January 23…

Day Trip

 

Piddlestixs

What a great name and the claim to purvey curiosity?

YES! And thanks for purveying  ennui into imagination.

 

words that swell on the tongue martini my pen into merlot

 

ag ~ 2015

 

 

 

January 19…

I love to tag posts. I also love hashtags. They can be wildly creative, funny and often much more revealing than the post itself. Tags are supposedly used for organizational and filing purposes – to be able to link, find and retrieve common threads. I also use them to check in on my own meandering and musings and feel, unlike the current trend, that you cannot overuse them (within reason). #this is just too much information – so I may actually do a full post using only hashtags.

One of my favorite blogging tags is (the poetry and philosophy of) blue.

How to describe the width and breath of blue without using the actual word?

 

cradled in the June sky a glimpse of the dozing moon

berry bumble to while away the taste of ripening

the wail of his sax lingers late into my lap

over the causeway deep into the brine of barnacles

its story lost – a piece of sea-glass

 

 

ag ~ 2015

 

 

 

January 17…

I just searched an old, old love-interest on-line and discovered to my surprise that he has passed. He was my first true love for eight years in grammar school, and ours was a torrid love affair of cut-out valentines and stolen kisses from at least first to fourth grade. He was my first real crush – that point where the heart knows no bounds. I don’t think he ever realized how totally smitten and breathless I felt in his presence (especially at that tender age). And he was my first heartbreak (sigh) – when in seventh grade he fell for an older woman – “a cougar” – in today’s lingo. I still remember her name, Stephanie, the hussy in eighth grade. My how times have changed and not (that for another post). We never kept in touch after he moved and went on to a different high school and life. Funny how things turn out – unbeknownst to me, he became a fairly prolific songwriter and poet. I would have loved to share poetry and maybe a laugh or two about the old days. You just never know… RIP Artie C.

the finality of goodbye beyond belief

ag ~ 2015

January 14…

Pomegranates and blackberries are my two favorite fruits. Everything about them holds the best of winter and summer in their sweet-tart flavor, strong colors and sensual textures on your tongue. It just ocurred to me that the color of ripe red pomegranates, a winter fruit in these parts, glows more with the warmth of summer while blackberries, a summer fruit, is a more like a cooling balsamic moon on the vine.

why isn’t periwinkle used more often as a verb?

ag ~ 2015

January 4…

This small stone was written last night – I hope that it counts for today – I’m not one to always play by the rules.

Saturday night.
Snow and sleet no place to go.
A bourbon sour on the rocks.

I savor the dark cherry, and fancy
myself the heroine in a film noir.

layer upon layer of paint until she fades into the shadows

ag ~ 2015

Mindful Writing ~ 2014:13

“The fact that no one understands you doesn’t mean you’re an artist!”

019

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This statement is clipped from a local newspaper and is tacked to my refrigerator door.  It is a sentiment that more than one person near and dear to me strongly agrees with.  It makes me laugh, because I usually do make the excuse for some of my flighty behavior and quirky choices based on “artistic temperament.”  The fact that it may be true, and that my cover is blown only enhances its power in my mind to continue its use as a valid explanation.

winter temperatures fluctuate my role as trickster

ag ~ 2014

When It’s Gone… It’s Gone.

When It’s Gone – It’s Gone.

This terse piece of wisdom
is inscribed on the top of a tea tin.
It therein refers to the last cup
of a limited edition.

I felt sad reading it.
I had just come upon a photo
of my friend and me smiling
at the camera and the world.
Now she’s gone.

I took the tea from her home
on my last visit to say goodbye.
It was a pomegranate blend 
however, I just read the tin top for the first time.

It is exactly one year since her memorial.
The year of firsts without her 
has now come and gone.
She is once again 
sending me a clear message.

Like the white flickering tail of a doe
bounding off into the brush
When it’s gone – it’s gone.
AHO*

*A closing or blessing from the Native American Tradition that can be translated as “and so it is.” 

another goodbye on the horizon coyotes howl

ag ~ 10/13/13

On my lips

Just some haiku-musings at the end of summer ~

slow breath between the sea rose dawn

the tang of late summer brine on my lips

twilight settles the quiet beauty of seaglass

to the last minute crimson sunset

Venus on the lee edge of a why not sky

alone on shore the moon sends a path