gardening

mistress mary, quite contrary,

how does your garden grow?

with silver bells, and cockle shells,

and pretty maids all in a row.

who says i like right angles?

an ode to pancakes

he smiles at me with his tiny chicklet teeth and a spatula in his hand. he's so small at the stove. propped up on a padded wooden stool, wearing only a t-shirt; no pants, immersed in his creation. pancakes. a wheat-toned island, blanketed by terra-cotta tiles split the kitchen into two sections. i run my fingers over the lacqured tile, loving the imperfection. i trace with my fingers over the thin lines of muddy grout-- making squares.

two poems

i am at an old tree on roxmill court
we met years ago

walking the mushy earth feels familiar

sparks of sunlight are bouncing off of me
dancing on the tips of my hair

the colors are just as i remember
ivory against all shades of brown
green bursting in lime
auburn
pale yellows
and hints of red

it's more kept now
flowers all around

i see now my color scheme for life
and why i am so attracted

the fall here is bliss
and actually, so are all of the seasons

summer heat
filled with wild waves of green
fresh grass scented
crunching echoes through the forest

i spot the oak
where we once found a slick black snake
dripping down the bark like wet tar

all of my neighbors are gone from this place
its reality only a memory
but its sweetness is ever-present

.......................................

lost in the forest... by pablo neruda

Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig
and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips:
maybe it was the voice of the rain crying,
a cracked bell, or a torn heart.

Something from far off it seemed
deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth,
a shout muffled by huge autumns,
by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves.

Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig
sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance
climbed up through my conscious mind

as if suddenly the roots I had left behind
cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood---
and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent.

hooray corn!

they tell me vampires can go through stone walls

mt. si

dear seattle,

with your mountainous charm
you're a dream

fresh air
never-ending skies
still
with flickering lights
you shine

i love your hills
and the awe of emptiness
lush green
i could drink you

bring me
more color and sun
you'll have me

your whiteness is epic
snow-capped beauty

our endless numbered days

check it.

archiving the city

breaking

bulbous blurs

grey delights

you don't want to miss out.

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