Thursday, May 25, 2017
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.
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
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
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.
Thursday, May 18, 2017
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
Tuesday, May 16, 2017
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?
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?
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
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.