Sunday, December 15, 2019

Winter is taking over


Bark reflects the seasons as dramatically as new buds, as snow.  Holds both tenderly in balance. Much like simmering red sauce does with steaming pasta.  And always like that pristine black notebook waiting for the first gestures of a poem -- bark & all.

Thursday, December 12, 2019

Not falling stars


but fallen stars.  How they illuminate a sidewalk.  Miraculous.  Miraculous as a shared meal.  Miraculous as one word joins another.  

Tuesday, December 10, 2019

Be and/or Become


whatever you wish it to be and/or become, it will.  You can feel it unfolding.  Like tasting a favorite sauce after taking-in its delicious smell.   Like seeing words coalesce on the page into meaning that surprises, that delights.  The fresh dance of what is and what will become.

Friday, December 6, 2019

Looking down & not knowing


what you are seeing but knowing that is enough to go no deeper.  It's akin to know when to stop adding spices to a dish.  It's akin to knowing when to stop editing a poem before it becomes muck.

Thursday, December 5, 2019

Use your imagination or stand on your head.


Is there any difference?  The distinction between red radishes is putting a fine point to finger food, don't you think?  Perhaps this is a reintegration of a red fox?  Or the first line of a poem that you will edit well into the morning?  Only the red fox knows, and she's moved on out of rain's hearing.  And furthermore, has no interest in haiku.

Monday, December 2, 2019

Sometimes the name comes later


It's enough to simply like something.  To stop, look, smile.  Or in any order you wish.  Don't fret, the name will come as surely as your hand will reach for the perfect spice to season the dish.  Yes, just as a pen trusts ink.  Now, I remember, the name is "persimmon."