the gingerbread house

offerings of fancy

off the ship, he greeted her
with offers of red currents
and baby pears anjou

but could not convince
this lady in extravigant green
to take him in for the night

bright october theme

despite the vanilla beans
floating in your tea

like satellites in negative polaroid
mimicking the freckles on your ear

all of my energy is negative
slow and unforgiving

the churn in my stomach is wretched
digging deep beyond my enthusiasm

for sweets flavored with fruits
and nutmeg and thyme and brown sugar

new unconditional behavior

NEW UNCONDITIONAL BEHAVIOR

what happened to the rain?
it never stopped bleeding into your shirt
and developing patterns of density
in the process

i knew communication by connection

you filtered black tea the last decent attempt of the open mind had dried around the radio's death on common broadcast so, but the problem is you're empty is not necessarily my cup, unless of course we were taking it seriously, no longer a subjective ceremony locked in at each other's reach of groceries cold cuts and an honorable intention you stated plainly stated from wild mushroom profit of independent cold mushroom

and leeks factor Rome out without. when is the non-violence you promised me when ring-rusted followers hassled / gouged / gallow-ed we, that celebrity cat-nap you paid for us. and you came home with a perfect recipe for hope. ask for your question -- why, one night your cup will be full, and steaming an irreverable place and at your finger tips

 

**** a rewrite of hardy's

NEVER KNEW UNCONDITIONAL BEFORE

What happened to Jainism?
I even stopped eating butterflies for you
and developed a pattern deficiency
in the process

new connections in communication

You fed me black pills th last dedicate after the Odepus had died down in a radio death common broadcast no, but th problem is your fucked is not necessarily my fucked, unless of course we are fucking, no longer a subjective ceremony looked at each other Carrying groceries cold hands As an h intellectual I stated plainly stated they wld much prefer independent cold mouths

and locks actorCome out white. Where is this non-violence you promised me were Warsaw flowers astle / cottage / gallows We, that celebate dog-sleep you pland for us. and you came home w/ a perfect man named Job. As for your question -- Yes, one day you will be fucked, and sharing an internal space and on your face

it's october tomorrow!

would wife

as a girl she held imaginary tea parties
dressing all her dolls and teddy bears
in their very best attire

she grew long and beautiful and so did her dreams
of hosting parties for princesses
in palaces in far away places

today she offers you tea and a choice
of biscuits or cake from her stash
kept in tins behind the olive oil in the top cupboard

and if you asked her to marry you
she would probably accept
if you promised her a tea party themed wedding

others' poetry

i asked some friends on facebook to recommend a poem for me to read.  as much as i like to write the odd poem, i also like to read the stuff.  it acts as inspiration, not just for writing new poems, but inspiration in the day-to-day mobility of life. 

right now, my need for poetry is out of need for comfort.  my left arm is very soar, painful even.  i am going to see my doctor this afternoon to find out what is wrong with me, or at least how to make some of the pain go away.  in addition to physical pain, i am emotionally compromised at the moment, which poetry is very good at helping heal.  my zune, neil, died last night after almost three years of friendship.  i listened to him in the car, in bed, while baking, while walking.  now my music listening is confined to my laptop (my car cd player is broken, and i can't stand radio). 

enough moaning.

my friends suggested these poems so far:

as the sparrow by Charles Bukowski
frost at midnight by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
in the trees by Dan Miller
and
holy sonnets x. by John Donne


so i thought i'd share them with you too.

the pagoda forest

red pandas laze in pink-pine trees
among inhabited bird houses

unpainted and weather worn
they were put up in bunches

ripe strawberries hatch from their roots
surrounding a calm, circular pond

where grey dirt turns to mud
and sticks to shoes like paste

you'll see a red and golden pagoda
floating aimlessly over the water

waiting patiently to be mounted
by bold visitors to this sacred place

augie the bird

augie was an orange talking bird
with bright blue feet with three long toes each

he talked a lot of nonsense
but was ever the affectionate one

until one day he met a large chinese family
while out at the movies with me

and left to spend his days
in the company of his new friends

and that, augie, broke my heart.

josh missed ryan

ryan's coworker and office mate, josh, got a little lonely while ryan was away for two weeks...

