Sunday, March 29, 2020
Spring is being itself -- riotous with color, texture, shape, fragrance & attitude. It's a good time to walk (6 feet apart), cook asparagus and other vegetal delights, and made petite poems the size of cherry blossoms. I wonder a time when we won't immediately get the references to "sheltering-in-place" and "6 feet apart?"
Thursday, March 26, 2020
Tuesday, March 24, 2020
Monday, March 23, 2020
Saturday, March 21, 2020
Friday, March 20, 2020
Stained glass. Adding metallic salts to glass to release brilliant hues as well as metaphorical stories. Back to stained glass; makes me think of preserved eggs. That's a link & a leap. Much like the unexpected. Of course, I'm thinking of an haiku -- in color, of course.
Thursday, March 19, 2020
For me black & white makes me think of print with its myriad of geometric configurations. A taste for texture & shape. Yea for Gutenberg. Or ink etching letters into a poem. There's a certain sublime coolness to the monochromic. One might suggest, a kitchen at midnight.
Tuesday, March 17, 2020
Thursday, March 12, 2020
Wednesday, March 11, 2020
With a taste reminiscent of vanilla, white beets are a few favorite. At first, I thought a mutant turnip was gathered in a bunch of Spring beets. But no, white beets exist. For sure, each season has pleasant surprises. Of course, Spring is dizzy with abundance. Try this: sliced strawberries, sliced roasted beets (including white), Persian cucumbers, feta, dill, salt, pepper, olive oil & balsamic vinegar. Cowabunga, the kitchen has just written a fine poem just for you.
Thursday, March 5, 2020
would the playing be more fun? Or perhaps, a petite beach complete with a rake? The same can be said of the kitchen & reimagining ingredients. Now consider, the alphabet & how each letter creates a magical portal.
Tuesday, March 3, 2020
Thursday, February 27, 2020
Wednesday, February 26, 2020
Tuesday, February 25, 2020
Monday, February 24, 2020
appears as an aqueous underground. But there are mountains in the sea, aren't there? And flying fishes are birds for a while. And for sure, everything done in the kitchen is alchemical. And each letter which finds itself on a page is mysterious and magical.
Sunday, February 23, 2020
are still crabs. The same can be said of trees, pavement & especially crows. Although crow and crab share little in common, I would imagine. Although any connection is still a connection. I'm thinking of words and how much I love the music in a list. Much like the sizzle of oil & garlic.
But back up. I was anticipating the bloom on this glorious succulent for some time and yesterday, she arrives in waxy, stately splendor. And because I alway anticipate a rainbow, she, too, manifests although under the usual conditions. Food is like this, too, when served to friends. Don't overlook the possibility of a few words like spikes of energy painting a page.
Thursday, February 20, 2020
For instance, each side of the spoon -- concave/convex -- has it's own serving of stories. And remember, tea is nothing short of a sunrise. I'd go as far to say that tea is vegetal-protein for the imagination. For how else does a poem come into being?
Tuesday, February 18, 2020
We see what we see. But can what we see be translated into a language understood by another? By a crow? For sure, crows are petite poems with personality. Prickly, sometimes. And sometimes, still as night until it erupts much like a pan of water suddenly boiling.
Friday, February 14, 2020
What would the day be like if this is how we saw a simple eucalyptus
and we know, eucalyptus are never singular.
Take this concept into the kitchen where aroma becomes a rainbow
or onto the page placing one word next to another until a feeling emerges:
call it vivid.
Wednesday, February 12, 2020
Friday, February 7, 2020
Wednesday, February 5, 2020
Tuesday, January 28, 2020
Rocker & prayer shawl. Full of holes for the soul, for the story, for the retelling of light, for the coming of dark. For the next bowl of homemade soup, for orally publishing a poem. Rock on in gratitude, sister, for the shortest month arrives. [Thanks, Linda, for the hand-made prayer shawl.]
These wheels remind me of spoons set deeply in a drawer of many spoons, of many knives. Like a poem which is really 5 or 7 poems when pen separates the bulbs. Gestures really. Whether Spring comes from wheels or bulbs, may she come.
Monday, January 27, 2020
in equal measure
with equal intention
the next opening
the same true
with a meal
with the next
Saturday, January 25, 2020
To me, this would be the eye of curiosity looking inward, looking outward. Perhaps, water is involved. Definitely, wings & a fine dusting of light. and a spot of red. Thinking about which food & which words will feed curiosity, is curious itself. With soft eyes of a cat, for sure.
Friday, January 24, 2020
Just a fact of life and of seeing. The same is true with feelings, cooking & writing. And always, always true with writing. Trunk, branch, sky & implied roots. Or perhaps, this is a new calligraphy standing firm for "abundance."
Wednesday, January 22, 2020
Here's one such landscape, and she has her eye on you. Yes, most landscapes are feminine -- at least in the English language. In the kitchen, the feminine reigns. Spoons in particular. When it comes to writing, that's another landscape for dreaming, and again, she has her eye on you.
Monday, January 20, 2020
faces are everywhere. It's the very nature of living -- things & ideas. Ah, those eyebrows tufts, wouldn't they win over the heart of ice. Speaking of ice, do you know how to make persimmon ice?
Speaking of heart, do you know the best way to edit an haiku?
Sunday, January 19, 2020
Saturday, January 18, 2020
persimmons will soon be unavailable
except as memory
which is an excellent fall-back plan
as is anticipation
I'm gearing-up for asparagus
& any poem
and I'm running toward what feeds me. Sometimes, persimmons are the thing itself. But don't you think a persimmon is also a dandy word. While I'm at the Bancroft Succulent Gardens, it's the image of that persimmon tree in winter with a few pieces of remaining fruit, beyond reach that touches me. I'm sure birds are grateful they have wings.