Dozen

Yes, today haiku is 12!  So naturally I've been thinking about dozen's.  As in roses, as in a baker's [dozen].  Add another one to a baker's dozen, and the sonnet comes to be.

This gorgeous, precocious boy is all sonnet, all rose, all scientist, all mischief.  Just look at those eyes.  "You are mine; give me tuna."

Memory

Memory pulls the past into the present.  Pomegranates are seasonal now.  The one pictured here is clearly not from the new crop.  Dried, smaller, lighter, but ripe & dense with beauty.  And memory. On to the eggplants.  These globe eggplants are personal size just right for baking & stuffing.  All this, time-tangled reminiscent to me of writing poetry.  Memory contains & words celebrate the ripe.
And where the ripe is, the seasonal resides.  Until...

Peels

and peeling.  Everything seasonal.  Some say shed.  I say peel - especially Fall.  Poets, too, use peeling. This, an effecitve form of editing. Much of fall food is peeled.  Some, not.  Same with words & persimmons are an unique blessing.  Please note date pits -- the empty (which isn't) always a blessing.

Reading

the night sky.  A narrative like all others and like no other and always abundant with questions.

Who sets the timer?

Who cooks the meal?

Who reads quietly?

Who turns the page?

Who is writing the first line of a poem?

Fall

welcomes the New Year.  Persimmons & crisp apples.  Garnet jewels of the pomegranate.  Fall salads showcase the above.  Remember, a bowl is a sheet of paper with a lip turned upward awaiting the sweet.  Close your eyes, imagine each pomegranate, persimmon, apple sliced open and welcoming company.  At this time of year, poems taste of a particular sweet that only chill can offer.  Write & eat responsibly & know this, persimmons are poems waiting to be voiced.

Scales

and the notes thereupon.
Clouds are note-like.
Skies are paper-like
and plate-like.
And fish?
Yes, their scales
music to any plate.

Trill

Not only birds.  Blooms trill, too.  Can't you hear them.  Ah! and a meal of artichokes.  A garden is an anthology of poems waiting to be seen and heard.  There for the eating.