Saturday, October 19, 2019
What else has dawned on me this morning?
The intrinsic beauty in what I see and say "lovely."
Playfulness of word order.
Joy in the non sequitur.
That persimmons have arrived. And are not at their best. But will be.
Friday, October 18, 2019
above ground. Calligraphy. What is being written is open to interpretation -- gnarled or gone underground. Reminds me to edit that poem -- again. Reminds me it's time to roast root vegetables.
Serve on a plate in evening light.
Thursday, October 17, 2019
Autumn is time's hinge. At it's center, you can see the moon working out the arithmetic -- necessary & beautiful. No different than baking squash. No different than editing a poem. In all instances, look toward the moon; herein lies wisdom. A tad of mischief, too.
Wednesday, October 16, 2019
what is being measured? Do nouns and verbs understand equidistant in a poem? How would a wooden spoon related to these conditions? The air is shifting; time, falling. Pens might just be the corral to hold us together.
Monday, September 30, 2019
from northeast to southwest? Or southwest to northeast. Which way will it be swiped? How does time influence this movement? Is weather involved? The advent of persimmons? The lessons of plums and pluots? How many poems will be read this morning?
Friday, September 27, 2019
Thursday, September 26, 2019
Wednesday, September 25, 2019
Tuesday, September 24, 2019
Silence is a blessed parcel of time. A gift of the journey inward. Like the meditation of cooking. Or writing one word then the next not knowing when a period might manifest.
Monday, September 23, 2019
Something are meant to be vibrant and some with a softer lens. Flowers are prime examples as they speak with light. When cooking, consider the light each ingredient offers. When writing, consider releasing the light on the page. Of course, reflections are a library in-and-of themselves.
to "belonging." Computer programs aren't soulless, are they? Think of a feather about to embark on another leg (or leaf) of its journey. Now consider the pit of a peach as a heart. Or consider a blank page as the canvas for conversing. FYI: the nickname for this bush is "the breath of heaven."
Friday, September 20, 2019
to brake can bring you closer. An invitation for a deeper reflection. When you were first learning to read, you knew this. Reminders along the way are to be encouraged. Consider, a favorite family dish. Or the first poet who spoke to you personally. Go ahead, make that dish; read that poet. Out loud, of course.
Friday, August 30, 2019
Thursday, August 29, 2019
It's a poem about mussels, about sensual love, about shadows. About the forbidden. Two visuals on the same text -- a softer approach and a rendition spoken from shadows. Of course, salt has been added to the latter.
Tuesday, August 27, 2019
in all her aspects, in all her shapes & colors. Even the stems step up for the party. Perhaps, I should write my poems in red ink. Perhaps, too much? How about writing petite poems with an orange pigment?
Wednesday, August 21, 2019
Monday, August 19, 2019
Sunday, August 18, 2019
Saturday, August 17, 2019
and titles it, "from the inside, out."
Write a 1 lines poem in pink ink which can be read left to right or right to left and which feels like a minimal epic.
Construct a meal where the desert tastes like an appetizer.
Thursday, August 15, 2019
Flux is the measure of time; the measure of one's life.
The measure of a favorite dish made with sweet carrots & onion
and the reason why the same poem tastes differently with each reading.
Wednesday, August 14, 2019
Precipices are interesting how they command our expectations. For isn't a precipice a vast, deep, steep falling off spot. Now, consider the curb, i.e., a manageable precipice often with a color-coded warning. Makes me think of carrots -- manageable sweetness. Or the word "perhaps" in a poem:
a very, very manageable emotion.
Tuesday, August 13, 2019
Monday, August 12, 2019
Perhaps it's a meal coming together with the lush bounty of the season with intriguing parings of spices & herbs? Or paper inviting just those apt mix of words to mend or upend and please the ears. Palpable. Pick up a spoon; pick up a pen: just get out of your own way.
Monday, July 29, 2019
A microscopic approach versus the whole enchilada. Perhaps, not a dichotomy. Consider, a dish that captures the spirit of an entire culture including its music. A poem which incorporates the hand & heart of the writer. The spoon which can trace the heart-line on the palm of the cook.
Or is it over-gesturing? Someone familiar with fog will let me know. For this is fog creeping into a page of gestures. Much like red pepper flakes cropping up into a dish that looks -- before tongue tastes -- mild & even-handed. The one who loves fog taught me to add red pepper flakes to poems. I'm grateful.
Sunday, July 28, 2019
Friday, July 26, 2019
Sunday, July 21, 2019
Saturday, July 20, 2019
The table will be set for you & your notebook. The pen will be poised as the kitchen is poised to create for you a fig salad with beets. You will not be disappointed in any aspect of this evening.
Including the walk home.
Friday, July 19, 2019
when you rabbit-ear the page of book. Flowers & books have so much in common. Light, of course. Appreciation, too. And rain stirring thought. Next, we should consider, stems. How they resemble, pens.
Thursday, July 18, 2019
waiting to be finished. Waiting for the final stroke. For the imbedded triangle. Makes me think what carrots need to be finished. Any vegetable, really. Or any poem -- just that final stroke. Shaped beauty; shaped meaning. Shape as form & function.
Wednesday, July 17, 2019
Tuesday, July 16, 2019
Monday, July 15, 2019
Thursday, June 20, 2019
Modesty. Modesty in flowers especially fried egg poppies. Here the petals are shading the spent. If we had the life-force & innate intelligence of flowers, would we need our 26-word alphabet?Would we need spoons & knives in addition to our roots?
Remember them? Cold sweetness on a stick. These Banksia ashbyri are glorious and from the eyes' point of view, command the succulent landscape. Like a pot of simmering soup engulfs the kitchen. Like just the right word --no matter its size or hue -- enlivens the ear. Yes, words are hue-full.
and not a golf game. What this is, isn't as important as the space it carves, creates, celebrates. Beings are flying upwards. If there were a kitchen, it would be steam making its own heaven. If if were the alphabet, it would be words on a swell trajectory. Mindfully & inimally beautiful, of course.
Wednesday, June 19, 2019
and for good measure stars even when the sun burns and the moon appears a silvery orb. It's all been charted before you were born and after you flow into the cosmos. By the way, hazard a guess as to what's eaten for breakfast in the cosmos and/or what language is bartered. Is there only one shared word for "amazement?"
the rivet holding the copper table as if the finest meal is about to be prepared. As when now I can't find words or analogy to express this one-time, had-to-be-there beauty. Beauty is of the moment. Blink.
is the one-word answer for why I love walking. On every walk no matter the time nor the place, I encounter the unlikely but believable. To celebrate a living detail is good life. Akin to sharing a meal or finding words (or having them find you) which inspire. Gratitude is naming the unlikely as believable.