41

early sunset,
bench-warming,
a snowy egret
dips and shuffles
its yellow feet--
soft ripples:
cool water rings
expand

40

Therkrkd fkdld
Tithe hens
Skidded surname
Skdkkkkfj

39

vase of dried flowers
silhouette of clay, white wall--
fading memory

38

hey you,
floor heater!
when will I
feel better?

37

chilling March shadows--
sunward pointed leafy green
stems repeating light

36

verdant spring--
birds twittering about
my jealousy

35

flowering purple sage
conceals the black bumblebee
hovering

34

tiny tender shoots
emerge green, and curled
beginning to unfurl

33

brown mountains
rise, swell
propelled by
white windmills

32

A fat man in a hat carrying a double bass hobbles by, nearly running into my waitress.

31

brown mountains
swell, rise--
a black bird-scattered
skyline propelled with white windmills

30

into the sticky thicket
hopped
a California towhee

29

I'm halfway down the stairs
and he's still reciting lines
from the movie, telling me
about the time when he was up north
and met Dustin Hoffman once.

28

the glow of yellow-green
shadowed trees with
branches like outstretched arms--
oh, what use is spring?

27

today's salad
was delicious, but
it could have used
some lemon

26

after all,
what business
is it of yours?

25

thin-thorned euphorbia
bursting from its
cracked clay pot

24

having bean soup
late January--
the roof is still leaking?

23

On weekends
I tend to vacuum--
the Dyson looses suction

22

2 a.m. insomnia:
street lamp's reflected light
in rain puddles'
yellow glow

21

palms lined up along
fog shrouded skyline
drinking in incessant rain

20

early Friday morning--
steady, gentle rain
soaks the mossy roof

19

jumping off
flying naked:
cerulean blue sea, far below

18

wooden bowl--
potato-leek spooned
hot soup

17

In bed next to me
my twin puts her
hands over her ears
listening to her heartbeat,
her own breathing--
tells me what she hears

16

finishing my early bath-- 

finches twitter like mice

15

7:55am.

Walking past the swimming pool
48 degrees (Fahrenheit)--
steam rises from heated aqua-blue striped glass:

Wet-headed girl in denim
short-shorts rushes off--
cold-reddened thighs plump as two turnips

14

yesterday's black paper

moon cut scissor sharp

palms silhouetted on red orange

sunset striped sky

drinking whiskey

ice cold

13

iced wind
pushed us
into the warm
Italian restaurant

12

tall weed with
bell-shaped
crowns of
peachy blossoms dangling

11

beneath thick bramble
a song sparrow scratches, hops,
scraping dry leaves for it's insect lunch

10

parked beneath the ancient pine
I look up--
it's needles and branches waving in the cold wind,
pinecones like grenades weighing down
against the grey sky,
quickly-moving clouds undulate

9

9 is 6 reversed:
yin and yang,
pos-neg,
yes-no,
head to wiggly toe:
black and white,
night and day--
today is day 9
what else can you say?

8

My own slanted handwriting
scrawled across pages and pages--
tracing back days, weeks, years

7

ice cubes clink the empty glass--
when we're together his drink is never finished

6

Squishing lemons, cucumber, pineapple
smashing with my knife
-the white plastic cutting board-
and juice running all over my
hands and onto the floor

5

Sky opens up like cracked yolk
gooey orange, pinks and grays
illuminated, striped and striated:
strips of paper clouds and liquid
sky

4

quitting time
the central heating system
rattles and hums

3

On a concrete bench in the park near the freeway: a stream of car engines rushing by, a basketball bouncing, a child's shrill screech, a construction worker's cough, a black phoebes chirp, a gate opens, a crumpled newspaper near my foot on the grass advertises .99 cent sweet yellow onions, cherry tomatoes are 2 for $6.

2

Three shorebirds pluck
and bob and bend their knees
sucking cold mud with
rubbery feet:

the dowitcher
the godwit
the curlew.

small stone#1

California winter--
my breath like steamclouds
despite the morning sun

mindful writing challenge

Happy New Year!

It's been a while since I've posted, but I'll soon be back in the swing since I'm taking the Mindful Writing Challenge in January 2013.  Here are some quick guidelines, otherwise, just click on the link above for more detailed instructions:

Will you be joining our Mindful Writing Challenge this year?
 
 Start 2013 by clearing space for beauty.

The Everso Quick Version: 

1. Notice something properly every day during January.
2. Write it down.

That's it. You can stop reading now. Go out and buy yourself a gorgeous notebook, start writing your small stones, and you'll be in the river. If you join half-way through January you can either write 31 daily small stones or stop at the end of the month.

I'll begin posting a small stone every day beginning January 1st. 

Hope you'll join!

small kindnesses

Kindness needn't be obvious.

Sometimes just listening properly can be enough.

When we tune in with awareness, we care for those we love without asking anything in return.

Unconditional love.