England Trip

ryan and i just got home from a very relaxing stay in england where our main purpose of going (and main reason for going when we did) was to meet our new niece Leila May...

we spent most of our time in and around Derby with the exception of a day in london town where we went on the Dr Who Experience (thank you Kerry!) and got to see a few seriously awesome TARDIS sets including the entire 9th Doctor's TARDIS

and Ryan got to geek over his first doctor's TARDIS console ^__^

while in london, we met up with our friend Johnny.

in his company, we hit up the Hummingbird Bakery on Portobello Rd and the Laudree store in the Burmingham Arcade.

finally, we found ourselves on baker street (the real one) as well as the filming location from BBC's Sherlock.

the day after our adventure to london, we hiked north to Wilmslow/Manchester to go bowling with Leila (which despite her expression in the picture, she actually loved)

then caught up with Dave at pizza co. and later with matt.  dave, pictured below, appears to have died his hair to match the label of his favorite soda...

other than those two days we spent our time hanging out in Derby.  we did a little shopping and a lot of wondering around and taking pictures of ourselves with kinder surprise...

we did manage to catch up with a few more friends while were in Derby.  ryan caught up with littleover friend Aman and we went out for a very nice indian with Joe and his fiancee Nadia (not a flattering photo, i'll admit)

and rounding off our trip, we spent a day with Lynn on the Cannock Chase on a beautiful 6 ish mile hike filled with all sorts of charming wildlife.

off to england tomorrow

going to meet Leila, our niece (!!!).  going to eat jelly babies.  going to drink tea.  going to walk through christopher eccleston's TARDIS! and going to relax.  a lot.

the first night (a drabble)

m followed c home from the art gallery. they had a private after-party on the couch. the neighbors could hear them, but couldn't make out the words. the neighbors couldn't hear m asking c if he could stay. the neighbors couldn't hear c tell m how she found him handsome. the neighbors could hear them laughing together. the private after-party was going well, and went on until morning. m woke up first. he found the kitchen. he found the kettle and made tea for the pretty girl asleep in the other room. c let him stay for a long time. 

odd confession

i had a little wart on my right pointer finger.  last weekend, it changed color from white to brown.  the skin started to flake around it, and now it's gone.  i didn't put anything on it or treat it with anything.  about six months ago i had a little cluster of warts near this last one that i used wart band-aids to remove, but i somehow doubt that the band-aids have had some sort of residual effects. 

there are a couple of things that may have caused the little wart to go away.  i have started taking my multi vitamin and iron supplements regularly again, though that would have made my warts go away when i took them before, wouldn't it?  i have started drinking green tea instead of black (to avoid caffeine because it makes my eyelid twitch, and to avoid the milk i usually have in my tea because it gives me a stomach ache).  i have also started consuming infinite more amounts of balsamic vinegar and olive oil since i started working at Gustare.  maybe one or a combination of these dietary changes has had an impact?

i have also started running even more.  maybe i sweat my wart off?

strawberries

ryan and i joined the Coonamessett Farm this year, which meant i got to go pick strawberries a few weeks ago (extra good because giovanni, the bunny in our yard, ate my potted strawberry!)...

summer means lobster

it's been a crazy summer so far, what with the selling of olive oils, weight watchers and all the macaron baking i've been doing.  so i've neglected my blog a little.  ryan and i did find time to celebrate my very american holiday this weekend with some delicious lobster on Monday night, followed by even more delicious-er lobster truffle macaroni and cheese tonight. 

strawberry season is upon us

it's a bit deformed, a bit pale looking, but it is a strawberry nonetheless.  more picture updates to follow as we watch this little guy grow.

compare and contrast

they sat. their feet poking out from under the blanket. they both have tanned feet, but his toes are hairy where hers are soft and ticklish. they chose the same favorite superhero as their favorite, but desire different powers were they to be given out. he wants to fly, she wants to breath under water.  breakfast is both their favorite meal of the day, but he takes his toast with coffee, and she with tea.  they both like butter, but one of them prefers it unsalted.  he wants a girl, she wants a boy.  but they both agree to wait.

the little red sofa

a big-eyed calico is curled up on the little red sofa with her head propped up on one of the checkered pillows as if she were a little person.  dreaming sweetly, her black and pink padded toes twitch and flick.  she is dreaming of discovering new planets made entirely of pretty colored ribbons and fluffy mice with ears that are easily torn off in play.  there are no other cats to compete for the ribbons, but there is a dog, barking and thundering towards her.  she runs, ribbons flowing freely behind her and under her paws as she runs away. 

jack and i got some flowers

 

rowdy vs the awesome tomato

day fourteen drabble - "Blank Pages"

i was planning valentine's cards for friends who'd sent Christmas cards when March came creeping up behind me.  these cards for friends who'd sent cards became St. Patrick's day when all of a sudden it is the end of May.  the table is still covered in heart shaped stamps and purple ink pads.  some friends have moved or changed their names, so the addresses are beginning to expire.  i've forgotten who i've written to already and who is still waiting for a holiday reply.  looking back, then, i see that all the pages inside all the cards are still blank.

breakfast over bets

in his vision she wore her hair down
an over sized flannel shirt hid her model form

he awoke to the smell of corn bread and coffee
the sizzle of red vegetables from the stove top

alongside the slow cooked birth of an omelet
at 8am on a Wednesday morning in Pasadena

a beauty manifest in his kitchen unexpectedly
cooking him a desert king's breakfast

her dark skin seemed light by the color of her hair
her eyes fell sweetly on his despite her people's rage

"where'd you find that?" the only question
mustered out of suprise, "and how did you get in?"

he pointed at the french coffee press on the table
steeping full with a heavy, black columbian brew

"it was in the closet. it was in a vase box."
she spoke, carefully folding the omelet over in the pan

"when did you get here, how did you get in,
how did you even find my house and ..."

she raised a hand and a plate to him
"all these questions" she paused, he sat.

