Not the usual garden. Perhaps, best to keep quarantined though quite striking, don't you think?
haiku (and not your usual 5-7-5)
Tuesday, August 25, 2020
Monday, August 24, 2020
Scurry
Some words are perfect even if they aren't spoken everyday. But when they are spoken, they send forth a visual. A gesture to being in two places at the same time. Like a spoon dipping into sauce. A pen approaching paper. A scurrying of light.
Saturday, August 22, 2020
Whatever is happening, it looks hopeful
At the center of these times are four letters: HOPE. Swirling inward and outward. No separation. The world's mirror is not static.
Wednesday, August 19, 2020
Vessels for gestures
Glass gladly holds reflections. Sky is a vessel for clouds. A sauce coats a spoon. Paper soaks up ink. And above all, the hand open contains everything.
Monday, August 17, 2020
The Great Pause
Somewhere, there is precise name for this phenomenon, but it escapes me. It's not a simple noun -- pen or spoon. More viscous than liquid.
Sunday, August 16, 2020
Night is an exquisite storyteller
See, night transforming reeds into magic pens. This happens whether anyone is present or not. Whether the favored wooden spoon is at the ready; whether there is paper available to hold the wild gesturing
Thursday, August 13, 2020
Tuesday, August 11, 2020
Whispering
is an intimacy. Almost as much as corn & tomatoes. Or pen & paper. Something to consider, the next time you eavesdrop.
Friday, August 7, 2020
You know so much already
Rain will begin in 15 minutes. It's sound, a lullaby.
It's difficult to put down such a good story even though it's a cookbook.
It's been a fragmented day full of shadow and reflection.
This feeling might go on for some time.
Thursday, August 6, 2020
Little one
This year I have noticed so many baby lizards. Is it because the world is quieter or simply Zoomed-out?
Which poem, what dream will happen this evening hours after I have stirred the sauce for pasta.
Wednesday, August 5, 2020
Unlikely container
And yet who's to say what a leaf, what a hand, what thought may hold. What spoon, a sauce. A pen, the final period.
Monday, August 3, 2020
Do I need a reason to be happy?
colorful:
fragrances
& fragments
simple acts
repeating
not too swifty
languid
& liquid
the seasonal
ripe
spun
& swirled
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