Qs

2 Qs PRETENDING TO BE 1

How does light paint itself
green
or as an eyebrow
of dust?

I think of questions as petite poems. I love questions as much as I do seasonal fruit.  Speaking of seasonal fruit, here's Alice Steele's inspiring photo which she massaged in Photoshop.  It's that Mexican Christmas Tree in my earlier blog post, "Happy" -- scroll down.

Thanks, Alice!

Happy Holidays and may 2015 be one of happy questions & ripe fruit for each of us.

Photo by Alice Steele

When

3X WHEN

when she turned the page
into the forest
she fled

when they ate
the fish,
they tasted sea

when it rains
it is time
to protect snails


and when the writing done, she wandered into the kitchen

Filament

FILAMENT & FRAGMENT #7:  Rain

seeps into
the dream, all
the pebbles
wet

for this
for that
she wept
or didn't

Happy

Photo by Alice Steele

happy
is
she
whose
world,
whose
dreams
include
brightly
hued
fruit

same
is
true
with
a
poem

same
true
of
a
meal

Relationship

Love at first taste & that's my relationship

to snap peas.
And who
doesn't love
these green gems
for their name.   

Snap peas
the tastiest haiku
I can think to put
in my mouth.

Here snap peas
find community
among sauted
red onion,
barbequed
pork w/mustard
horseradish,
soy, &  yes,
fuyu
persimmons.

Gift

here's haiku's newly spiffed up royal bed which he gifted to the magnificent Mr. Dumbledore.
So don't think what's empty is really empty.  It holds tender dreams.  And more to come.

Just as paper is full of words.
Just as the dish remembers its last meal.

Sidewalks

I love sidewalks for their unexpected treasures.
Here in San Francisco's Mission District,
this magical & magnificent creature.
Hidden, yet accessible.  And totally green.
Makes me want to eat spinach for dinner.
Makes me want to make a greening poem.
Makes me love walking.

Ground

Drops of rain make ground
of a succulent.  

As paper for a poem.

As a bowl for the next meal --

 tofu, sauted shallots, orange pepper, snap peas,
spicy black bean oil, soy, jasmine rice

with a side of sliced fuyu persimmons.  

Full

moon!  
Rain & clouds.
Full
love for this city.
Sometimes a city
is a feast
and sometimes
when you look
with a gleely
gasp --
an edible
haiku

Folded

Origami crane tree for World Aids Day @ Grace Cathedral, SF

Hope is in every fold,
in every poem
spoken with
loving kindness.
In every persimmon
peeled & shared.  

Mix

Sometimes it's essential to mix things up.  Even in a salad.  You think you'll be eating a spinach salad with lavender-scented pasta.  Low & behold, with a simple twist of the fork, you reveal golden & red beets, persimmon, mint and look very carefully for a few choice walnuts.

Now, what about poetry?  Sometimes the poem is screaming at you, sometimes it whispers to mix up the lines.

Whether word or salad (or both) -- eat well.

Advent

Preparation.

In the event of rain.
In the event of snow in Muncie.
In anticipation of a fine stir-fry-


chicken stir-fry with cashews,
snap peas, mushrooms, garlic,
ginger, soy, & fuyu persimmons

and the last poem written
honors the fuyu

Pause

for an afternoon coffee with candle

& admire haiku's paws

& contemplate

what needs

writiing 

& what

will be 

dinner?

Masquerade

No, this wasn't thanksgiving dinner.  Though I am thankful for the earth offering such riotous color.

POEM MASQUERADING as a golden/red beets, mozzzarella, basil, lemon/chive pasta, black pepper, olive oil salad and WHITE BOWL MASQUERADING as paper

Crone

She is....
Bowl as face.  Face as bowl.
Facing the kitchen is akin to facing a poem
with an expectation of being fed
food & story.

Smitten

I am smitten by glass.  This sphere by Josh Simpson.  I feel the tug of moon on the seas.  On me.  No less that when writing about the moon.  No less, when cooking & her celestial sliver graces the kitchen window.

