Tuesday, September 11, 2018

Eucalyptus celebrating morning sun

Yes, this is eucalyptus bathed in morning sun.  What a glow. Or perhaps it's the buzz of insects unseen but present.  Does it matter?  What does matter?  Simple seeing.  Simple cooking.  Simple writing.  Simple, yes.

Who doesn't move toward the light

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.

Sometimes not knowing

is the way to know.  I haven't a clue what this might be; I don't care.  She's gorgeous.  There may be some wheat involved & water.  Perhaps a rose petal and a word I've never spoken.

Monday, September 10, 2018

Red without hesitation

Nails, lips, intention, passion.  All winged ones drawn to and words for gusto.  Food, too.  Tomatoes, for sure. Yes, tomatoes.  

Coming or going?

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.

At some point in my life this is what I will do

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.

When the showy is more than showy or Dahlia time in San Francisco

Sometimes beauty is over-the-top showy, bragging to bees & people alike.  Don't be fooled, these blooms are food for many.  If you want an honest assessment of these blooms, just ask fog. Perhaps you didn't know, that fog is a friend of poetry, a mentor really.  Fog, organic & ubiquitous -- the perfect eraser comes in handy from time to time.

When the straight, spirals

can you feel the pull toward center?  Can you feel the pull of basil to taste a tomato?  Can you feel the pull of sunrise to find the apt word?  Can't you?

Advanced mourning

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.

How important is it to know what is liquifying

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.

When was the last time you considered the essence of chard?

And why don't you do so more often?  Look the red vein goes right into the center, into the core?  Into its flower.

But then again, a leaf of chard imbeds a red tree.  Magic and alchemy:  soil & cooking; meanwhile, imagination harvests poems.  Yup.

Why are we always looking for a blue sky?

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

Where is the source of light

and where will it return?  Will it be changed by the journey?  Changed by who sees it and is smitten?  Changed by the words spoken?  Or marveled at by the one in the corner eating a tuna fish sandwich?

Who knew, flowering mint has a moth named after it.

Mint moth.  Flowering mint also attracts a particular butterfly called a Small Copper.  Also, as you can see bees are partial to this culinary plant.  For sure, mint is a green hub of activity.  Much like a haiku concentrating so much feeling in a small verdant patch of words.

Wednesday, August 22, 2018

Solid as a rock

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

Bikes are more than transportation

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.

And if you turned the image on its side?

How would you begin the conversation? Would the meal taste like poke?  Could you smell that luscious smell of rice before it was done?  Would you dream of haiku?  

The world is lean

when it comes to blue food.  But plentiful with blue music & blue words.  Just something to consider.

Monday, August 20, 2018

Revisiting the unfamiliar

has a particular smoky jazz feel.  Can't you hear the torch singer?  Can you smell the Indian spices
sautéing onion and ginger and garlic.  What an embrace of scent and anticipation worthy of a few words.  

Word circus

I know I've said this before:  words are salad fixings put on the page instead of a bowl or plate. Summer is the optimum time for salad & word play.  Who can explain to me, how the summer sky always seeps through to welcome those tomatoes & Japanese eggplants.  Go ahead, revel.

Straightforward beauty

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 mixup of flowers & fruit

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.

Basil & tomatoes, but of course

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.

Light emanates from the abstract

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.

Salt & pepper

How many dishes have you eaten in the last two years which were truly black & white creations?   Here's a seldom considered fact for you, the above image is how a page sees language written upon it.

Storing the past

Photographs, memory & taste.  A wondrous cabinet of sweetmeats.  Meanwhile, fingers taste the alphabet & find it intriguing & beguiling.  Downright tasty.  

Trade in grade school teachers' red pencils for this

the streak of a redwing blackbird across vibrant trees.  See the ruffling.  Nothing crossed out. Nothing negated. Use the alphabet accordingly; cook with sassy colors.  A slice of heirloom tomatoes across greens.  Yummy.

What came first

the leaves or chairs?  Is this the chicken & egg conundrum?  Is an overuse of adverbs looming?  Besides, who thinks of dead leaves in summer?

Thursday, July 19, 2018


Go ahead.  Imagine putting summer into a blender just at the time evening turns indigo.  What will this chilled soup taste of?  Kale?  Zucchini?  Who can explain to me why the timbre of a poem written at this time is so very different from one penned in the early morning hours?

Wednesday, July 18, 2018

Difficult to erase

what was never there
only dreamt
but a few times
& always before
mercy me,
how does a cook
plate absence?
what will
the poet
whip up?

Wednesday, July 11, 2018

from light & dark #7 the dream erases itself

but the pillow remains, witness.  Like a spoon after all the soup has been ladled.  Like a poem whittled to 9 words.  The everyday brims with minimalist epics.  

Tuesday, July 10, 2018

Summer bonnets

and peach ice cream.  Always in this season shady poems were in demand.

from blue & black series #10: not your usual Summer

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

Holidays are like any other day

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

A river flows into the vegetal

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 is a color unto itself

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

Vicia Faba & nightshade

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

The stars are waning

but not the fragrance of the jasmine.  In fact the allure is waxing for bee & hummingbird.  A galaxy of poems ready to be experienced.  Inspiration for many a meal.  

Sunday, June 17, 2018

Bars, bees & hunger

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

Sometimes a face, sometimes a fan

The color pink & rosy with a stroke of red and the hue of loam to ground.  Who shall we call her?  How does she spin?  How does she turn a salad into a poem?