"there is something i came here for.
do you have something to tell me?" her neck seemed long

"yes" he avoided her gaze
she poured him a coffee

"are you going to tell me?"
"no" he replied, sure that this was still a dream

and further sure as the coffee he sipped
was the best he'd ever had

and faded up into waking life
alone in his big house

part 2

the real girl, the real affection
told him that she's in love with him

he had another dream.

day thirteen drabble - dirty laundry

lights, darks, heavy or delicate.  it doesn't matter.  he can navigate baskets full of dirty laundry with ease and prowess, down multiple flights of stairs.  carpeted or not, no terrain is off limits and no obstacle too great. he knows the way from memory.  he's taken this route so many times.  from the bedroom to the basement and back again. 

when the alarm sounds, he calls for his crew to reform and make wake for the dryer.  the urgency of his captain call, a manifestation of his concern for tee shirts and towels that wrinkle when left too long unattended.

keeping up with drabbles

hello darlings,

as you may have noticed, i have been trying to write a drabble a day in the month of May. and in case you didn't notice, today is the 23rd day in May, and i've only written some 14 drabbles. it's more like a drabble every other day in the month of may. not quite as catchy.

i am not giving up, but i am also not sure i will catch up. you see, i have been working very hard helping my weight watchers members lose weight, selling olive oil and balsamic vinegar to gustare guests, and baking hundreds (not an exaggeration, note) of tasty macarons in preparation for an Artisans' Fair coming up THIS WEEKEND.

with all that going on, i am pretty darn proud of myself for having written anything this month. my blog has been void of poetry for far too long. maybe i should start reading it again, but i doubt i will just yet. things are still busy. i barely keep up with the day-to-day grind of housekeeping and kitty care (though they are very good at reminding me when the litter needs to be changed or their food bowls need to be filled).

so this little post here is not a bow-out, but a disclaimer (more to myself than anyone else). i may not write a drabble every day, but this little exercise has been rewarding, fun, inventive and laborious all at the same time. i love it.

maybe there isn't poetry on the immediate horizon, but there are certainly more drabbles. i hope you enjoy them.

day twelve drabble - apples

she drove him away from the city. his wife of two years was taking him to see something, but refused to tell him what it was, or where they were going. whatever it was, she was excited about it. very excited.

he'd been away with work for seven weeks. she was surprising when he was home every day, he couldn't begin to imagine what she'd arranged while he was gone.

he expected a picnic, a totem pole, a landlocked boat, or some secret fort in the woods.

“what do you think?”

she bought an apple orchard. he hadn’t expected that.

day eleven drabble - space wrecked

got shot down by a weapons experiment. unlicensed. unclassified. just off orbit of a water planet. unfortunate. mermaids can be hostile. luckily she crashed on a floating island. tough spot though. no chance of rescue. not a chance in the galaxy. so she kept her cool. mirrored sunglasses and elbow batched pilot jacket fashioned perfectly for keeping one's cool demeanor. but it's not easy to keep your cool, alone on a floating island in the middle of a water planet, for forty six long years. getting old. hunting birds with a slingshot. getting sick on strange fruit. collecting other survivors.

day ten drabble - buttercream

first, a specific amount of butter. measured. removed from its plastic paper. mixed thoroughly. by fork or paddle attachment. into a specific amount of very fine sugar. white and easily dispersed. yields a very specific texture. much unlike one ingredient used to make it. much like the other. then, when heavy whipping cream is added. another measured amount. and the slightest amount of vanilla. drops of strong extract. the texture and flavor morphs. still much unlike one ingredient or three. into a white dream. cloudy and sweet. colored to match the occasion. they say, it's the frosting on the cake.

day nine drabble - emperor of soft

when he first came here to live with us, we placed him on our soft bed. he liked that. he liked that the floor was soft too. where he used to live, there was only one soft place (inside an antique baby crib).

since then, more than four years ago now, he still seeks out the softest spots. the sofa. the fuzzy blanket on the sofa. the fluffy sweatshirt on the fuzzy blanket on the sofa. you get the idea.

he loves to sleep on soft things. who doesn't?

but he has yet to find anything as soft as him.

drabble day eight - the fortress

made of scrap metal and drift wood, the fortress is stronger than it looks. it was made with love and wood glue. brown birds protect the nooks and disparate corners. inside there are treasures disguised as toys and trunks of costumes worn by little pirates on rainy thursday evenings. the shoes are too big, of course, but the brown birds don't seem to mind. occasionally, to avoid the rain, the brown birds leave their corners to play dress up with the little pirates and hide away their secret treasures. brown birds must be careful, though, little pirates are easily angered.

day seven drabble - "Thoughts in Black and White"

"do you want room for milk?" asked the barista, regarding the level of water rising around the bag of earl grey.

this, you consider, a trivial attitude towards something of great importance.

