Saturday, July 11, 2020

Dry and parched


Opportunity to slow down & wait to see the next great living, start.  A bud, a new shoot, a baby quail, a lizard.  Perhaps, even a sunflower seed (although they are never singular).  This litany is long & wide -- thank goodness.   Let's celebrate anything and everything in the farmers market.  

Monday, July 6, 2020

Trees in bloom & sunlight

and you are treated to calligraphy.  Don't be stymied by the red line.  Think of it as a border in a notebook that can be crossed anytime, by any word.  Reminds me of salad burnet in b/w.  Just learned salad burnet is also called burnet bloodwort.  Well, there's the tie-in with the red line, wouldn't you say? 

Monday, June 29, 2020

A large glass plate


is a wondrous thing.  This isn't that yet memory is a great creator, inventor.  So, we have a big, beautiful plate on which to place...what?  Nothing but the plate itself.  Complete.  Complete as in perfect.  Lovely.  Yes. 

Sunday, June 28, 2020

The trees are beginning to look like sails

in the company
of fish scales.
Still,
there is an eye
to all of this.
And something/
someone
made the swirling
happen.  No doubt,
breath
of some
sort.

Saturday, June 27, 2020

The bird always appears at this precise moment.

A dream has its own watch.
A spoon, its own rhythm.
A circle is nothing more
nothing less.  Remember this,
the next time you go 
walking
with no agenda
other than your feet
& your heart. 
Remember,
there are birds
at eye level --
wherever
that may be. 

Friday, June 26, 2020

Magical kingdoms

abound.
Close to home.
At home. 
In the home.
Home is love
with a roof
& a refrigerator
with food
& bookshelves
filled.
A well-used
wooden spoon
to stir-up
some magic. 

Wednesday, June 17, 2020

Waiting

for the gesture
to be finished
waiting for
the eggs
to scramble
waiting for
a poem
to appear
across the page
a furtive
fox
waiting for

Monday, June 15, 2020

Transformation


has specific hues to its process.  We're at the beginning here.  We're at the beginning of so many transformations.  Including ourselves.

Saturday, June 13, 2020

An alphabet is formed


as energy created between positive and negative.  The mouth knows this as surely as do eyes.  Always look down, keep focused, keep pen/paper at the ready.

Friday, June 12, 2020

Listen: wood is a storyteller


Whether it's bark & branch or table.  Many stories.  Many voices.  Much to learn.  Listen.

Thursday, June 11, 2020

When mint looks like kale


does kale look like mint?   And you ask, what that marble of a full moon at the bottom under a full sun.  Marinated kumquat.  The rest -- pure elixir.  Liquid poetry.  A dialogue of circles & lines.

Tuesday, June 9, 2020

As an object morphs,


do we?  A simple dried magnolia leaf in the evening on the patio becomes a precipice.  Or a sand dune.  Or a simple dried magnolia leaf because the object was always a precise.  The color like my favorite wooden spoon burnished by experience.  Who have I become?

Saturday, June 6, 2020

The patio umbrella is up and lit


and waiting for company.  It will be some time before we gather at the Blue Umbrella Bistro which, by the way,  isn't a restaurant.  It's a gathering spot for friends.  Food and beverage, always at the ready.   Illuminated as the people who sit around the table sharing stories, roasted vegetables and savory gestures.  

Thursday, May 28, 2020

A dream of a swan


and the first time I tasted fried eggs in Amsterdam as dinner.  An image links memory & dream.  No small feat.  Much like a few words for a sentence.  A few ingredients enliven last night dinner's leftovers.  Isn't possession, unruly?

Tuesday, May 26, 2020

Perspective on the otherworldly



Artichokes are like succulents.  Fractal and otherworldly.  So mesmerizing, they demand to be counted like each step as you approach them.  Some things otherworldly are edible.  Artichokes, in particular.

Monday, May 25, 2020

I love my refrigerator


My refrigerator is an abstract landscape.  Then again, is landscape ever a truly abstract experience.  This is certain, pandemic writing has a different gesture-palette,  palate, and pallet, for sure.

Sunday, May 24, 2020

Eating trees for breakfast


Yup, pandemic cuisine.  Pasta for breakfast.  Toasted & red-pepper flaked walnuts, Parmesan, lemon zest, lemon juice, lots of mint & blistered broccolini.  When I take a walk later, I'll pay special attention to trees and consider how they appear to birds.

Thursday, May 21, 2020

Perhaps, this is what insight looks like...


Or perhaps, a match struck?   Perhaps, neither.  Or both?

