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?


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


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.