joie debut

Piano tuner due
A’loll with morning brew 

Home sparkle nearly through 

For New Year's joie debut.

taking ten

Taking ten and tender break from hopeful home assembly serial sleepless nights for rest and respite late with coffee righting reading Stan Getz sunshine shepherding contentment tending interlude to wondering weary wake.

With 40 due plus likely 8 this week's a measured scramble toward Sunday 2nd finish. Three nights running I am 3 a.m. awake till 5 or so with quiet riot writing wandering wondering rooms each shimmer christmas lights their sparkle nearly polished ready soon for show. From chaos wreck a peak of lovely starts her slow reveal each brilliance hinting happy soon with friendly filling. Delightful elegance to feel her mettle best when shared enjoyed embraced. Each room near twinkling live with imminent embracing due.

who sprinkles dreams

who plants the thought-seeds in the night,
careful sprouts by waking,
tender shoots by light?

who sprinkles dreams with fertile-dust
to germinate by dawn
creation's tidy lust?

who pushes up the life from non-
through belly, heart,
to voice —  beyond?

with stillness and the moon the sparks
to stir idea's beginnings in the dark

they send her reaching restive toward the day
toward notion's petal
and inkling's burgeon-play.

chandelier pink is IN

Despite skeptical winces from all well-meaning design counsel, I am thrilled to have my Aunt Ruthie’s chandelier position prominent in my post-renovation home. Of course I'd rather have my Aunt Ruthie, but grateful regardless for surround of her memory and things. Post cleaning, rewiring, globe re-gluing, and stem-cutting, this Victorian gem is now secured with distinction, readily inspiring flushed heart and widened smile whenever periphery catches a delightful glimpse.

And how clever of Pantone to have enlisted her posthumous counsel to pick its 2011 Color of the Year — Chandelier Pink! (http://www.pantone.com/pages/pantone/Pantone.aspx?pg=20821&ca=4) Savvy as she was, I am certain it was Ruthie who advised the name “Honeysuckle,” whole-heartedly endorsing its marketing advantage over Chandelier Pink.

Those who knew her will grasp the serendipity on another level. Always a trendsetter, Ruthie’s style was undeniable — confident, elegant, exceptional — admired by us all. To us is no surprise to find her brilliance still in influence so far beyond her death.

winter woo

bourbon summer
scotch au fall
winter woo
from spring enthrall

season tempered
wonder's quell
scent apricot
taste caramel
on which we dwell
inspire swell (another shot?)
not posit tremor fell

what of words
exchange of tales
stories shared
of life travails?

ideas paired
like cheese and drink
with whiskey company
to sync encourage kosher
dialogue distinct
imbibe platonic think
and more?

where back and forth we two
in perfect measure drew
a universe of answers
neither knew before nor
could eschew once drunk
with notion’s roux
and your adore

what of wry
enlightened pour
of palate opened
mind implored?

clink imbued
with winter due
conference stirred
and chaser queued?

may toddy now ensue?

seabird dream

Waves pound gently steady at my door; they too are powerless charmed crash beat against the shore.

Lapping steady steady minding moon as all we are and moved to rhythm known or deeper far inherently intoned.

Powerless, yes, to steady heartbeat lapping moon beat tempering all to seabird dream — she knowing too what always we forget: all wisdom in the string.

And finally cool air follows too to bring the drifting breeze at last and newness settles silent all my worries, stirs, and coos.

Cool air indeed rides mentor wave reprieve to brave wherever arc should carry crave or heed them tandem to my door, they whisper minder silent save for whoosh or woo.

They tell us lapping rhythm score rapport is more than worries can implore. The world is safe tonight all safe is safe restore for seabird string l’amour.

bits from provincetown summer

David Eddy:
Seabird with String

Each year I wander my favorite galleries and artists, breathing in people and paintings I know and I don’t and it is one of my favorite things to do. The learning hardly sticks but I like it anyway learning for the moment who is who and who I like and why and who might make it home with me one day. History is rich here with painters and painting and writers and stories; so much depth always moves me is why I come year after year upon year.

Browsing who’s where and who’s n’er, a name jumps out — Ellen Sinel — of Ellen and Norman whom I sat for in high school; then hip, young couple I liked and admired. She an artist, he a lawyer; Josh was four and Natasha just born; I remember their kindness to me in a difficult time. Remarkable universe cycling around, just three weeks before they had written themselves into a story — the story of What I Remember. More of note, she is showing at Wohlfarth Galleries just right across from my wharf and cottage, so I make point and intention to saunter in see if indeed it is she who I knew some forty years ago. It is. Serendipity smiles as I talk with the owner of time and acquaintance and yes she (Lavinia) knows Ellen and Norman and also from DC where she has another gallery. Scanning quickly I find no Wohlfarths in memory or past. I am crouched with Ellen’s book looking reading her listings her notices over years and with pride and Please sit and be comfortable, Lavinia nods me to a nearby chair. She sits smiling across as we talk of DC and the past and of Ellen and Norman she offers to pass on a note if I like which I do. She thinks Ellen will be pleased to hear from me but I know all is not always so simple. I learn they still live in DC and summer in Truro for 8 or 9 years she thinks. The memories come gently and firmer a smile on my face, firmer a knowing of poignancy firmly in the world. Learn too that Lavinia owns also the house across next to my wharf, so yet another connection may be made. Later I hear she's called Vinnie.

Still smiling I stop by Julie Heller East next to Angel Foods check the new gallery what’s new and to talk with Katrina who’s fun and I like though she does not remember me. Remind her of the Peter Cameron still life I bought which I love and how Julie helped me learn what I love and why. She is excited now showing me Peter Cameron lot and takes my contact to send pics which she does. We also talk of David Eddy who I just saw at Gosnold Street — just learned of walked in on the show. We talk of his story 25 years a roofer till his diamond was spotted now several years a painter followed and enjoyed. I tell her I already enjoy and which painting I may consider. She jots notes to send pictures of Eddy as well which she does. Is called Seabird with String and I know I will go back to look more and consider what the seabird has to say.

hope folded small

what to give that will not clutter will not mar inspire utter scorn or tarnish glean in spaces emptied now and clean?

what to offer that sustains yet not too long or stains too strong prolongs the pain of holding tight too much the past you cannot bear or everlast the sight?

maybe bits of moments torn like paper fit to size and worn could be enough not fluff but stuff we made together then in fairer weather maybe can suffice as christmas wishes twice as nice.

maybe hope all folded small in scraps will give the dawn recall another hue like light or wonder new not jaded blue that even christmas cannot woo.

in case it’s true i offer you these bits to hold unfold or lose reuse like moments crumpled in the wash but smoothed when dry with caution wry and eased by rhyme by kindness breath and time.