Malleable. Which is more malleable...

the poet or the poem?
Open/closed to interpretation. Or reading.


The same can be asked of cook & ingredients.

Tentmaker. Are poets tentmakers?

The materials used? Words & space. Mind & heart taut between pegs.
And way?
What is being kept dry?


A banana peel is an imperfect tent. Imagine that!

Clematis. How does clematis inspire poetry?

Two-fold. By its showy visual nature. By it's alternate names:
traveler's joy
virgin's bower
old man's beard
leather flower
vase vine.


Now consider the alternate names for potatoes. Their myriad of use.

Gravity. Does poetry submit to the gravitational force of seriousness?

Nope. Not necessarily. Just look outside -- too much sunshine, too many wildflowers. And the eucalyptus swaying to shake up all the finches.

Whether in your step or in the air, spring is serious and deeply affects the walker.

Of course, poetry is serious play, seriously affecting the walker, also.



The cook is always affected, especially lost in things of the serious, as in seasonal ripeness. And the juicy.

Enormous. What constitutes the enormous in a poem?

How large does large need to be? To become? Does a poem have a constitution? Behavior and bylaws?



Like a single candle, a squeeze of fresh lemon (or lime) is an enormous culinary gesture. Also, a mango seed is hefty, relative to flesh. These are considerations for today's walk.

Bleak. What is bleak poetry?

Meager poetry? At the hand of a bleak poet?
With lush Spring (petunias and iris, particularly bearded) it's a stretch to the bleak.


The same with food. Verdant green asparagus and blood oranges still at the market. Strawberries which fulfill a mouth's expectation. Yes, today, buy more.

Empty. When they call a poem empty, what do they mean?

Lacking craft, content, inspiration? A too meager subject? Don't confuse minimal with empty.
Please



Empty food lacks nutritional value; is beefy on calories. I'd add monochromatic.

Vertical. What's the correlation between a slim vertical poem and the poet's state of mind?

Be reminded, the mind as well as hand is as economical & practical as a pencil. Genes, while predictable, another matter.


I'm thinking steamed asparagus -- pencil-thin. The ripe is economical, lush and slim. Finger food.

Horizontal. Do poems recline

on the horizontal?
Are they meant to be up-right creatures?

And of poets?

And of string beans and strawberries. On a salad of field greens. Roasted walnuts. Appropriate olive oil.

Litany. Are poems petitions?

If so, to what? To whom?

An open window.


In food, a white plate.


Simple.

Journey. Do poems journey as far the poet's feet?

Space
Rhythm
Distance to/from & covered

The intentional silence -- single/plural. And always parsed.


How far does the ripe (fruit and/or vegetable) travel to get to your mouth? Still, you haven't discovered raw garbanzo beans? Continue to distrust durian.

Crave. Is a poem prescient and knows which words it craves?

Or is it each word which is prescient and craves a specific community of sound. Thus, the poem. About poets, I guess it's less about being prescient and more about cravings (generic and specific).



Do beets crave rosemary and walnuts? Does rosemary experience a pre-knowing & similar urge?

Necessity. Is poetry a necessity?

Silence, also.




Of meals? Yesterday's Portuguese restaurant. Silence of settling back after a great shared conversation.

Migrate. Are poems subjected to migration?

Is this the seasonal in poetry? Influence of light/dark. Of ripe? Of not yet ripe? The effects of editing? A poet's signature?


In food I migrate toward fresh fig, fava beans, persimmons. Always pears. Signature & seal.

Magpie. If poetry has a mascot, is it the magpie?

By nature magpies are intelligent, shamanic, and minimalists. Leaving us with the overall impression of black ink striking paper.


And you ask, how does this relate to food? Magpies, like poets, need to eat. And poets feed poetry.

Koi. How is poetry a coy mistress?

Answer lies (or is lays) in time. Think of it as April Fool's. Think of it as the first day of National Poetry Month. Revel and be coy.


Never would I consider eating koi. Though colorful food beguiles.