"yes, please" you reply with equal nonchalance.

the barista interprets your reply as uncaring. this is someone, after all, whose trade is hot drink, of which milk plays a vital part.

at the milk and sugar kiosk, your thoughts are drawn out by the stream of white milk. then drawn even further by your neighbor's black coffee as it swirls in revolt against the cream being poured unscrupulously.

day six drabble - voice

a deep, dastardly and debonair voice projects its way over the intercom on the dashboard of a 25th century wreck. it comes in sputters. the sound waves blurred by years of unattended atrophy amidst the dark space between planets and asteroids. his message is lost, but important. it repeats on a loop until someone deciphers it. the computer on board the old, abandoned wreck pieces together the sputters and spurts of the message. it may have taken years, and it may be too late, but the message has finally been deciphered.

a lone voice, lost in the depths of space.

day five drabble - floating

a blue house with purple shutters that actually close is floating through space. the shutters are kept open so the cats that live inside the house can see the stars and planets as they drift by one after another after another. they name the planets after long lost friends of theirs and keep records of each one in a diary with dates and drawings that all look exactly the same.

on days when they pass no new planets, they draw imaginary ones in the same diary. reading the diary one would think these cats passed a new planet every day.

day four drabble - the wet planet

there is an undiscovered planet circling a yellow star at the precipice of the milky way galaxy. a planet as green and blue with oceans as our own. dozens of small islands float across the waters, loose and untamed. each island is home to unique creatures and botany.

these islands are few and hard to find, but the life beneath the surface is full and plenty with mermaids and their suitors. whales and dolphins sing shanties to the annoyance of the crabs and other grumpy shellfish. starfish and octopus dance for food. waves tell stories of battles and awesome parties.

day three drabble - multiplex

jack lives on the second floor of a cardboard multiplex. made out of boxes previously occupied by an air conditioner, a kitchenaid standing mixer, and a selection of extreme hot sauces found for sale only online.

the sign on the second floor reads "casa del gatos".

jack sleeps on top of his second floor multiplex apartment, on the roof. it's starting to cave in just so. so jack, be careful rolling around on your multiplex roof.

jack lives in the multiplex. but on cold nights, jack finds it more comfortable to snuggle with the people on the soft green duvet.

day two drabble - let's agree to be perfect

the handsome blond boy behind the counter of the cafe has a perfect smile. the perfect accompaniment to a tea latte. who smiles like that at eight in the morning? other than angels and baristas, that is. and me, right back at the handsome blond boy behind the counter of the cafe.

the pretty freckled girl scanning groceries at the market has a perfect smile. the perfect accompaniment to a stash of mini tangerines. she knows the latin names of all the fruits, herbs and cheeses. why bother remembering latin when no one speaks it anymore? alia angelorum and cashiers.

day one drabble - in from the rain

Devon’s Volvo broke down on Red Clay Road outside an old house. a light shown through the kitchen window. rain soaked through his coat and shoes in the short distance from the car to the house.

a young woman answered his knock and let him in out of the rain.

she dried his clothes, fed him mini tangerines from California, brewed him a pot of loose leaf tea, and let him fall in love with her one awkward smile at a time.

by morning the rain had cleared. the car was towed. and they both knew the words to “Suzanne”.

drabble a day in the month of may

i am going to take up the challenge here of writing a 100-word story (aka "drabble") every day this month.

this is a great way for me to revitalize my somethingkaty.blogspot again, as it has been horribly neglected (my tumblr has been getting all the fuss lately).

today

predicate to the soul
sees through your thin skin
and reflects if back through her eyes

poetry talker

clay as red as blood
trapped beneath my finger nails

hinder our escape
leaving prints on all the buttons

jmmbb:

We were found broken in a ditch
intertwined
and as the jaws of life pried us apart
I awoke to a glint in your eyes
reflecting a smile
off a puddle of muddy water.

poetry

the wings under our nails
come out under water
releasing bubbles of air
that float to the surface

another poem

i waited up all night
for the world you promised
filled with sweet gestures
and passions that move us

a poem

turning the lights on
turns our hearts
into different plays
reveals the colors
of our private selves
with love and punctuated worries.

