One hope doesn't cancel out another hope

The hope to seed and the hope to fruit don't cancel each other out.   Sunflower & tomato:  a fetching combo.  Think of cherry tomatoes & mozzarella  & basil & olive oil & balsamic served on a platter with design of giant sunflower.  Oh, yes, sprinkle some sunflower seeds on the top.  Have you considered that each recipe is in fact a poem waiting to be made.  Waiting to be eaten.

Composite

At least two sides put together.  Not quite the daisy.  More like garlic chives left to their joyous
happening. Great on eggs, in salads, on goat cheese.  Limitations are limited.  Not like the alphabet and the composite of a new petite poem.  And yes, these blooms, edible as is every word composed.

Tracings & erasures

That's where the plot hangs its hat on.  That's where the spoon rests.  That where the poem begins.

With leftovers (inspired by a friend)

Roasted multi-colored potatoes & zucchini with red onions are the bed.  And why can't eggs be pillows?  Sun-filled.  Decorated with French tarragon, of course.  On a square plate of a Paris icon.  Imagine this,  breakfast dwarfs the Eiffel Tower.  I'm rethinking the eggs as petite poems, too.(Thanks, Kim).

A name is never static

Although you might not suspect the direction it will take.  Nor what it gathers.  How it might reflect more of its journey than you imagined.  Is this a metaphor for friendship & the sharing of food?   Is this the mouth & ears ready to name a poem?  And to edit?  Why not name it yourself.  

Gone

How can such lushness be so fleeting?  Can the taste of a perfect meal exist only in memory? How can unwritten lines of a poem fall like cherry petals?  How can a name slip the tongue?

A prism seeing itself in the evening

Sometimes you need a title to get the gist.
Sometimes you need to see the entire recipe to get a feel for the dish.
Sometimes you need to read only one line to love a poem.

Spring's eye candy

Rhododendron.  Showy as dahlias.  Profuse.  Seemingly unstoppable.  Reminds me of colorful food from a happy kitchen.  Poems from daily prompts, continuing to scent National Poetry Month.

A moment of supreme contemplation

Indeed, supreme.  Attention always increases attention.
Like eating the perfect salad and knowing in the pulling together the salad will be the sum of its perfect parts -- perfectly.  Poems haven't quite caught on to a salad's ability; however, attention is required for salad making, poem making, and kitty loving.  P.S. This supreme meditator is aptly named Sweetie.

Bark as medium

Each cluster on the bark of this redbud is a spot worthy of lingering of saying "wow." Like in the kitchen when alchemy's mayhem happens.  As when a few words on a page coalesce to make a dandy, petite poem.

3 instances of promise

A trio of hope.   Spring is the fullest palette for hope.   Perhaps, this year the Meyers lemon will produce fruit.  Maybe not.  By the way, what do an empty notebook and a favorite wooden spoon have in common?  Promises served-up.

Mecca

for poets, poetry and those who love to listen.  Gone but always, remembered like the taste of Spring asparagus.  Like a favorite line of poetry recalled, recited.  On the fourth day of National Poetry Month & with gratitude to Nancy Keane.