Thursday, January 26, 2023

Nutty Bites


popcorn in winter,

nutty bites

urban gardeners

give to themselves.

This thinner tanka was supposed to be a senryu, which read:

popcorn in winter
nutty bites


But the lines, “urban gardeners / grow for themselves” came to mind, and the first version of the offered thinner tanka popped out of my skull:

popcorn in winter,
nutty treats
urban gardeners
grow for themselves.


Then, I remembered how much the original senryu made me grin (there is something about “nutty bites” sounding like “naughty bites” that my eternally juvenile sense of humor just couldn’t resist). So, I had to slide the “nutty” into the tanka. And, as I was doing it, the image of urban gardeners biting themselves (no idea why) spilled out my fingertips and typed this (as I giggled—all right, cackled—like a delighted maniac):

popcorn in winter,
nutty bites
urban gardeners
give to themselves.

- wondering about the corn? Well, this is the strawberry popcorn I planted last spring and harvested in autumn. Popcorn has never tasted so nuttily good and no kernel has looked so prettily crimson. Yep, I’m totally growing more this year.

- so, I was going to start this post with a definition of “nutty”, since I didn’t want you to think of madness. Then the dictionary suggested: “Nutty (adj.) as in tasting like nuts.” And I just lost it so completely to laughter, that I figured the clarification would cause even more confusion. Still, the nutty bit was too hysterical not to share.

- for Poets and Storyteller United--Friday Writings #61: Such Inspiring Titles, where an extremely good-looking writer asks fellow writers to create poetry or prose inspired by the title of the first book they read, are reading, or will read in 2023. The first book I read this year was Urban Botanics: An Indoor Plant Guide for Modern Gardeners, written by Emma Sibley and gorgeously illustrated by Maaike Koster.

Thursday, January 19, 2023


Today is for relighting banked flames, reviving gone dreams, taking stagnant feels and rousing them anew. Yesterday made the same wish, but body and soul were low on strength and drive; healing is draining business. Now remains out of balance—too little time, too much pain—still, now also sings of things I used to enjoy doing (and of different ways of doing them with love and will).

to remind hurt flesh
wild spirits can heal

 - someone asked if I could turn this Instagram post’s caption into prose poetry. So, I made it a haibun. I enjoyed it so much, that I will probably do it again… and again.

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #60: The Visitor.

Thursday, January 5, 2023

Under Winter’s Shroud

not-quite Journaling, 48

let me be the heart
of your twilight, the darkness
balancing the light

12/21/2022: I usually rise with the sun on the Winter Solstice, but I went to bed exhausted (from physical therapy) and didn’t wake up until almost 10am. But I (and a dry gloriosa daisy I brought inside in the summer) got to soak some sun bliss after breakfast.


When gloom and chill fill
skies and flesh and bones,
I rejoice in all the warmth
a sunny picture can hold.

12/23/2022: It’s raining cats and dogs and probably rabid raccoons. The sun hasn’t been out since the Winter Solstice, and I’m missing it. So, do send some sun-warmth my way (artificial light shining on my cactus corner just isn’t cutting it).


12/24/2022: In case the cold gets so deep into your bones that you start forgetting that spring is just a few months in the blooming (and yes, by “you” I also mean “me”). 🥶 🌱


12/28/2022: Late last summer, while my flesh and bones and I were in a ridiculous amount of pain, my Piano Man got me a plant to cheer me up. It was the only plant with a lot of healthy-looking blooms and berries. The explosion of yellow blossoms and crimson berries made my day. The plant (St. John’s wort) bloomed all the way until the end of September. I pruned it and brought it into the house in October. Today, it has a single bloom that looks like a tiny sun bedecking my living room. I can’t look at it without grinning like the happiest of all lunatics. 😁


My 2022 in one American Sentence. Now, to live (and write) 2023…

- for Poets and Storytellers United--Friday Writings #58: Reclaim, Rekindle, Rebirth.