What a heart of a nose

Amazing what a walk brings into focus.  Wooden yet so alive.  Makes me think of the aliveness in a good, well-used wooded spoon.  Or a pen. Both spoon & pens create food to inspire & nourish. And the best way to carve a smile.

Kitchen closed but will reopen

 haiku -- September 30, 2003 - December 11, 2017 

haiku today & tomorrow & lucky 13

Tomorrow, it's purely celebratory.  haiku was adopted on 11/30/04.

Ah, haiku's jade-green eyes.

Sometimes it's the thin stream of blue ink

which keeps you afloat.  And where does it comes from?  Somedays from the sky into a watery depth.  Sometimes from the unconscious, upward.  And sometimes, it's pure horizon.  A body at rest.

Meals are like this, too.  And while we're on slippery subjects, aren't reflections liquid pools of tar?Others might suggest, ink of squid.  I'm fine with either.

Your guess as good as mine

But isn't she fetching?  Force for the good.  Pele?  Demeter?  Grab a pomegranate or a bunch of beets.    Fix them for sharing.  While the beets roast and just after washing your hands of pomegranate  paint, put down words on a page.  See what happens.  And in the waiting...?

Autumn looking forward and back

The orange season.  Pumpkins, squash, orange-red leaves.  At its core, persimmons are the building blocks of an autumn kitchen.  And to poetry, imagine that.  Every third poem has a wink to persimmons.  Every six, pomegranates.  Just do the math.

Sometimes an abstract is all the landscape I need

The poinsettia returns as an abstract across an abstracted landscape.  The heart of it really.  Like the properly-weighted verb in a sentence.  Like a twist of pepper -- not too much, not too scant -- in the soup.  How carrots allow themselves to become part of the abstracted landscape of a soup or stew.  Clouds are the perfect model for such thinking.