Wednesday, July 11, 2018
Tuesday, July 10, 2018
And yet, and yet there were ripe (very ripe) peaches on the counter within fingers' reach. And, yes, there was a soft hum of jazz and the occasional hummingbird sipping at the pomegranate yarrow. All this contained in the blue and in the black. Petite poems, too.
Thursday, July 5, 2018
They include a certain amount of resting & a vigilance to see awe in the everyday. Also, to cook with a wooden spoon in the spirit of curiosity. The same is true for stirring a poem.
Thursday, June 28, 2018
the inanimate isn't. Full of sap & wind-wiggling branches. Roots a plenty. Seeking water & sun & the cooling of evening. She's a beauty, isn't she. More reliable than a guard dog, too. Let's have cold soup -- vibrantly blueberry-ish -- for lunch. We'll serve in small clear glasses with petite spoons. Let's send a poem out into the world which may or may not include the word "blueberry." There you have it.
Wednesday, June 27, 2018
Or what beets dream about. The confluence of ripening. Much like shaping a meal. Or shaping a poem. Pay attention to the tributaries -- real & imaginary. Learn to meander. Take up whistling.
Monday, June 25, 2018
Night shadow-izes plants. Converts their green leaves to shadows. Night offers a dream-state of a palette. Muted yet vivid by an absence. Or a lamp left on. The same can be said of editing a poem. The same is true for a subtle dish, perhaps beans.
Sunday, June 24, 2018
with basil. What's not to like when fava beans, tomatoes (yellow heirloom & red cherries), olive oil, salt, pepper hang out with basil. Your mouth is happy speaking the language of Spring into the first vowels of summer. Eyes & mouth concur: a simple colorful salad is a petite poem. Yup.
Monday, June 18, 2018
Sunday, June 17, 2018
Space between bars are like open windows to a bee. Seems a slim meal but sometimes it's what you don't see --
herbs in a sauce; all the words removed from a line of poetry.
Absence is a conveyance for lushness. What is our bee sipping on?
Agastache Kudos Mandarin. A perennial hyssop. Honey-mint-scented plumes. Pinkish orange. What's not to love? What's not to be smitten by?
Saturday, June 16, 2018
Friday, June 15, 2018
Thursday, June 14, 2018
Mute the color & still the vibrant, rainbow-hued stories are there. Don't ever think otherwise.
Although most times thinking otherwise is a good thing. By the way, what's a non-thing?
An additional "by the way," even in a b/w or sepia photo of food, the imagination is so hungry colors
vibrant & subtle appear. Silence does this to poetry, you know. But of course. And should you step on a shadow, nothing is broken; nothing cracked.
Monday, June 11, 2018
|kodiak wearing a classical tutu designed by Carmencito L.|
For the record, a peony is the matriarch of tutus. Speaking of tutus, there are two types: Romantic & classical. The one above is classical -- short, stiff material and extended horizontally at the waist. (The Romantic can reach ankle-bone & is made of softer more flowing material). Right now, I'm thinking of raspberries. Right now, I'm wondering what haiku lurks under the tutu. Oh, tut-tut.
Friday, June 8, 2018
When light & shadows are spun, you can find yourself in a state of sun-flowering! It's as simple as a wooden spoon stirring soup. A pen unloading Pandora's box of gestures. See, I know you'd understand.
Wednesday, June 6, 2018
also known as sallows or osiers. Soft, pliant, tough wood. A strong, vibrant life-force. And here in Walnut Creek, CA ten tons of willow imported from Vermont by commissioned artist Patrick Dougherty. (http://www.bedfordgallery.org/public-art/collection/patrick-dougherty). A must see. Like a meal with friends and conversation robust yet intimate. Like a new notebook with first gestures -- bold, skyward & deep into the earth. And always as with poems, meals or sculpture -- a window to see in, to see out.
Thursday, May 24, 2018
The straight dreams
of spiraling. Simple.
More than even
the center needs
to embrace water
& honey, intention
& cloud. Drop
your favorite word
into the center
of a pond & see
how time bends
to the gracious
how next the taste
Wednesday, May 23, 2018
and that's not taking into account, wildflowers. But why should they. Think of paper as a fence. Now grasp a pen. You get the point. Think of a knifepoint as a fence. Consider this as the knife slices an eggplant. By the way what's the point of most questions?
Monday, May 21, 2018
stop to take a picture. Who can resist poppies & Angel's trumpets. Brugmansia, even the word is lush. Who can resist pendulous flowers with no spine with no fruit. Speaking of fruit, this season's strawberries (so far) are so near and so luscious. Yield to them as you yielded to pen & paper this morning.
Friday, May 18, 2018
Enjoy the next landscape you encounter upside down. Akimbo.
Wednesday, May 16, 2018
and physics of the makeshift. Like memory, fading. A tad worn. But a love of dirt, intact. A line of poetry here or there; the tongue tastes skinny carrots pulled from New Jersey soil.
Monday, May 14, 2018
Puya! She blooms once a year right around Mother's Day at Ruth Bancroft Gardens (& elsewhere). Terrestrial, otherworldly & undeniably gorgeous. Did I mention huge. Food for the eyes. Lest we forget, beauty is a protein. Build on it. Every blue/green waxy petal is a haiku.
Wednesday, May 9, 2018
Tuesday, May 8, 2018
Friday, May 4, 2018
some reflections warble, some twist & coil. Is it the thing growing, the thing closer to death, or simply, it is water's magic & mayhem? Consider this: without water, cooking is limited. Tea, impossible. Without reflection, poems can be scant & sketchy. There you have it on a May day rather early in the month.
Thursday, April 26, 2018
and admires its reflection. When a salad looks at itself, what does it see? Which ingredient does it recognize first? Is it true, poems are partial to prepositions & the particulars of gender?
Wednesday, April 25, 2018
All that's necessary to take in the day. A conversation. Eavesdropping, of course. An underbelly of spinach & a memory of raspberries. See & hear and words will follow. And if this is not in an act of eavesdropping, well, you'll find a poem by noon.
Monday, April 23, 2018
doesn't disrupt or derail the majestic beauty of these bearded irises. Their composure makes them immune to any barking disturbance. Fragile & strong commingled. A perfect balance like the perfectly crafted martini. Vodka, of course. With a twist. Soon it will be a good friend's birthday
with poems aplenty & gestures to grow on. Perhaps, Goldfish the hue of pollen.
Especially when multi-color carrots are given center stage. You never forget the first time you cut into a purple carrot. Rewarded again by color. A dish of sautéed multi-colored chopped carrots with walnuts, basil, garlic, black pepper, olive oil & the slightest drizzle of Balsamic vinegar. Sight for sore eyes. May all poems see into themselves this vibrantly.
Saturday, April 14, 2018
Friday, April 13, 2018
Magical, this circling. Mother nature arising kinetically. Wish I could say that for each line of poetry I've written. Maybe, I'm using the wrong kind of ink? What can I put in today's salad to pay homage to the quiet rose & that that hearty yellow? To be determined -- soon.
It isn't usually thought that shadow is as downright cheerful as sunlight. But look at these blooms. In light and in shadow they optimistically glow. Carrots are known to brighten a kitchen. Lemons, too. Certain words, too, will brighten or dim a poem. Color, something you can't quite grasp but it surrounds us -- inside & out.
Wednesday, April 11, 2018
25 feet but who's counting? Yucca treculeana. Showy, over-the-top gorgeous. Reminds me of a salad that becomes bountiful by the use of leftovers. Like inserting a line of an existing poem into a new one. Yup, no height restrictions to beauty and beauty is in the leftovers. And here's the phrase from that poem, steadfast fragility.