Poetry

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String Theory Pie

Cooler weather, so pie shop thoughts turn to squash and spices from all eleven dimensions coexisting on the same plane of faceted pyrex. Will one fork ever be enough? Will a fork be needed at all? Spaghetti squash seems the…

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It Takes a Train to Cry

My birthday is about to roll around again, and that means it’s been a full year since Little Peach and I made our memorable trip to the island south of Key West. This year, she will be my birthday chaperone…

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Lemon Mirage Pie

I’ve been doing a little time traveling lately, and I am reporting back to say the trip was highly successful. I visited the Southwestern part of the great U.S. of A., circa 1976, and was surprised to discover that my…

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Why I Live at the Sand Trap

With apologies to Eudora Welty You may call it a bunker. I call it a beach. An ironic oasis in a desert of green, Its mission is clear, its intent gives me pause: a time for reflection, a change of…

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Ethan Coen’s Poem

The other night, driving home from The Village and listening to NPR, I heard a wonderful interview with Ethan Coen, closed out by William Macy reading one of the poems. You can read it, too, by clicking here. “The drunken…

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Swing Thoughts Poem

I’ve been reading a lot lately about “swing thoughts” and how to get your mind right each time you lift a club to send a ball to a predetermined target. Usually I just think about you. Swing No Thought So…

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A Sundial for Little Peach

A Sundial for Little Peach In a house full of clocks she lives on sundial time. I know that well, and so, alone on a beach with sunlight to spare, I gather shells and make for Peach a sundial clock…

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Cinderella’s Pumpkin Pie

Consistently friendly and untempermental, Cinderella never asked for much. She told me her life too often was filled with flavorless spice and not that honest pumpkin flavor that only princes recognize. So, she learned how to sweeten the pie without…

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Yoga Retreat Golf Meditation

“Focus,” he says, “on a faraway sound.” Instructed well, I still listen instead for the silence just beyond the sounds of the Costa Rican rain forest: the stream, the wind, the birds, the dogs. I listen as always for the…

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My Map of Havana

Not easily read the compass rose pointing to directions unknown where I want to travel with or without caffeine and chocolate with or without your side-snaking dance steps with or without your purple sedan I already know the taste of…

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Peeled Onion Dream Pie

“Just peel the onion,” they say. “Peel back the layers and see what you find.” I say “Nothing,” but I am wrong. Nothing is just what I found at the time, but now I know it’s full of space, and…

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Lemonade Pie

Didn’t get what I wanted, and you know what they said? Honey, when life hands you a lemon, make lemonade. I always said, when life hands you a lemon, look for tequila and salt. How to make Lemonade Pie: Take…

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Poetry and Coffee (sorry, no pie)

The Morning Guy claims not to listen to NPR, but he does seem to read Garrison Keillor’s website “The Writer’s Almanac” which astounds and confuses me. I do listen to NPR, but built up a sensitivity to Keillor’s voice over…

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Making Pie Crust

You must not work the dough too much. Fine flaky crust requires a light touch. I cut the shortening into the flour, rocking the cutter as I go. There was a time, though, when I would grasp two knives and…

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