Monday, May 18, 2020

Friday, May 15, 2020

Reading landscape


or the joys of the unexpected.  Which is nothing less that reading -- whatever.  The unexpected almost always makes me smile, brings me joy.  Much like the unexpected ping of pepper or bite of lemon peel in a dish.  Unexpected yet welcomed.  Or a few words placed on a page as an unexpected landscape waiting to be read.  Pure unexpected joy.  Of course, walking is a state of reading -- whatever.

Tuesday, May 12, 2020

Eyes in a forest


see what is around and within.  The confluence of trees, sky & all things flowering.  Much like a recipe sees and feels all the ingredients swirled together to make a cohesive whole.  Now, think of the eyes which an alphabet possesses.  An alphabet  sees the poem as it is being created.  Quite magical, wouldn't you say?

Monday, May 11, 2020

When tomorrow arrives


one of my happy places opens
up. I will see  succulents awash with bloom & rain drops.  
I anticipate the shape of each fractal much like a poem or the scent of something yummy.
I wish the same for you.  
Bancroft Gardens, Walnut Creek.  

Saturday, May 9, 2020

Trees create shadow sculptures



Mutable calligraphy
dependent on time
& the measure 
of sun
offers the future
possibility 
of picnics.


Tuesday, May 5, 2020

Seeing is situational


and emotional especially when trying to discern a narrative.  Just let the gesture be the gesture of the moment.  Let a carrot be a carrot.  Let a few lines on a page, be the poem.  Let Spring speak.

Monday, May 4, 2020

Wise, affectionate healer


Dumbledore
R.I.P  May 1, 2020

Wednesday, April 29, 2020

A window always invites




a prismatic adventure.  Am I asking what's the emotional difference between adventure & journey? Am I asking what's the difference in vibration between a hummingbird & robin? Am I asking what's the difference between a one-liner and a petite poem?  By the way, if this prismatic adventure were sung, it would be performed by a song sparrow.  On another note, should you ask, I think prisms are promises.

Sunday, April 26, 2020

At the intersection of metal & reflection.


Composite & grass.  
Who painted this piece?   
Light, of course.

Saturday, April 25, 2020

Today I'm seeing


pollen as caterpillar.  Both very interesting sounding words.  Actually, all words are interesting even the muscular yet petite prepositions.  I'm thinking the tracks upon which language runs from point A to point B and everywhere in-between.  One final comment on pollen.  Pollen makes me think of egg yolks as a question emerges.  What's for breakfast?

Friday, April 24, 2020

What a tree remembers


of a red winged blackbird.  How sky hugs a tree.  How a Red-Veined Darter or Nomad sees the one it loves.  Bows & butterflies, too.  A feeling of cherries. The fanciful is necessary now.  Bring it inside, put it on the table, commit it to paper.

Thursday, April 23, 2020

What rushes by



seems to go faster when skies are grayed and grass appears lusher.  And trees are locks of hair
hanging low.  Isn't "hanging low" an amazing phrase?   Apt for our time.  What's for lunch?  What's the title of the next poem?

Wednesday, April 22, 2020

Natural altars


alter the heart, feed the spirit, house the spirits.  These magnificent beings create poems & are poems themselves.  Also, trees inspire plants to be cooked, eaten & praised.  Trees are organic nurturers, too.

Delights of the petite



and their two guardians.

Tuesday, April 21, 2020

Joy in the unexpected.



Fragile, fleeting with a life force to inspire.  Tenacious, for sure.  Like the seasonal whether wild berries or petite poems.  Time harvests as and where she wishes.

Inside looking outward



and outside looking inward


Very much what the ripe does seasonally.  Very much what a poem wishes for itself, too.  The kitty is the arbiter of truth.

Monday, April 20, 2020

Kale and company


Vibrancy helps during a pandemic whether it's Spring being Spring or a strawberry thanking Balsamic vinegar for jazzing it up a bit.  Salty blue cheese, walnuts, mandarin oranges, and mildly sautéed kale.  Olive oil, a given.  Perhaps not a traditional breakfast but a breakfast indeed.  Some poems are like this breakfast -- vibrant words on a page taking a clue or comfort from its community.

Friday, April 17, 2020

They say bearded


I say ruffled.  But beauty is beauty no matter the word used.  A poem is a poem, if the one who crafted it, says so.  A meal is tasty is the mouth says "yes."  By the way "yes" is the universal word response to beauty.  Royal, indeed.

Thursday, April 16, 2020

Ricotta is my new "peanut butter"


and it makes these carrot ribbons with mandoline-sliced raw beets with curry dressing & toasted pistachios quite the uplifting dish.  Especially at this time, colorful nourishing food is what my senses crave.  I'm thinking a recipe is like a blank page and the dish that ensues is what the pen offers paper.  Convoluted, I know.  Color it, the times.   Be well.  Eat good food.  Happy carrot ribbons to all!

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.