Monday, October 30, 2017
especially when the dream requests a glass of water. Especially, when the meal is served with liquid nectar such as water. Especially when the dream invites otherworld succulents. For what is a dream if not otherworldly clarity. Sounds like a meal coming together. Sounds like a poem being offered cool water.
simple nor what is expected. By the way, which is more crevice like -- a split in concrete or a vein? How does water hold together as a circle: self-contained & perfect? How many line breaks in this image and what influence does it exert upon the next meal? Combining the dry with the wet is an art form -- culinary & in watercolor.
Sunday, October 29, 2017
This is widely known: birds are sentinels. But what do we know about Winter squash? Here's a tidbit rarely shared: Winter squash always show up in force for a carnival and consider themselves a self-contained casserole. Consider that. Consider, placing your next 23 poems inside a hallowed-out squash which you have just prepared for baking. Oh my. How those words will taste.
and squashes for days. Because these are the days of Winter squash and no discontentment. Carrots, too, aplenty. And essays to feed the soul; in particular Mary Ruefle's "Madness, Rack and Honey." Go for it and never apologize for being sentimental again. Thanks, Beverly, for the top photo.
Clearly, gone to the turkeys. Or, gone with the turkeys. So much depends on a preposition. Much like a twist of pepper. A line break. Ah, when to use (judiciously) the semicolon. And then, there's those fallen leaves. What are they?
Tuesday, October 17, 2017
Monday, October 16, 2017
Sunday, October 15, 2017
is pure comfort food. Winter squash for sure. Rooted and sturdy with insides that surprise & beguile made sweet by roasting. Which is what certain words dish up, too, as poems. I'm thinking editing a poem tries to get to the inherent savory and/or sweetness. A kind of roasting, I'd say.
|Top left: Blue Ballet Squash -- new to me. Yummy!|
Friday, October 13, 2017
and yet the seasonal has a way of addressing absence & its ensuing lament. Pomegranates. The word itself is a poem. Even without the thrill of its 613 seeds, the pomegranate is a joy to behold. Fecund and juicy. Fall is spilling. These beauties picked by Bev from her brother's tree. Wow!