Giving it is one thing, accepting it, another.

It requires trust.  As a writer, trust is sometimes hard to come by.  So, as writers, we support each other.

Today, participating bloggers around the world are writing about small kindnesses in the spirit of relaunching Fiona Robyn's book. 

Since in the States, we've just celebrated Thanksgiving, I thought for small kindnesses blogsplash day, I'd post something I wrote recently for a class in the spirit of giving.  Excluding the title it's exactly 100 words.

100 Ways of Giving

Accept Action Animals Apples Art Awareness Belief Benign Buddhist Butter Care Christian Compassion Confidence Cranberries Deliberate Destitute Diligence Dogma Elephant Emancipation Equality Excellence Family Fear Feast Formal Fortitude Ginger Global Gratitude Grace Green Beans Gruyere Homeless Holiday Hope Hospitality Hunger Inspire Invisible Importance Jovial Justice Kindness Kindred Love Life Liquid Lunch Mashed Motherhood Money Nature Nothingness Nurture Ocean Onions Onward Open Oppressed Passion Patience People Potatoes Prayer Quince Quintessential Quotient Rest Revere Rice Roasted Sacrifice Self Song Sparrow Stuffing Squash Terrorism Thanks Turkey Unconditional Ubiquitous Unction Value Virtuous Valiant Volunteer Walnuts Work Wonder Wine Xtreme Yams You Yukon Zen Zzzzzzzzz.

 Fiona's book is free for download for a limited time on the 26th and 27th of November. 

small kindnesses blogsplash

On Tuesday the 27th of November I'm joining the Small Kindnesses Blogsplash and writing about a special small kindness someone paid me in the past.

Would you like to join me?


The Blogsplash is organised by Fiona Robyn to celebrate the release of her novel 'Small Kindnesses' which will be free on Kindle on the day.

 All you have to do is write something about being kind - a memory of someone who was kind to you, a list of kindnesses over the past week, or something kind you did for someone else.

It'll be a celebration of kindness in all its forms, especially those little kind acts that make all the difference (like this one Fiona wrote about).

To find out more visit Fiona's blog (http://www.writingourwayhome.com/2012/11/what-small-kindness-do-you-remember.html), or join the Facebook event (http://www.facebook.com/events/226720897457793).

Do ask your friends to join you, and feel free to copy this blog onto your own to help us spread the word.

See you on the 27th!

[. . .]

once settled
on the train
she removed
her hat
and coat

stain

November sixteenth
a kitchen spoon left
on the counter
for days

visit

On the balcony
having tea--
surrounded by
cheerful knick-knacks--
she is usually alone
unless I visit

*

In the dark
without my glasses
the silhouette of boots
mistaken for my cat

*

boiled rice
in the pot
like
bleached white
tiny teeth

*

reading a Japanese short story
with it's focus on sensory imagery
calms me
after working hard
on other, denser reading

*

October fog
heavy as a blanket
smothering
the sky-grey clouds
across my forehead

*

steady rain
finally a chance
to pause

morning sounds

my cat bursts through
the doggie door
then quietly crunches
her kibble

river

up early
writing
before work
October traffic
a distant
rushing
like
a river

10.01.12

another full moon
another heat wave
the nights too hot to sleep

weather change

the neighbor turns on the hose
shovelfulls of dirt landing, kerplunk--
the weather feels like fall

days and days

except for books
and shoes
dishes, papers
there's not much else,
aside from
dreams and TV

harvest

I bundled dried flowers
from once-blooming succulents
not thinking twice

relentless:

the fan's motor
a helicopter
a distant barking dog
this week's humidity

study day

in the library
nervous coughing breaks the silence
of shuffling feet

three sparrows

unexpectedly
descended,
picking at foliage,
then quickly returned

lethargy

storm clouds today
and warmer temps yet again
prevent productivity

cooler temps

evening has settled in--
television murmurs on
in the next room

crickets

so hot this evening
there's no moon
even crickets are trying to rest

palm tree music

last night's dream
stayed with me
on the freeway this morning
 passing palm trees

fireflies

summer evening
twinkling in the tree
my cat imagines fireflies

curbside bees

purple flowers crown
the creeping rosemary --
bees murmur over litter

proximity

At the pool
girls voices
chattering too loudly

garden creatures

hot sun on the patio
flies covering
a piece of cat shit

----

an inch worm squirming
into the hole
where I pulled a weed

red petals

afternoon-sitting on
white concrete steps
with green paint splatters,
red petals scattered

tomatoes

clearing dead leaves
from the tomato plant,
unearthing a fresh smell,
I watch out for spiders

cupcakes

nestled in creamy rows
inside a pink box
her face
delighted

fledgelings

Our mockingbirds' nest
is getting crowded--
as the babies grow
they begin to test their wings

summer

cherries and plums
a pile of them
in a summer basket

smells

The house smells like
onions and rice
(cooked)

calico

An old calico
older than my cat
loped slowly
up the driveway
near the trashcans

amazing nature

A mocking bird
visited the tree
against my house
and was feeding
or nest-building
as I stared out the window

evening

white lights twinkle
in the garden
while red blossoms
and bees
prepare for sleep

the score

evening
settling the score
it's only fair
in love
and war

starfish haibun

I'm beach-walking in the evening, the sun, still hot
and crowds are still scattered everywhere you look.
A little girl picks up a starfish from a tide pool--
runs with it, screaming to her mother who takes it
out of the little girl's hands and returns it to its bed.
I continue on my way, but not without glancing back
over my shoulder to make sure it is safe.


