In the news, water discovered on Earth’s moon: Not so much water apparently though that NASA will start shaping surfboards for its astronauts; nor is discovered quite right – confirmed or proven more precise. Meantime, of course, what with someone always turning up the global warming thermostat in the house, we’ll soon be wanting to bring some of that moon water down to Earth. And where there’s water, there could be also be tomatoes. And where there’s tomatoes, there could also be salsa. Now, a salsa party on the moon – countdown! And where there’s water, there’s sound, so the previously assumed to be silent moon, if you put your ear to the crater, just might produce some good vibes after all; and what’s a salsa party without music?
Tag Archives: salsa garden
Madwort & Other Essential Oils
Your favorite pot this
study now
a single bee
powder tease
sigh breeze
a list
of things
to do
today
such a tiny weight
like a baby
in a swing
a spider string
blue flowers
light steps
portentous portfolio
ambitious
after evening
of Inherent Vice
as the bee busy transpires
bloom, bloom
blossoms
lobularia maritime
“by the sea, by the sea
by the beautiful sea”
milks this moment
line by line
for you
to make honey
when blissful bee lands
on tipsy flower
branch, soft strand
shakes
bee breeze blows blue dust
never get much
done in this
common loveliness
this stillness this
bee’s momentous
visit
red & white
shadows
orange wings
ocher clay
pot broken
bricks
pavers
this sitting
of course
this entry
this walk
some pics
this post
before you
get out
of bed
these lines
awake
may recede
themselves
like the bee
by the sea
A Pepper & Tomato Graphic Story
They met in a salsa garden one hot summer day.
At night, they slept curled around one another.
One day, there was a salsa party.
The End.
Slide cursor over or click photo for text.
After the Last Snow
He slushed through the yard with the dog, Mosey,
looking for the salsa garden covered with snow.
A foggy down comforter was spread
across the cold compost pile.
Mosey gave it the once-over and waggled on.
Through the grey branches of the bald maple,
the wintry sun dripped a wet, molting light.
“I think I’ve found the salsa garden,”
Mosey barked, wagging through a snowdrift.
He found some green garlic starts,
planted last fall in hope of an orange day.
Over on the frozen patio sat the fable
of a red tablecloth and a bottle of sweet wine,
Mosey dozing in a patch of warm light.
He hears voices, someone’s recipe:
“Fresh cilantro, hot pepper, and black beans,
eight tender Roma plum tomatoes,
an inch of basil, a sprig of rosemary,
a dash of black pepper and a pinch of salt,
a dark green jalapeno,
and a mellow, cool lime.”
Sevenish on the heat scale, he thinks,
two fat, purple candles melting the snow,
Mosey barking, “Let’s go back inside now.”
They entered the kitchen through the side door,
dog wet noses sloshing snow and water,
dripping all over the stale linoleum.
The Coming of the Toads 