Hard to believe this isn’t a black and white picture. The ocean at its most powerful turns white against the black rocks below Wilder Ranch north of Santa Cruz, CA
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/forces-of-nature/
This is the door to the restaurant on the end of the Ajijic Pier. Sadly, it is now closed–both door and restaurant.
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This is the door to my house. Wall art by Jesus Lopez Vega.
Big rains in La Manzanilla, Jalisco, Mexico transformed former streets into waterless riverbeds. The practice of making streets over arroyos makes this a yearly problem.
When I arrived mid-November, big storms had brought tons of stones to cover the beach in La Manzanilla. Bulldozers worked for days to clear the stones and move them back into the ocean, which made for tricky stepping for swimmers trying to get beyond the surf line.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_photo_challenge/forces-of-nature/
The Dance
Cheek to cheek and toe to toe,
whenever graceful dancers go
smoothly passing while I stand by
feet motionless, with dancing eye,
jealousy may rear her head
as I wish that it were me, instead–
held securely in my partner’s arms,
guided surely away from harms
of other dancers’ straying feet
or jutting elbows I might meet.
Steered through dangers into bliss
barely meeting the floor’s long kiss
as I soar and bend and sway and glide,
giving way to what’s inside
the music coming to live in me
setting all that’s in me free
stirring sadness at my core
and leaving it upon the floor
for other dancers to kick away
while only light parts choose to stay
within my heart as I dance on
from dark of night into the dawn.
I might feel sorry, sitting there,
no arms around me–only air.
Then I remember in the past
dancing nights I thought would last–
how all those partners have stepped away–
even the ones I hoped would stay.
Life has a way of leaving us
like hopeful riders passed by the bus
as it soars away with no seat left
those left behind feeling bereft.
Then I look deeper and clearly see
one day that bus will stop for me.
Something heavy grows inside
where it’s not good for it to bide.
I scoot back my chair to shift that stone
as I get up and dance alone.
The Prompt: The Green-Eyed Lady–We all get jealous now and then. What awakens the green-eyed lady in you?
Three hours at the eye doctor’s and $900 later, I have a new pair of progressive lens eyeglasses ordered so no more jiggling two pairs of glasses not to mention having to locate them twenty times a day. This was the cute lady in the frame fitting room modeling a pair of glasses ordered by a man who insisted he wanted rose colored lenses. It was special order requiring much work on their part and of course when they arrived he took one look and said, “They’re pink!” The ladies said yes, that is what rose was and that was why they’d tried so hard to dissuade him from them. Yes. They’re going back to be redyed. And yes, they forgave him. They looked great on her so I made her try them on. Actually, I really liked them on me, too, but my budget is shot for the time being. My next glasses will come from China, but progressives call out for the human touch. Two more days to go before heading northwards.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/forgive-and-forget/
Baker’s Dozen
(Only So Much Forgiveness to Go Around)
I forgive you for hogging the covers
and eating the last cookie, too.
I forgive you for doing the crossword
that I was intending to do.
I forgive you for bringing the dog home
that you never have walked even once
and for donating genes to our children
that turned them each into a dunce.
I don’t mind your poker night forays
or the damage you do to my car,
or the fact that your minimal salary
really can’t stretch very far.
Your spare tires and the fact that you’re balding
really don’t bother me much.
I’ve grown used to your slobbery kisses,
and the foreplay no more than a clutch.
But there’s one thing that you always do, dear,
that rouses my most primal scream,
for I had made plans for a tryst with
that last pint of chocolate ice cream!
The Prompt: Forgive and forget
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/forgive-and-forget/
Sometimes the way ahead is perfectly obvious, sometimes it is nonexistent.
http://ceenphotography.com/2015/05/06/cees-which-way-challenge-2015-week-18/
Recipe
Pick an armful of fresh words from the poet tree.
Trim off dry leaves. Dispose of the ordinary or over-ripe.
Choose words that flower when juxtaposed.
Choose tiny clinging bees that sting.
Choose pollen dusted blossoms that make you sneeze.
Choose fragile leaves that swing when you breathe on them.
Staunch stalks that do not budge.
Throw them in a vase so that they go where they want to go,
then rearrange to suit your fancy.
Admire your arrangement
as you bring a stock to boil.
This stock consists of honey and vinegar,
water to float the theme,
lightly peppered with adjectives
and salted with strong verbs.
When the water boils, break nouns from your bouquet.
Tender stalks may be sliced to syllables, but leave the flowers whole.
Do not cook too long lest they be too weak to chew upon.
Scoop with a wire ladle and lay on parchment to drain.
Arrange on a bed of crushed hopes pre-baked with future expectations.