Darkling, I listen: 3/22 poem

you said
i wouldn’t feel
you leave

but i heard
the door slam
behind you

and i could
still feel
your thumbprint

on my cheek.

jmmbb:

There were lines in your hands
red lines from your fingers to your neck
where you said you could feel still.

If you’d let me rub the line clean
you would wince from pain
but let me

as I run my fingers across your cheek
press my thumb against your cheekbone,
a red thumbprint

in it all

it isn't all
about us
remember

in the shadows
of the late
night rain

a white cyotee
lurks for
his supper.

double cut

the buds on my tongue
are scortched and bleeding
from the sharp words
i threw out at you
as you left without me

JM's Tumblr Poetry Challenge Day 2

jmmbb:

If I could strike down time
I would but to see
the whites of your eyes
as they were a few moments ago.
Your hand cupped around your ear
fingers in your hair.
The colors of your eyes flashing forward
unseen by me
only the white
and the small crack of a smile.



from this distance
all i can see is your arm
waving from the top of the hill

while you wait for me
i struggle, left behind
by a moment in time

JM's Tumblr Poetry Challenge

jmmbb:

To get my creative juices flowing again, I’m going to try to write a poem every day. The ones I like enough I will post here. Here is one such poem.

You awoke beside
the crushed things
their remnants intertwined
with the fibers of your blouse.

And splinters punctured your skin
drawing blood
while you cut
another slice of bread.




every day that JM posts a poem, I will reblog his poem and write one of my own in correspondence with his poem.

while you sleep
the cut thickens

leaving my heart
open and bleeding

until your eyes twitch
and you’re awake again

happy valentine's day

mesdames has a logo!

thank you so much Michell!

simple kind

a smile that couldn't melt butter
but her heart hurts when he frowns

is unsentimental, unthinking tinkerer
toys with loving her behind every cocked grin

as if he might know more than he lets
she pretends he means more by such unattached sentences

that make the world flat and her eyes glitter
or take for granted the severity of the words

love and us

full length

father and daughter share the same name
the same home and the same hair dresser

his wife is not good with shears
and her mother faints around blood

so neither one has ever had a haircut
but wife and mother is great with a comb.

Homemade Marshmallows!

oh yes she did. rose flavored ones too.

i used a farm girl's recipe for homemade marshmallows (replacing the vanilla extract for 1/4 teaspoon of rose water, and added a little pink food coloring). making marshmallows is easier than it reads, actually, and that's coming from someone who is hopeless when it comes to boiling sugar.

how it changes

the scent of olive oil
becomes a familiar tone

reminding you where you are
at home or on a distant continent

with friends and family
and kind strangers

as dinner companions
on thursday nights

the only nights you chose
dark chocolate bark over milk

how it got

we ended embalmed
in the memories of the other

i don't know how
we got so close so fast

my fingers tracing
all the freckles on your neck

your lips mouthing along
to the songs on radio one

we ended up in love
somehow

this is how it went

so he said to her here here

she's a vagabon via small town, america.
a little place, a place he couldn't pin point on a map or a globe.

she wore her clothes loose across her loose stance
in long legs and arms and fingers and curled up toes in long socks.

he fancied her, heard her voice on the radio,
her words penetrating his mood.

licking his lips he learned the words.
singing along poorly in the car on the way to some old friend's house.

and there she was, this singing vagabon.
and so he said here, here, little american girl, here.

danced her to the end of the night and tied her up
in his arms. her hair a beautiful, tangled mess.

gone the next day to a festival up north.
she left him bare among friends and sheets.

and a little love note with her number on it,
written in crayon on the tenner in his wallet.

it took him 6 hours to find it,
but the coffee tasted sweeter after 5 hours of greif and 1 of missery.

here, here, he called her up and made her promise to see him again.
here, here, she said to him, here we go.

unique bonds

although many others
have loved her before
a popular city

you make her yours
take part of her
and make her home

although she has lived
for the sake of so many
other men before you

you love her
and make her yours
like you would a city

take a particular path
that no one else has taken
and make it yours

bond with her in new
interesting patterns
so she will love you

your city, your woman
bond with others
that love her too

make her yours more
than theirs and love
this is a unique affair

although many other unique affairs
have happened here before you
love her and she will love you in return

homemade brandy snaps



Ryan asked for brandy snaps for Christmas, and luckily there was a recipe in my 500 Cookies book!  They came out pretty well I think ^_____^

happy christmas from three unhappy christmas cats!

my dear friend ashraf got alli, rowdy and jack little hats.  they didn't like them very much, but i love them!

ryan's first novel for sale on lulu.com!!!!

