Thursday, March 29, 2018

Something is about to happen

Spinning, I think.  Definitely some activity which is kinetic.  Spring, of course.  Green encountering redbud trees.  Light, as synapses.  When the energy slows-down, will there be a poem?  

When the twig leaves the vine

a few grapes linger.  Or perhaps an eager hand who carries a familiar face has left just a few for you.  Akin to a poem with mostly cross-outs.  Always, always look for glacier blue.

Tuesday, March 27, 2018

Spring is liquid color

Spring is jejune.  Fluid.  Liquid energy.  Drawn to the spiral.  Centrifigal force.  The earth's life force
rising up.  Imagine your favorite ten words and three verbs to which you don't gravitate.  Use them. What haiku have you created to siren spring?

Fleeting and worth their wait

Consider, the weight of cherry blossoms.  Beauty imbues weight & dimension.  A regard for seasons, too.  A cherry blossom festival around the corner & down the hill.  They will stop you in your tracks. Feel the rhythm, cadence, the memoir in their petals.  If one word could summarize: haiku.

Saturday, March 24, 2018

A glass bowl is place for light, stories & sometimes it sees itself as a starfish

Magic & alchemy.  Like what can happen in a kitchen when a kitchen is being true to its nature.  Much like what a poem dances on a page or echoes in an ear.  Yes, magic & alchemy.

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

Ever wonder what's at the center of the four directions?

Pure lushness of a feathery sort.  And full-on color.  Verdant touches, of course.  Reminds me on the inverse of a beet salad.  Reminds me of the last line of a poem when it springs open with greening.  Guess it's time to cook some beets; finish that poem about recipe & place.

Monday, March 19, 2018

Otherworldly as an artichoke on legs

and dazzlingly beautiful if not surreally gorgeous.  An amazing performance.  All feather and strut.
Dragging wing -- who knew the music of love is the sound of scraping feathers.  Makes me think of jagged line breaks in a poem.   Or the tips of an artichoke.  Ouch.

Saturday, March 17, 2018


and shape-shifting.  Carrots are a prime example.  Perhaps you have always considered carrots to be rather "straight."  But now consider the sweep of carrots -- rounded, embracing the concept of a circle.  Not to be confused with a bunch of baby orange bananas, of course.  Not to be confused with nonsense.  There is much sense in no.

Returning to shape-shifting, I think of language expressing what doesn't appear obvious.  What doesn't make sense until you consider the opposite.  Shape & the shifting of is the circle of paradox. Yup.  Wake up; eat carrots for breakfast.

In Spring everything wants to bloom including paper clips

I have always welcomed Spring as it replenishes winter's farmers markets.
Carrots with robust tops perfect for chimichurri.
I have always been fascinated with paperclips, especially brightly hued.
I think of paperclips as petite fingers holding whatever you wish.
Like a line of poetry holding one word to another.  Or Spring binding bloom to stem.
Hand me some paperclips, will ya?

Friday, March 16, 2018

Doesn't need to be complete

to be finished.  But it does need to be started.  Consider a meal.  Consider a poem.  Consider...

Cara Cara oranges & company make me want

Good food is a bouquet.  Nothing else.  Nothing more.  Makes me think of friendship.  Makes me want to cook zucchini with feta tonight.  Makes me want to edit that poem that's simmered long enough.  Makes me want.

Tuesday, March 13, 2018

Big bird contemplates water

Grevillea petrophiloides nicknamed "Big Bird."  What happens when you see yourself for the first time.  Really see yourself.  Perhaps it is like eating a raspberry for the first time and really tasting that gem.  Or re-reading a favorite poem.  One from Chiyo-ni, no doubt.