Tuesday, September 11, 2018
Moving at such speed, we would fall over if we were aware of the influence on us. But we do our balance/unbalance act of walking until we do reach a match, a lamppost, a cheap lighter. And why is this talking to me this morning? Because the light is dramatically beautiful and the shaggy eucalyptus are glowing. It's time for tomatoes & arugula. Time to hear a friend read her poems.
Monday, September 10, 2018
In the journey, does it matter? Movement, intention & mediation. Knife, fork, spoon. And, as we all know, the plate is pure paper. Food like a poem begins small. Close to water; perhaps a harbor. A cove for sure. With food as with foods -- passion aplenty.
embrace the potter's wheel. Perhaps, instead of clay, time. Or color which is another way to embrace the energies of food. Or words. I can feel it all. My hands are the perfect translators.
for the end of fig season. Caramelized Parmesan cheese with figs, walnuts, tomatoes, basil on a pita -- toasted & topped with arugula. A forest; a a canopy to protect the day. For the promise of a word or two.
what is spinning?
How does this affect the texture and color of the next meal?
What's the impact on the next words set down on the page and shared with Jane?
Take comfort, the center is visible. And the journey inward & outward is just that -- a journey.
But then again, a leaf of chard imbeds a red tree. Magic and alchemy: soil & cooking; meanwhile, imagination harvests poems. Yup.
Something from childhood, perhaps our first forays into reading picture books. Perhaps, we were fed on optimism instead of reality: the beauty & delicacy of fog. Perhaps, secretly we are lovers of orange food -- persimmons & such which we all know pares beautiful with fog & petite poems. Just look up fog's sleeves.
Thursday, August 23, 2018
Wednesday, August 22, 2018
Except when water is thrown into the mix. Think of it as spontaneous dreaming. Spontaneous memory. Portals appear like eyes in a potato. Like words in last night's poem. Quite watery, too.
Skin -- human & tree. Much in common. Also trees take on the look and feel of a torso. Suddenly, I'm thinking of broccoli with torso resembling trees. Leaps are like peels -- real, imaginary or potato. Speaking of peeling, once I wrote an ode to a martini. It was not potato-based. Oh, yes, it was a very cold ode.
Tuesday, August 21, 2018
Every object is more than its use. Think of a bike and the many miles each one travels. Even in the store before they are bought, a bike dreams of the journey. But how like a flower is the bike. Pedal to petal. Words, salads & dreams -- that's the journey. A bit of sun here and there, too. A spot of rain. One needs water, you know.
Monday, August 20, 2018
Glads are showy flowers but their beauty is straightforward take-it-in. Drawn right to the center. Like the seeds of a tomato. Like particular words in a poem. But which ones? Remember, seeds are verbs and a tomato is a fruit. Why not mix up a metaphor every week or so.
Saturday, August 18, 2018
A bit of yellow Gerber daisies and several varieties of tomatoes and colorful tissue paper and you have a bouquet of flowers & fruits. Think of this arrangement as a color alphabet. Of course, poems are arrangements of the alphabet as well as a bouquet of shape, color, tastes. A mixup of flowers & fruit & alphabet, yes, that's a poem.
And yet, the story is more complex. Basil, tomatoes, peaches, figs, goat cheese. Even a bit of Mexican tarragon. Never forget, food like a poem is all story at its core. Munch on. Write on.
Wednesday, July 25, 2018
Make peace with deadlines or this is how your spirit reacts.
Fear a deadline, the carrots are charred beyond desire.
Fear a deadline, poems sound like frenetic bug-eyed creatures
howling in a wind tunnel. Sashay up to a deadline & see what happens.
Of course, I'm writing this for myself.
Go ahead, make up the story about what this image is or isn't. Get personal or not. Include a pen or a spoon. Or both. Make up something that feeds those you love and those folks yet-to-be met.
Thursday, July 19, 2018
Wednesday, July 18, 2018
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?