The clarity water brings to a dream

especially when the dream requests a glass of water.  Especially, when the meal is served with liquid nectar such as water.  Especially when the dream invites otherworld succulents.  For what is a dream if not otherworldly clarity.  Sounds like a meal coming together.  Sounds like a poem being offered cool water.

The simple isn't

simple nor what is expected.  By the way, which is more crevice like -- a split in concrete or a vein? How does water hold together as a circle:  self-contained & perfect?  How many line breaks in this image and what influence does it exert upon the next meal?    Combining the dry with the wet is an art form -- culinary & in watercolor.

Birds among the squash

This is widely known:  birds are sentinels.  But what do we know about Winter squash? Here's a tidbit rarely shared:  Winter squash always show up in force for a carnival and consider themselves a self-contained casserole.  Consider that.  Consider, placing your next 23 poems inside a hallowed-out squash which you have just prepared for baking.  Oh my.  How those words will taste.

Tapas and the tip of a conch

and squashes for days.  Because these are the days of Winter squash and no discontentment. Carrots, too, aplenty.  And essays to feed the soul; in particular Mary Ruefle's "Madness, Rack and Honey." Go for it and never apologize for being sentimental again.  Thanks, Beverly, for the top photo.

Fall and the fate of the birdbath

Clearly, gone to the turkeys.   Or, gone with the turkeys.  So much depends on a preposition.  Much like a twist of pepper.  A line break.  Ah, when to use (judiciously) the semicolon.  And then, there's those fallen leaves.  What are they?

Beauties

The loss of figs is the advent of Fuyu persimmons.  Slice them -- 8 petals to lead you to beauty. Even the word persimmon, is a poem.

Yes, temples dream

a kaleidoscope
roof & sky
a fractal web
and just now
you stepped
into that dream
why are you wearing
shoes?  And what
sweetmeats will you offer?
Which poem recited?

The temple swallows the mountain

No sleight of hand.  Just a delft touch of the alchemical to create a tasty eye-soup.   Poems are like this -- tasty & colorful and always respectful of sky & mountain.

Some food by its shape

is pure comfort food.  Winter squash for sure.  Rooted and sturdy with insides that surprise & beguile made sweet by roasting.  Which is what certain words dish up, too, as poems.  I'm thinking editing a poem tries to get to the inherent savory and/or sweetness.  A kind of roasting, I'd say.  

Top left:  Blue Ballet Squash -- new to me.  Yummy!

Yes, there are no figs left

and yet the seasonal has a way of addressing absence & its ensuing lament.  Pomegranates.  The word itself is a poem.  Even without the thrill of its 613 seeds, the pomegranate is a joy to behold.  Fecund and juicy.  Fall is spilling.  These beauties picked by Bev from her brother's tree.  Wow!

A spin on the chicken & egg conundrum

we know
where the feather
lands
it calls "nest"
the same can be
said
of spoon & soup
pen & paper.
Meanwhile
the frittata --
stridently yellow --
needs eating

Newest best friends from Tehachapi

Maya
Boomer
Ashmee
Sasha
Gita

a litany of blessings
animals are the perfect poem