The Sea-Jester in Autumn

Old clay.

Bookish

Editorial

Two spaces after a period:
Two steps to let that first thought settle before we move to a new one.

Comfort for a Sore Throat

A hot toddy and a good book:
The Fall of the Kings
by Ellen Kushner and Delia Sherman.

I think this is my third reading.

Introduction to Poetry

Here are the books:
English 43: Introduction to Poetry
CCSF
Spring 2019

Let's Head for the Land of Poetry . . . .

Surge

Triton: sculpture mix; nutmeg/brown and blue glazing.

Photos: 2012; Pacific Grove.

Leaf Season

Comfort Before Revising

Jack-Time

What Coyote Wanted

Loki, Coyote:
Those tricksters
Pull me in
They make so much
Sense -- yet a second glance
Guides me, mocks me.
Tricksters make only nonsense
And I am a ranger
Law and order
The lessons of my father
The lessons of my mother
Taught me to follow my conscience
Follow my better self
For the betterment of us all
For the best, for the rest of us.
Follow Intuition
Follow the order
Within that intuition.
Maybe that’s what
Coyote wanted,
What Loki—deep
In his Utgard/Asgard heart—
Wanted.
You know,
The right thing.

Yearning

2013 birthday shot:
a good memory.

I wish I were paddling.

Rough Draft

“People just have to throw their trash in the water, don’t they?”  Tom spoke the words aloud, though he was paddling solo out from his favorite Mendocino beach.  He used a paddle-blade to flick a paper cup half-floating atop a tangle of kelp up and into his kayak.  Tom was suited up in neoprene, geared up with mask and fins and other free diving gear, but not psyched up for the planned photographic hunt for trophy abalone that he had planned.  His mood was just off a bit, and he wasn’t sure if sharky vibes or making-the-monthly-nut worries were to blame.  Being out on the water helped, though the lack of absolute grace kept him tethered in ways he hated.

Rereading Holdstock's "Mythago Wood"

Rereading Holdstock’s Mythago Wood.
A game-changer of a novel —
1984: a very fertile time.
Archetypal and vital:
a real novel in genre form,
as my professors at Berkeley
used to say, grudgingly,
and that’s true:
a real novel.
In my personal Top 30.

Vigilance

A clay chess piece: hardly a bishop

Five examples: froggy-diver; clay visor; literary cat; clay guardian, and tartan ham.

Scenes

Somewhere in the Highlands: 2016

On the road back from the Holy Isle, Northern England: 2016.

Trying to beat the incoming tide.

New Books, Old Books

Reading Around

Captain, Chaucer

Farallones: Out and About

Whisky Friday II

Rereading, Again:

Jan Siegel's Prospero's Children is always a lively treat.

Reflecting on Self (and Selfies)

This wasn't a selfie, but a driver's license.  A current conversation with a friend:

One old driver's license, I showed it to a very good friend and said, "Look at this. I look dead in the photo."

Old Friend said, "It takes ten years off you."

I said, "Ten years off dead--what's that?"

OF smiled, wryly.


(OF always keeps me down to earth.)

Moya Cannon's Sheep: Trust and Manipulation

Here are two poems by Moya Cannon that I just found and do admire:


SHEEP AT NIGHT IN THE INAGH VALLEY

For Leo and Clare

Maybe the dry margins draw them,
or grass, sprouting among limestone chippings --
they are here, as always,
on the edge of the tarmac
on a bend.

They shelter under the clumped rushes --
white bundles in the night --
their eyes are low green stars,
caught in the trawl of my car's headlights.

Occasionally one hirples across the road
but, usually, they stay put
and gaze at the slowed-down car.

I envy them their crazy trust.


WEANING

He carried a lamb
up over the bog to the hill,
took sugar from his pocket and let it lick.

The clean tongue searched the crevices of his hand,
then he set it down to graze.

It would never stray from that hill,
tethered by a dream of sweet grass.

--by MOYA CANNON


Respectfully borrowed from
Carrying the Songs
Carcanet Press Ltd
Manchester, UK
2007

Salt Glance

Silverstone clay;
Reitz's Green glazing.

Fresh From the Kiln: Mermaid and Wave

Mermaid, Swimming and Wave:
silverstone clay; cobalt carbonate oxide.

Low Low Low

Low-tide Van Damme State Beach:

I found a car key in that sand while walking, and then the owner found me while I was trying to figure out where to leave the key . . . .
I've never seen the water so low.