Dozen

Yes, today haiku is 12!  So naturally I've been thinking about dozen's.  As in roses, as in a baker's [dozen].  Add another one to a baker's dozen, and the sonnet comes to be.

This gorgeous, precocious boy is all sonnet, all rose, all scientist, all mischief.  Just look at those eyes.  "You are mine; give me tuna."

Memory

Memory pulls the past into the present.  Pomegranates are seasonal now.  The one pictured here is clearly not from the new crop.  Dried, smaller, lighter, but ripe & dense with beauty.  And memory. On to the eggplants.  These globe eggplants are personal size just right for baking & stuffing.  All this, time-tangled reminiscent to me of writing poetry.  Memory contains & words celebrate the ripe.
And where the ripe is, the seasonal resides.  Until...

Peels

and peeling.  Everything seasonal.  Some say shed.  I say peel - especially Fall.  Poets, too, use peeling. This, an effecitve form of editing. Much of fall food is peeled.  Some, not.  Same with words & persimmons are an unique blessing.  Please note date pits -- the empty (which isn't) always a blessing.

Reading

the night sky.  A narrative like all others and like no other and always abundant with questions.

Who sets the timer?

Who cooks the meal?

Who reads quietly?

Who turns the page?

Who is writing the first line of a poem?

Fall

welcomes the New Year.  Persimmons & crisp apples.  Garnet jewels of the pomegranate.  Fall salads showcase the above.  Remember, a bowl is a sheet of paper with a lip turned upward awaiting the sweet.  Close your eyes, imagine each pomegranate, persimmon, apple sliced open and welcoming company.  At this time of year, poems taste of a particular sweet that only chill can offer.  Write & eat responsibly & know this, persimmons are poems waiting to be voiced.

Scales

and the notes thereupon.
Clouds are note-like.
Skies are paper-like
and plate-like.
And fish?
Yes, their scales
music to any plate.

Trill

Not only birds.  Blooms trill, too.  Can't you hear them.  Ah! and a meal of artichokes.  A garden is an anthology of poems waiting to be seen and heard.  There for the eating.

Nestled

Among wire.
Among leaves.
Among words.

Soon, squash.
Soon, sauteed blossoms.
Soon, another season.

Soon, another notebook.
A few more pens.
One more
one less
plate.

Roof

A roof is an amazing place, both physical & metaphorical, to see the moon sirening night & cloud. And a roof which is hospitable?  Ah! we know an hospitable roof inspires the meal to be savory. And where's the poem, you ask?  Tucked into the eaves of the roof.  Slipped in the moon's craters.

Unexpected

& everywhere are treasures to stumble upon.  Here in the Strybing Arboretum a water goddess. Whose hand placed?  What words were recited? How many times I walked around this pond and didn't notice her.  She is overseeing fish & lotus.  A Goddess of hospitality to the eyes.  I'm thinking of roasting salmon & serving up a delicious salad, masquerading as a poem.  Tomorrow.  Yes, tomorrow is as tangible as a friend's hand.

Gratitude

and prisms.  Look at these wish/prayer flags at Cornerstone in Sonoma.  Gratitude for Cornerstone -- a must visit.  (23570 Arnold Dr, Sonoma CA 95476, 707.933.3010).  What's not to like about outdoor seating, a cafe, wine tastings & gardens of blooms, fruit, and vegetables.  These gardens blend vegetation with art.  And where there is vegetation & art, there is gratitude.  And what follows after gratitude?   A ripe holiday meal & poems & stories. Cornerstone -- my newest gratitude treasure.

Here's a taste of Cornerstone.  Prayer flags -- ripe with gratitude & prisms spinning light.

One

to the many.  Petal to bloom.  Dahlia to garden.  A community  -- vibrant & 100% deliciously fractal. Where is this community?  San Francisco Dahlia garden.  FYI:  SF's city flower.  

May every meal I prepare be as vibrant & hue-filled.  May every poem entice the senses.