Friday, September 11, 2020

Halved

This is the work of shadowed reflection.  Like only one side of a spoon. Half the alphabet.  Is it any surprise, here are no ripe tomatoes left?  

 

Wednesday, September 9, 2020

Amid metal and sun


something is grabbing attention.  Something spins.  Something comes forward.  But what is receding at this time?  I want to cook something with betacarotene.  Lots of it.  Roasted carrot hummus dip.  Perhaps a poem to accompany.  

Tuesday, September 8, 2020

It is a holiday, after all.


 Something should float today.  Yes, colorful.  Something with joy as its ballast.  It's a stretch, I know.

Tuesday, August 25, 2020

Not your usual cherry tomato

Not the usual garden.  Perhaps, best to keep quarantined though quite striking, don't you think?


Monday, August 24, 2020

Scurry

Some words are perfect even if they aren't spoken everyday.  But when they are spoken, they send forth a visual.  A gesture to being in two places at the same time.  Like a spoon dipping into sauce.  A pen approaching paper.  A scurrying of light. 

Saturday, August 22, 2020

Whatever is happening, it looks hopeful



 

At the center of these times are four letters:  HOPE.  Swirling inward and outward.  No separation.  The world's mirror is not static.  

Wednesday, August 19, 2020

Vessels for gestures

 

Glass gladly holds reflections.  Sky is a vessel for clouds. A sauce coats a spoon.  Paper soaks up ink. And above all, the hand open contains everything.     

Monday, August 17, 2020

The Great Pause

 

Somewhere, there is precise name for this phenomenon, but it escapes me.  It's not a simple noun -- pen or spoon.  More viscous than liquid.  

Sunday, August 16, 2020

Night is an exquisite storyteller

 See, night transforming reeds into magic pens.  This happens whether anyone is present or not.  Whether the favored wooden spoon is at the ready; whether there is paper available to hold the wild gesturing  

Tuesday, August 11, 2020

Whispering

 

is an intimacy.  Almost as much as corn & tomatoes.  Or pen & paper.  Something to consider, the next time you eavesdrop.  

Friday, August 7, 2020

You know so much already

Rain will begin in 15 minutes.  It's sound, a lullaby.

It's difficult to put down such a good story even though it's a cookbook. 

It's been a fragmented day full of shadow and reflection.  

This feeling might go on for some time.   

Thursday, August 6, 2020

Little one


This year I have noticed so many baby lizards.  Is it because the world is quieter or simply Zoomed-out?
Which poem, what dream will happen this evening hours after I have stirred the sauce for pasta. 

Wednesday, August 5, 2020

Unlikely container



And yet who's to say what a leaf, what a hand, what thought may hold. What spoon, a sauce. A pen, the final period.


Monday, August 3, 2020

Do I need a reason to be happy?


colorful:
fragrances
& fragments
simple acts
repeating
not too swifty
languid
& liquid 
the seasonal
ripe
spun 
& swirled



Wednesday, July 29, 2020

Patterns abound


as many as gestures
ask any crow
listen for every
hummingbird
ask the tea cake
as it cooks
ask the poem
as it simmers

Whatever is happening here


could not be happening
at any other time
nor place
certain
as a wooden spoon
was fashioned
to stir
certain
as a pen
is drawn
to ink
certain
as cycles 
& circles

Tuesday, July 28, 2020

A tinge of red

in everything
that moves
toward
or from
some
call it
friction
some
sassy
fun
some
word
salad
some
are oblivious
poor dears
probably
have no
regard
for the finery
of wooden
spoons
nor
red
socks


No doubt, we are being swept

into something 
large
as our
hearts 
collectively

Unlikely as it seems

I have visited this spot.  Many times.  I know where the front door key is kept.  I know how to shut the cranky hall window.  I know the contents of the refrigerator.  I know where the old editions of poetry are housed.  I know where the sharpest knives rest and the finest pens.  I know where the dark rough cloth is to drape the mirrors. 

Saturday, July 25, 2020

Connected at the core


free to roam beyond borders.

Monday, July 20, 2020

Please explain to me...


how I can not
know
what something is
and still
know
its meaning?

This principle
applies
to gesturing
of all sorts.  

Saturday, July 18, 2020

Just the right amount

of sweetness & tang.  Nothing like chilled fruit on a summer day.  Nothing like a summer day cooling down.  Nothing like chilled soup.  Or a crisp line of poetry. 

Thursday, July 16, 2020

Koi fascinate me.


As does reflection.  And refraction.  And the painting light creates is pure magic. 

Wednesday, July 15, 2020

A bird & a vessel


Sound needs a container.  We need voices.  The kitchen requires a place for its spoons & knifes.  Pens
carry their houses on this backs.

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.