returning from a walk
summer beach evening
the starfish I saw earlier
is gone

a black line

A line of ants
crossing
the sidewalk
in perfect unison
grows thicker

gull's feet

summer evening
crowded ocean shore
a gull's pink feet
running away from me

at dusk

the new moon
brings a kind of
new energy
the summer solstice
a time for turning
inward moving
into darkness
and shorter
darker days
she says

the past five years:
like a holding pattern
flying low, circling
but never landing
a kind of limbo
for them which
has kept them going
sustained them

yesterday: a breakthrough
a yellow truck he saw
a yellow telephone on TV
the music helping her
through the long day

watering the garden
watching tomatoes turn
green then yellow then red
the tomatoey smell
lifting from those fragrant leaves
soaking the dark soil
warmed in the long day
cooled in the evening
fading with the purple dusk
blending with the sounds
of happy, feeding birds

new moon

new moon
doves cooing
like poems
before sunrise

trio of casualties

a striped hawk lies lifeless
beneath the freeway underpass
and two raccoon corpses
faces buried into their bellies
curled, striped tails facing out--
roadside, as if asleep

family

pleasure/pain
blossom/retract
visiting her house
is always both

hawk

the cooper's hawk
swooped in low
and quickly--
all the birds scattered

bird seed

new bird feeder
pagoda-shaped--
I can't wait
to go home
and see
who's been there--
nibbling black sunflower seeds

leaves

green, yellow
sunlight bathes
the leaves on
the shimmering tree

may birds

a little girl chases shore birds
as we stand overlooking
the chilly marsh

art work

at work I surround myself with art
only today I first noticed it.

farmer's market

under the canvas blue shade
of the flower tent
brown-eyed sunflowers
flirt yellow skirts as
a black puppy sleeps
in the lap of the
dark-haired girl
with black eye-liner

there was a silver ring
on her second toe
and a beaded anklet
that jingled when
she walked barefoot
across the mat

foot

icing the sole of my foot for hours
helps numb the pain, however
I still can't walk on it -
maybe tomorrow

blue

two scrub jays visit
my newish copper feeder:
after scads of finches,
sparrows, and doves
I'm so delighted!

caged

a yellow canary in a cage
at the pet store
cost $109
how much would I pay
for his freedom?

-

in the thick marsh
where red-winged
blackbirds rest
I spotted an egg!
inside a nest

-

fierce wind whipping
through the corridor
between buildings the
edges of my raincoat
flapping like arms

ear to plastic

for 30 minutes
my ear stuck to the plastic
devouring
the voice that calms

my most beautiful thing

Today I’m taking part in the My Most Beautiful Thing Blogsplash to celebrate beautiful things – inspired by Fiona Robyn’s new novel, The Most Beautiful Thing. Bloggers from all over the world are taking part and writing or posting pictures of their most beautiful things today. Find out more here and see everyone else’s blog posts here.

Yesterday, at the last minute I realized what it was. After a long day I was sure I'd never think of anything spectacular enough. Nothing seemed right, or special enough, nor important enough not to sound trite or cliche. I thought of my loved ones, my books and plants, pets, the beauty of nature around me, important milestones in my life...None of it worked as something I could convey to you here with conviction. I went to the gym for inspiration but it was closed for remodeling! Then I realized I hadn't seen the ocean in weeks, maybe months. I've been so busy with work and graduate school, I hadn't even remembered what nourishment a beach walk can provide.

And it was still light out, I still had plenty of time. I drove to my favorite spot, parked, and got out. I breathed in the sea. I savored the briny smell in the evening air as I descended the stairs which led to the grayish beach. It was near sunset, but there was still plenty of light. I walked and thought, walked and thought. Nothing came. I decided to give up and stop thinking. I looked at the ocean, the sand, the people. I stared at the broken shells beneath my feet, the debris and the seaweed, for miles. I realized then that this was it. My need to stop pushing was my most beautiful thing. And having the understanding that in writing, in all communicating, less is always more. I struggle and work but often nothing comes. When I let up a bit, relax, ask the universe for some help and stop trying so very hard, there it is! Learning to live with "Less as more". That is my most beautiful thing.

photo by CM Wilson  2012

Download Fiona Robyn's new book "The Most Beautiful Thing" FREE, for a limited time, here.