Over-the-top

Pure magic. Pure joy. Similiar to what's occurrening at farmers' markets now: over-the-top abundance. Right now, Bancroft Succulent Gardens is a feast of petite and not-so-petite poems bursting with shape and texture. This flowering zucca nothing less than organic eye-candy.

Tufts or buttons on a couch?

We see what we see.  But can what we see be translated into a language understood by another?  By a crow?  For sure, crows are petite poems with personality.  Prickly, sometimes.  And sometimes, still as night until it erupts much like a pan of water suddenly boiling.

What we look through to see out the other side

eyes through glasses.  Now, I'm thinking slots in a spoon.  Pasta water.  I'm thinking how petite poems are not bows as much as petals.  I'm thinking that a favorite ceramic plate can curve with the best of light.  Yup.  I'm thinking.

from blue & black series #10: not your usual Summer

And yet, and yet there were ripe (very ripe) peaches on the counter within fingers' reach.  And, yes, there was a soft hum of jazz and the occasional hummingbird sipping at the pomegranate yarrow. All this contained in the blue and in the black.  Petite poems, too.