Shibori

Some words need sounding for enjoyment.
By the way, this isn't  jewelry.
It's a textile wall hanging in the Shibori style.
I've always thought of her as female.
Always as the carapace of a celestial insect.
Definitely, close to haiku.
And if she were food?  Something vegetal.
Probably asparagus.  Or fava beans.
Yes, fava beans.

Anomaly

Unexpected yet recognizable.  A Fuyu persimmon as poem.  

Tell me, the kinship between anomaly & non sequitur.  

 

Forelle

Petite pears.  Speckled red.
A blink poem in the making.
In the tasting.  

Wood

on wood.  A wooden
spoon on a wooden
cutting board.
Simple,
practical
& necessary
as rain.
Now,
imagine
a pen
resting
on paper.

Litany

The kitchen is made for cooking
the ear for words
the street for eyes,
grateful.

Bernal Heights on a rainy Saturday 

Poisonous

 Brugmansia.

Poisonous flowering plants.
Fragrant.  Known as angel's trumpets.

Beware of beauty & fragrance.
Beware of what you place in your mouth.
Beware of what you put to paper.
But take it all in -- hungerly.
& listen
to your ear
to your mouth.

Chayote

What a gift to discover food.  Chayote squash.  Mild, sweet. Raw or sauteed.

Chayote with shrimp, sliced persimmons, sauted red onion, Asian pear, with basil, black pepper, olive oil.

Chayote pear in foreground
Fuyu persimmons in background.

A poem is both foreground & background, wouldn't you say?

Relax

haiku 

Let someone else do the laundry.  Let someone else worry about where the next non sequitur will come from.  Whether the next sack of persimmons will be sweet.  Whether the avocado will be firm or darkend and mushy.  Whether the words in a poem will coalesce as only the ripe can.

Whether weather will be fit for sleep.  

Location

Looking toward downtown San Francisco from Fort Point

My Mom used the prase "location, location" as code that a house was lovely but where it was built, lacked.

Unlike to the right, where clouds are finely situated.  And the rocks, too.  As well situated as that particular word set in a poem.  As a persimmon in a salad.

Location is in the eye, in the ear, in the taste.

Reflecting

 on process

 and which food will be revealed.?  Which poem written for Halloween and who will be remembered?

My Mom gave me a love of reading; my Dad my love of walking.

REMEMBERING

                             

You do not need

to talk only to people

who are living.

You can talk

with the dead.  Often

they respond before

you seek comfort, advice.

This, no scarier

than a potted geranium

or the cat self-absorbed

in snoring, marks time

by parcels of the empty --

a manifestation

summoning form,

familiar and voices,
loved.

Pleasures

Simple

 and practical.

Food as poetry is simple and practical (sometimes in a quietly celebratory way).

Inspiration

Today, rain is inspiring.  The lemon tree

as the cat dreams

as flowers (one might call weeds) inspire tomatoes, fuyu persimmons, and an aged pomegranate.

 As a lime oversees Still Life with Knife.  

Measuring

Measuring Up:  by Ann Biderman

To state the obvious, art is food for thought.  Sometimes food is conceptual art. Especially salads.  And how does a poem measure up?  I don't have a clue.  But what I do know, Ann Biderman is one-of-a-kind, and I'm blessed she's family.   Here's Ann --

Otherworldly

Otherwordly is the non sequitur.
Otherworldy is a poem.
Salads benefit from being otherworldly.  As stated previously, salads are non sequiturs.

But did you know, all cacti are succulents.
Not all succulents are cacti.
Succulents is juice or sap in Latin.
Both cacti & succulents are otherworldly -- the non sequiturs of the plant world.

Bud

Perhaps not quite what was on the tip of your mind.  Please join haiku in welcoming this handsome 2-year old boy to Kim's home.  Perhaps, he reminds you of someone?   (Answer:  see below).

And the poem?  It's sleeping.  If you listen closely, you can hear snores -- faint & delicate as a well-crafted line break.   As a healthy salad.   

Prickly

As in pears but the more inedible kind.  Arms with stubby fingers, red from jam.  And this one in front of the house -- deliciously unruly.   Unruly, as most poems.