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.]
Tuesday, January 28, 2020
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.