What type of thoughts, hopes, dreams, prayers, and wishes do you cultivate and watch take bloom inside your own wondrous imaginarium?

My greatest hope, albeit much constrained by knowledge of human nature,
is that we save the planet from the worst effects of global warming by 2040.
It is technically possible. All the means exist now.
Their effectiveness is already scientifically proven
and they would actually improve economics, food security and human and animal welfare all over the entire planet.

Many of my thoughts are about the book I am researching and writing to try to help that process of repair and recovery.

In the imaginarium it is often poetry.

If to write is to swim in surf…

If poetry is the beach of an infinite ocean,

I have dipped my toes in the edges of waves,

but not yet learned to swim.

 

I fear the undertow,

the wave that turns me in somersaults,

dashes my head against the sand,

and leaves me stunned.

~

Word Wine

 

Some days, I just don’t feel like cooking.

Somehow, I've let pantry and fridge run low.

Nothing right is there — I must make do.

It will be nutritious, 

but the result, oh, the result.

What work it is to chew!

to ignore the slightly off flavours,

and make myself swallow,

the truth.

 

A book of poems mellows 

and grows richer with the years.

The sweet grape ferments 

to the dry of wine,

thick and smooth as velvet,

berry and cinnamon savours of a black sauvignon,

luscious!

I find I am drunk with words.

 

Cabbage stowed airless, with salt, 

turns delectably sour.

Cream, with patience, churns to butter.

The point of a word

turns upon itself in a sentence,

to reveal another sense.

 

With five knives kept ultra sharp,

the right knife will 

skin, slice, core, julienne or chop

precisely.

Dripping in slippery dressing, raw,

or simmered to a subtle blend —

texture calls attention,

just as words call for thought.

 

And then, other days, 

the garden yields such harvest 

the herbs and spices sing, and then

the syllable is to poetry 

as the molecule to perfume. 

And the new poem is fit for a dish

to set before the Belovéd.