Lucky Camille Won the Pumpkin

I had 35 people sign up to be in the "win the pumpkin" drawing at the Maker's Fair yesterday, and, of course, Camille won! How crazy things always turn out to be.

Happy Halloween to all.

Just for Halloween: Pumpkin Salsa

Wanted to take something special to Ted and Nicole's Halloween get-together, so am going for the traditional salsa with a seasonal twist. But of course, my Kroger didn't have pie pumpkins. Not to be deterred from a great idea, I'm making it with cubed Acorn Squash instead:

Half and seed squash. Roast until soft in 400 degree oven.
In same pan, half six or seven tomatillos and roast. This will take 45 minutes or so. During last 10 minutes, roast one or two tomatoes.

Cool and cube squash, roughly chop tomatillos and peel and chop tomatoes.

Add roughly chopped cilantro, about 1/4 cup, a small can of chipolte peppers chopped and a small can of pumpkin.

Add salt to taste and some hot pepper sauce if it isn't quite hot enough for you.

Serve with favorite chips, or it can be used as a glaze for roasted chicken or any other way you like to use salsa.

April 5th, Day five of NaPoWriMo

Another Easter poem:

Riding the Scooter to the Country Club for Easter Lunch

maybe I should have been suspect
when he asked me to check the weather
"no rain till Wednesday," I reported
thinking of the shed project

thinking it was another joke
I was, after all, dressed for lunch
had painted my toenails purple
to match the tie-dyed skirt
enough of a statement there
no need to don a helmet

but we all know by now
he was serious
so I buttoned my long-sleeved
over-shirt, hiked my skirt
above my knees
and grabbed him around the waist

there were many ways I was lucky
it was Easter Sunday
little traffic
we took back roads
not the interstate
the roads were dry
it was warm
the road was not too bumpy

but still I held tight
gripped him with my thighs
moved with his body
contemplated a fall

he was easy, confident
I asked if he felt me
holding tight
but no, he thought
me fearless
and on the way home
I almost was

April 4th, Easter
Day 4 of NaPoWriMo

Jack sent me to the store so that he could keep working on the shed renovation project. Any inspiration while I'm in the grip of this project. The title sort of says it all I guess.

Real Poets Should Not Go to WalMart at 8:00 on Easter Saturday Doing a Last Minute Errand for the Husband

because to get that latex
gap filler ($2.00, what a deal
get four he says when I call
to make sure it is the right stuff)
way in the back
in Hardware

there are all those
aisles up front

picked over Easter baskets
(imported from China
bamboo baskets, $.99)
and cello grass all
pink and purple gone, lots
of green and yellow
for some reason

stacks and stacks
of plastic tubs in all
colors, pastel towers
and plastic eggs by the dozen

the cute stuff, little
puff ball chicks
and bean bag rabbits
soft as baby down
gone

every bit of this
made in China
an Easter village
where all year
everyone except
the butch, the baker
and the internet cafe manager
makes Easter eggs, strips
and dies bamboo
shreds cello

everyday pastel
and down fluff
so that at 8:00
the night before
the holiest of holy holidays
last minute shoppers
can choose

how best to keep
the children believing
against hope
that the Bunny has not
forgotten them

April 3rd, Day Three

I sit on my side porch and watch the same scenery each day while I write. Guess that helps to get me in the zone. I am seeing the same things each time. Perhaps this is good?

Rhythm of This Day

days blend one to one
as notes on the diachronic scale
this one a bit higher
a sharp before the whole
or lower, flattening

the individual days
accept a new tempo
cymbal crash
orchestrating a turn
piccolo or bassoonish
twist

we are arms around each other
for a slow waltz
or kicking heels
in a country dance

impossible to tell
in the cool morning
what noon will bring

time, key signature
all at the behest
of some unconcerned
non-judgmental conductor
who flaps his arms
and lets me work out
the tune for myself

Woo, Woo, Day Two

April 2

Day two of NaPoWriMo, and I have a second poem. Crazy.



Trimmed

the well crafted poem
is nothing like this lived life
wild erratic
swing escapade
now noticeably staid
now whistling wild whipped
bouncing from metaphor to metaphor

not reason bound or language tied
nothing pinned
I sew with abandon
dance without style or preformed rhythm
a never to be repeated samba
the untrimmed seams of the untrained seamstress

can't sell this
no one would buy
but do I want to sell, really

if I could work a miracle
with a watercolor pencil
and fine line pen

if I could train my life
into beginning, middle, end

where would I say
this finds me

mid-stitch, deep in a dip
can I even sort the meteoric twists

can't slow down now
tuck a dew rag into my shorts
and take off once again

how the street does change
mid-morning to mid-night

wisteria blooms
forsythia blossoms fall

the rain washes pollen
from the front porch

NaPoWriMo
April 1, 2010

April is National Poetry Month and as part of the celebration, poets are challenged to write a poem a day for the whole month. Sort of appropriate that this begins on April Fools Day I think, 'cause I'm just crazy to even try.

Now, a poem a day means nothing will be polished or even edited at all, or at least mine will not. So anyone reading this has to look at it as a repository of ideas, not anything that is even near the finished product.

That said, I will give it a go.

When Did Becoming

when did becoming turn became
this path, once random
a genuine pleasant ramble
the imagined destination
a pinprick on the horizon
a gambol across a desert even
lighthearted

now my feet are heavy
lead filled wings
unable to lift
a bare inch forward
each step a slog

there is interest, still
at each juncture
a blade of grass a wonder
the bee that stops
mid-flight to watch
me, of all things
interested, in his short life
with my old bag

an instant for him
then a flit and he has forgotten
while I, slow, steady
contend with the discontent
of mystery

when did I miss that boat
that sailed to the middle
of Green Lake
caught the tide
ever so small

even that boat I missed
now, meant to be content
with this pace
this place
or maybe a day trip out
but always back to nearly here

where I started