Pile to the plate rim, then sift through and remove most of what you’ve put there.
Fill up to the top and beyond with whipped dreams. Careful, not too sweet.
Put on the shelf to gel.
The crust will grow crustier.
The whipped cream will not fall,
but some of the words will rise to the top and blow away.
Others will sink to the bottom and become so mired in crust
that they will stick to the cheeks and teeth of all who sample your pie,
and this is what you want.
This pie will not be to the taste of all
and there may not be enough of it to satisfy the taste of others,
but it will be a pie that satisfies you,
and others may become addicted enough
to order it now and then
in spite of that shelf
of so many delectable pies.
Perhaps because it is tenacious.
Perhaps because it suits their idiosyncratic taste.
Perhaps because of its placement, front and center,
so it meets the eye.
Whatever the reason, whether to the taste of many or few,
it will be there for so long as the cook holds out
and the poet tree stands and keeps blooming.
Poet Pie. Special this week.
Comes with a big napkin and no fork
so you’ll need to eat it with you hands
and suck it from your fingers.
It will run down your arms
and cause your elbows to stick to the table,
drip from your chin onto your shirtfront,
adorning you like splatters down the fronts
of old ladies in voile dresses.
It will adorn the beards of the hirsute,
hide the pimples of preteens,
make ruby red the lips
of little girls too young for lipstick,
cause the drying lips of old women
to swell as though Botoxed.
It will cause tongues to wag
and fingers to write poetry of their own
in the air or on paper or perhaps
merely in minds
infected by the addictive
nature of poet pie.
You can both smell and taste it.
Feel on your fingers. Hear its
tender branches crunch between
your teeth–those parts of the poem
that hold the whole together.
That poem that perhaps holds your life together
for the minutes you consume it
and further moments when you try to wash it from your beard
or fingers or chin or shirtfront,
and fail. So a part of the poem goes with you.
Some may notice it and try to scrub it from your chin.
Others may not be able to resist,
and in wiping off its sweetness from where it has streaked your arm,
may put their fingers to their mouths to taste it themselves
and may be suffused with a yearning for a piece of their own.
Or, say, perhaps, “Not to my taste,”
which leaves more poetry pie for you.
The Prompt: If a restaurant were to name a dish after you, what would it be? For extra points, give the recipe.
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/you-the-sandwich/
Afterwards, still clouds, but sunny skies.
First Drops
Cold weather and overcast skies seem to be chasing us northwards..This was the sum total of the drops that showered our windshield this morning. Unfortunately, although I have some great storm shots, I’ve already posted them, so this will have to do for now.
http://jennifernicholewells.com/2015/05/05/one-word-photo-challenge-storm/
Two Poetry readings at La Rueda Coffee House in San juan Cosala and of the “Not Yet Dead Poets” at the Old Posada.
Shots from the Raquet Club in San Juan Cosala, where I live.
A small town on a large lake about an hour from a large city. A few hours from the ocean. Lots of flowering trees. Horses grazing. Mountains in the background. Birds overhead. Dogs underfoot. People who care planning and maintaining reasonable rules so I don’t have to. A community swimming pool heated by natural hot springs two blocks away. Lots of music, poetry, art, theater. Friendly people open to invitation. Nearby geological and archeological features ready to explore. Lots of secondhand stores. Open plazas with restaurants to sit in and watch others walk by. Outdoor markets. Organic markets. Weekly street markets.
A place where people sit on chairs in front of their houses at night to watch their neighbors walk by. An affordable place to live where someone else happy for the job mows my yard and trims my vines and waters my plants. A place where I can afford to hire someone else to clean my house for me while I do art and write. A community where people are invested in helping others and both give their money and time to support orphanages, schools for kids, old folks homes and to give medical help for those in need.
A place with temperate weather where people smile and say “hola” or “adios” as you pass them on the street. A place 45 minutes from a major airport where airplanes hardly ever fly over. Cattle. Raspberry fields. Corn fields. Pelicans. Fiestas. Saints Day processions. Dia de los Muertos. Fish restaurants. Taco stands. The best ice cream in the world. Arrechera. Chicken mocojetes verde. Burritos. Flautas. Chiles en Nogada. Rainy season. Virgin of Guadalupe celebrations.
I’ve found my almost perfect society. So why am I traveling elsewhere? Because there were other idyllic places in my past that are a pleasure to revisit. Because one of the less than idyllic things about the town I’ve lived in for the past 14 years is that so many of my favorite people and relatives do not live there. So I travel to California and Wyoming and Minnesota and Alabama and Maryland and Missouri and other parts of Mexico, but so far I have always returned home.
for videos go HERE or HERE or HERE
The Prompt: Describe what you consider to be an idyllic community.