review of chalk on dreadcentral.com

the dryer sheet cling

for megan

 the sofa smells like fabric softener
because you washed the cushion covers

after i got mad at you for spilling beer
watching the match with your mates

we cuddled up like children on the sofa
falling asleep watching myth busters on telly

our nostrils flaring to take in the artificial
"rainy day" smell you infused with the laundry

and i think, as we kiss, that maybe
i should forgive you for spilling that beer

this is still a poetry blog

^___^

all out of 1-UPs

a poem for Poptart

jack and i are cuddled up
on the redder of the two red sofas

with pillows and blankets
all piled up around us

he's purring and i'm falling
into the shadows of sleep

but before long ryan wakes us
it's time for bed

he's all out of 1-UPs

tingo neighbors

Tingo (Easter Island): a person who borrows things from a friend’s house one by one until there is nothing left.

he came over the first time
just to introduce himself
as the neighborhood watch dog
and regular gossip hound

we served him some tea
and he took a big piece of cake
wrapped up with some china,
and an over sized silver fork

on his second visit he asked to borrow
a copy of the completed collection
of Sherlock Holmes stories
and a little lamp to read by

over time we lent him a spade
the tall ladder and some gloves
to help clear out his gutters
before the heavy snowfall of winter

we noticed that our old boat
which was left in the yard
was removed from its trailer
and put in the pond across the road

he borrowed dvds and even old vhs
and had to borrow a player and tv
to enjoy the films he borrowed
and while he was at it, the microwave for popcorn

we lent him a set of shelves
to keep his new collection
of our dvds
organized and neat looking

he made us some cake
from our own cake pans
using our spatula and spoon
and all our flour and eggs

such cake was served
on our fine china
with our family's silver cutlery
at our table in  his house

he borrowed everything
including our shed, our cat,
the hose and the fridge
but we had to draw the line

when he asked to borrow mom

translitorate

A Poem for Jenni

last night he tried to slip Rohypnol
in my Baja Hurricane Blast

but the pill didn't dissolve well
in the icy blue beverage

the little white date rape attempt
labored and fizzed and exposed itself

and the man who i'd thought
about giving it up for anyway

was now wearing my clutch's
channel logo on his forehead

Inspired by the words of a digital translator:

"Still sleepy I wondered .. "What makes you tonight ...?" and I have stumbled absurd thoughts in his head. by lobotomy. load? rhythm? wrought? Tonight we will do all."

Leslie's Birthday Cake - Gluten Free Lemon and Jasmine

i just started working at a little Oils and Vinegars shop in Mashpee called Gustare and i already feel like a member of the Gustare family. the women i get to work with--Leslie and Linda so far--are adorable and friendly and, most importantly, foodies. Catherine and Dave, the co-owners of the store, are open minded and open hearted. i am having so much fun there.

one of my favorite aspects of the new job, though, is that i can bring my baking experiments in to work again (i used to bring all sorts of oddities into the WRC to feed those hungry undergrads).

today was Leslie's birthday. so... birthday cake! but Leslie doesn't eat gluten, so i had to do a little searching for a cake recipe that used almond meal (because i have lots of almond meal at my disposal for macarons). i also wanted to find a recipe that used olive oil instead of butter because...ah, i work in an olive oil shop. that's kind of obvious.

right so, almond meal and olive oil... not a particularly common combination it was seem, but i honestly have no idea why not. this little cake i adapted from a french recipe i found on foodgawker.com, turned out great!

the original recipe (which you should put through the google translator for a laugh) called for lemon verbena leaves and grapefruit pulp. you'll see i've made a few significant alterations to my recipe.

note, you will need food scales for this recipe, and i recommend using a 6" round cake pan with a non-stick liner.

ingredients

• the zest of two large lemons
• 150g of course sugar
• 2 teaspoons of loose leaf tea -- i used Chinese Jasmine tea in Leslie's cake
• 200g of almond flour
• 2 large eggs
• 25g of Whole Fruit Lemon Extra Virgin Olive Oil from Gustare Oils and Vinegars.

method

using a food processor, mix the sugar and tea leaves. add both eggs and mix until well blended. add lemon zest and mix until blended again.

move egg and sugar mixture to a large bowl. add almond flour and stir with a spoon or spatula until completely incorporated.

slowly add olive oil while stirring.

the final mixture will be very wet.

pour into 6" round pan -- i didn't need to butter and sugar the pan, though if you don't have a non-stick liner, you may want to take this precaution.

bake at 325 degrees F for 35 to 45 minutes, until cake is a light brown on top. i baked the cake at 300 degrees F for 30 minutes in my super duper convection oven.

let cool, then top with a lemon glaze and sprinkles! (but be careful, not all sprinkles are gluten free!)

this comes easy

color recognition reduction
to selective shades of light

and sound motivation
by your favorite artificial sweetener

seperated from the milkly
immersion of antioxidant ruffles

under the spoon and kettle
brushed with air from a friend

her breath reminds us of winter
warm days gessoed and framed.

the sneeze that changed the world

a poem for Mathilda

they say the world is getting smaller.
are people getting bigger?

