Sunday, March 29, 2020

Spring isn't sheltering-in-place

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

A day with water & clouds

similar to a good book & soup for dinner.  Who can tell me, when I see a tree trunk, I want to reach for my pen?

Tuesday, March 24, 2020

Monday, March 23, 2020

The ethereal is magical

and looming.  Truly, aren't clouds as structurally solid as trees, hill or even a poppy patch?  Or our imagination?  Or the memory of the first soup we tasted?  Or the sound of the last poem written?

Saturday, March 21, 2020

Simplicity calms.

a cat purring
rice steaming
coffee brewing
bread baking
roasted potatoes w/rosemary
the silence of poppies, blooming
sufficient pen & paper
thank goodness
the list is endless

Friday, March 20, 2020

Isn't stained an interesting term for glass?

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

I don't find monochromic wearisome.

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

Not just St. Pat's today

It's Sweetie's birthday -- 12 years.  Beautiful, regal, sensitive.  The softest fur imaginable.  And, would you believe, a hair stylist? And never, never without her pink heart.

Thursday, March 12, 2020

Simply put, trees

are prismatic.  As are words.  As are simple Spring vegetables -- roots & all.  I'm thinking, in particular,  of rainbow carrots, rainbow radishes.

Wednesday, March 11, 2020

Cowabunga! White beets?

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

If I thought of this as a sandbox,

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

When the recognizable

becomes unrecognizable, is it becomes too much space needs to be traversed?  Or is it the time it takes to cross the street -- in either direction?  Time & direction play out differently.  Let's stick with time.  The kitchen has its own clock.  The same is true of writing.  Lots of space are needed for both, don't you think?

Thursday, February 27, 2020

Spring on velvet

Mother Earth knows how to host a party.
Mother Earth knows how to grow vegetables & fruit.
Mother Earth knows how to be a poem.
Mother Earth, listen to her.

Wednesday, February 26, 2020


Some words are apt to the occasion.  Some energies rise & sparkle.  Some foods know intrinsically how to be their better selves.  Carrots, in particular.  Sometimes there's music in what is being read, in what is being heard.

Tuesday, February 25, 2020

In the folds

there are flames.  Often in the shape of calla lilies.  Or perhaps, the swirl and dance of petite poems.  Look closely.  Look deeply.  And remember, cook tenderly for those you love.

Monday, February 24, 2020

Sometimes above ground

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

Crabs at night

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.

I also anticipate a rainbow

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

Tea is never a simple adventure

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

Tufts or buttons on a couch?

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

Threaded through the eye of energy

now consider
the word
braided --
as in
braided bread
braided words
all through
the eye
& the needle

Friday, February 7, 2020

A fiesta in broad daylight

Hope is festive.
So let's wear it.
Let's eat colorful food.
Let's write with rainbow ink.

Wednesday, February 5, 2020


February is the peek-a-boo month.  
Persimmons gone and English peas not yet.
Sunsets & sunrises are plentiful.
Valentine's Day, waits in the wings
& hopefully a haiku, too.  

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.]

Wheels or bulbs?

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

Forming & dissolving

in equal measure
with equal intention
& somewhere
within hearing
the seesaw
as each
to closing
the next opening
the same true
with a meal
with the next

Velvet makes everything appear

suspended, as an artifact, as a piece of cherished jewelry.   Any or all.  Consider a wooden spoon left on the counter.  Consider a single word on a page.  

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

Tilt your head

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

Some landscapes invite you to dream

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

Familiar & familial --

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

Life reflected

is a palpable landscape, for sure.  Imaginative, too.  Much like a recipe with substituted ingredients. Like a poem edited so its inverse is witnessed.  

Saturday, January 18, 2020

An abstract rendering of a persimmon

persimmons will soon be unavailable 
except as memory
which is an excellent fall-back plan
as is anticipation
I'm gearing-up for asparagus
fava beans
& any poem 
which chooses 
to appear

It's a new decade

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.  


may all
the light
& the dark