 8, 2017

When what you dream of is right in front of you

Lilacs -- the showy ones with heady perfume -- are the flowers of my childhood.  Magic so far up
almost (almost) out of reach.  And yet a few inches south of the stars.  Like flowers, food conjures up tasty memories.  If nothing else, memory is palpable, fragrant.  Embodied.  Like words high up or low-down on a page.  Can't you just pluck them, smell them?  Syllable by palpable syllable.

Tuesday, April 4, 2017

The dream wishes entry

into the maples.
We've been here
before.  A plate
-- simple as can be --
wishes to welcome
a meal.  Paper --
full of emptiness --
woos words.
And the dream
dreams of
that portal
of maples.

Monday, April 3, 2017

Light persists

One moment on firm ground; the next underwater but light persists.  Light fires up and illuminates what it touches.  Apply this to cooking: if light were lemons, it would brighten the water.  Now apply this to a poem which is flirting with a watercolor.  How tricky to capture water in a watercolor, a poem or a poem about a watercolor.  Tricky capturing flirting in general or in the particulars.

Thursday, March 30, 2017

The magic of shadow

and how to reflect upon it.  Similar to talking about food while eating.  Or reading a poem to get started to write a poem.  To look at a night sky and be pulled into the stars.  To look at the line of landscape and notice shadows.  Thinking about stillness in all things.

Wednesday, March 29, 2017

What do reading, writing, walking, cooking have in common?

every thing
and everything

Always something more to be said

"More to be said" is an act of revisiting.  This image -- a year old at least -- I'd call it "clarity up in the clouds. Or writing in the sky. Or a plate's long wait for great tomatoes." Your choice.  I've made mine -- to revisit breakfast.

Tuesday, March 28, 2017

When is foil compromised?

so easily
let me speak
of this
as words
by beets
And all,
a perfect
piece of jewelry
of course
as often
as a poem.
And let's
is territorial
and quite so
And time
the timepiece
we have sported