someday we will be so big
that a sneeze could change the world.

if you can't run fast enough, they'll eat you

a poem for ling

we train for two hours every day
the art of straight-back-running

because if you can't run fast enough
they will eat you.

moments

we all have moments of weakness.  i do my best not to share them all with the world on facebook, and my blog.  sometimes, though, i get caught up.  the constant updating of status updates and tweets compounded by a desire to reach out to others for comfort makes it so hard to resist pouring our hearts out onto the computer screen for everyone to see.  in another time, we would have reached out to the people around us, or called someone for confidential guidence.  the ease of use and available audience of hundreds draws us out though, doesn't it? 

i'd prefer a real cup of tea with a loved one, a good old fashion cry.  instead, i get dinasour jokes.  and though the joke is witty and cute, and still makes me crack a smile through a cloud of self-doubt, a depressed state, its delight is fleeting.

there. will. be. tacos.

a poem for beth

you said there would be tacos
and i believed you, but you're a liar.

a big, fat liar!

i thought we'd indulge
in the crunching of shells,

oh, but no! 

and what do i come to find
in the place where my tacos should be?

go on, have a guess...

not tacos, no, but a big greasy burger
and a plate full of sweet potato fries!?

aghast, am i!

you didn't even have the decency
to dress up your cat, in a taco suit.

disgraceful, indeed!

prompt, this

a poem for drook

i would send you roses
if i knew your address

twice more I wept

for Joshua

i cried for you
your shipwrecked fleet
and the sand
that burns the bottoms
of your naked feet

and again for you
your torn main mast
the beating heart
of a glory gone
and past

the keys fell out on a monday afternoon

for tortilla

the keys fell out
on a monday afternoon

from a pocket of a small
japanese girl's skirt pocket.

now i know what you're thinking,
first of all, a skirt with pockets?

they do make those, i wouldn't lie
about something so practical.

and second of all, isn't
"small japanese" a little redundant?

well, yes, it is slightly,
but these are just details.

you need to start paying attention
to the real meat of the story: these keys.

they keys fell out of her pocket
on a clear-skied monday afternoon

and were later seen on tuesday
by a huddled over old man

the old man could have picked them up
or reported the sighting to the police

but he just stared at them
as he hobbled by with his cane.

what became of the keys after that
we haven't got the foggiest idea.

our princess is in another castle

for matt

the princess you are looking for
is in another castle, sir.

oh, don't believe me do you?
just think about it for a minute...

would we keep a princess
in a big dump like this?

the walls are crawling
with owl-faced limpets

and the rooms are as cold
and smelly as a yeit's armpit.

do you really think a princess
would live in a place like this?

chocolate chocolate macarons

rowdy

seashells on a mountain

a poem for adelaide

we were bigger then
staring down at the world

served millionairs' bars
and hot milky tea for breakfast

by long legged brunets
in ruffled uniforms and heels

speculating the odds
of one terrorist related to another

holding back laughter
at unhappy weddings

and spitting out seeds
at the local merchants' stands

all the while taking for granted
our uniquely granted positions

angels abreast mountain tops
turned to rocks and dust and coral

the ending of the page

a poem for brian

everyone knows that the page is flat
and if you go too far, you'll fall right off

but they've invented endless scrolling now
so photo bloggers can let go and go and go

those reckless bitches

i did steal this line from a book so

for michelle

Part 1: Corpse Lasagna

the recipe calls
for unicorn hooves

and octopus suckers
baked at 350 for half an hour

Part 2: Miraculous Infinite Accidents

i burned my wrists
on the oven door

which is why i dropped the whole tray
of mythical creature corpse lasagna

so we're having bread
and salad for dinner

Part 3: How Do You Explain the Dead Unicorns

i didn't know what else
to do with the bodies

the recipe only called
for the hooves

Runner Up: No One Ever Explained the Octopuses
 
you act as though
you've never seen one before

i like cheese

for johnny

Barry the beast of Brighton beach
met a sweet babe named Cheeky Cheddar

and they started dating and making plans
but it all went sour when Cheddar discovered

that Barry the beast of Brighton beach
was wanton with a Wenslydale behind her wedge

then things got much worse when she then found out
that Barry was going steady with a Stilton every Sunday

and for an excuse all Barry could say
to his extra sharp lover

when she called him out
on all his whey-ward love affairs

was "i can't help it honey,
i like cheese"

aardvark sleeves and the virulent bees

for scott

in the land of tragic coagulations
where reboots pumble the innocent

there lived a wise old sleeve
wide at the wrist and elegant

it was carved out of the finest hairs
off of an aardvark's soft underbelly

and gently it spoke of horrible futures
for the flying ants of casablanca minor

but another prophecy worries us today
that of the mystical bees of yore

the legendary sleeve once waved it so
that all bees might one day unite

to form a giant mechanical beast
and ravage the native lands of the east

we have heard from the news bots
that this proof has come to pass

but no harm will come to the owls
or the turtles of beagle island

because our top scientists
wear sweet designer lab coats

and solved the puzzle of wading in the ocean
without getting wet up to the knees

desire for change

a poem for angela

the alarm sounds at 5:45am
she needs to leave the house by 6:45
to beat the heavy morning traffic

it takes 23 seconds to pull a sweater
over her head and push her arms through
and 16 seconds to take it off

there are not enough sweaters
in her walk in closet
to make her late for work

but once she finds the right sweater
she has to match the rest of the outfit
and that could take all morning

beguiling sea beast with spoon of lipids lost in tanzania

a poem for Dan

they're called beguiling sea beasts
because there are no seas in tanzania

but we have no idea where they got the spoons
or what poor animal the spoonfuls of fat are from

lenses without caps

a poem for jason

so what you're saying, said the man in the overalls,
is that no matter what size cap i buy, it can be fitted to my dome?

the man behind the counter concurred
that every hat could be adjusted to fit perfectly on any person's head.

so what you mean is that if i wanted to buy, he said, say
this cowboy hat with the blue stitches that you could fit it to my head?

the man behind the counter concurred
that every hat could be adjusted to fit perfectly on the man's head.

the man in overalls told the man behind the counter
that he would like to purchase a hat, if it could in fact be fitted to his head.

the man behind the counter concurred
that any hat could be fitted. 

it would take two business days.

cheers to 6 great years

Snoqualmie Falls, WA

where Ryan and I went on our honeymoon in 2004

♥

melody over madness

a poem for tara

we're a new breed of weed croppers
cutting our edges on dull days

and filing away cherry pits
by weight rather than color

drooling in our sleep
we're like cats with bad teeth

and miracle grow only seeds
our ambition to dance

singing melodies of chaos
over the fire in our lungs

a field filled with wonder
or the madness of summer

here thar be splinters

a poem for JM

under the deck,
thar be splinters there.

inside an old boat,
thar be splinters there.

on an old picnic table,
thar be splinters there.

on the floor of a factory,
thar be splinters there.

inside flower boxes and window ledges,
thar be splinters there.

between book shelves painted or not,
thar be splinters there.

in a carpenter's shop,
thar be splinters there for sure.

and in my poor heart,
here thar be splinters too.

40 sheets, if you please

for liz

at the port of pirates
big and burly

sailors come and go
with the tide

dropping booty on booze
and burgers and babes

but not all are out
for a quick romp, you see

and not all are
so brutal, so manly or unshaven

some pirates are nice,
polite little men

who say please
and thank you

when picking up
their dry cleaning

but alas, those are rare,
the pirates who care

about fresh linens
and clean shower curtains

so keep your ears open
the next time you're there

for a little pirate fella
asking, "40 sheets, if you please"

and buy him a pint
of a low calorie beer

chafing on a sunday

for ryan

saturday nights are sexy,
but sunday morningss can be rough.

i forgot my umbrella

for jenni

ellie the elephant left for work
at seven am on wednesday morning

waterproof wellies covered each toe
and a pretty hat reached over each ear

she was protected from the rain
from top to bottom in fashionable wares

but unlike the saying, elephants can forget
even the most essential rainy day accessories

zombie dinner party

a poem for maggie

the chef waded in to the dining room
and the smell of garlic suffocated the guests

he came out of the kitchen to address a complaint
from the swarm of guests awaiting their meals

black ties, pumps and stunning gems, unimpressed
by the perfumes disguising the scent of the meat.

they all wanted their meat raw and undressed
but the chef insisted in his gourmet standards

so the guests all agreed, right then and there,
that the main course should change

from made by the chef, to made of the chef.

without

i have been completely without poetic ponderings for a few weeks now.  but i still try.

Ryan's book is complete and FOR SALE!

my husband, Ryan, has been working hard and pouring his heart into his first big writing project since 2005.  his collection of short stories, named Tropes, is available for sale on Lulu.com.  pick up a copy today for less than $20 (i'm including the shipping here), and let us know what you think of it!

ryan is really interested in knowing which stories people like, and which ones they don't.  there's an email address in the book.  please, we encourage you to buy, read, and respond.  i mean, how many times do we get the chance (outside of blogs) to give significant feedback to an author or artists and know that he or she will actually read our replies and take them into consideration while working on his or her next project?  especially someone we don't now personally.  Tropes is a dialogue between writer and reader as much as any blog space we can provide.

Tropes by Ryan Acheson for sale at Lulu.com

looks at perfect

our lives are perfect, you say.
then why do we cry at night?

the girl that will become

i am straining my voice
to be heard

i am the voice of my generation

i am going to be famous
i just haven't chosen my medium yet