“How happy the day” (poem) (mine).

How happy the day:

 

the woodstove creaking with heat,

a mix of beans bubbling on the stove,

the new-again president taking one last look at the crowd,

the single chickadee landing on a grapevine,

new paperwhites greening upward,

a pile of sage drying on a tray,

a beeswax candle burning slow,

and my two friends engaged to be married.

 

Broadsides are important; poems are important (broadside; poem).

I believe that literature is important, and I believe that beauty is important, too. I believe in aesthetics, not for the sake of aesthetics, but for the sake of adding curation to the world. I believe in beautiful books of poems and I believe in broadsides, poems letter-pressed (letter-punched) into thick paper. One day, I will own a small letterpress, and I will make small books, beautiful books, books that have forests in their peripheral vision. They will be for sale, and they will be available for barter, too, because I believe less in money than I believe in beautiful items, a jar of brightpurple kimchi, a set of photographs with thick white borders, a hand-sanded cutting board. I believe in love and I believe in matrimony if you want it and I believe in admitting fault and in feeding oneself and one’s loved ones. In essence, I believe. As a result, I share this stanza that I love (by someone I know), and this whole poem, which I understand completely (by someone I do not know).

 

In a movie we see a young family live through
a tsunami. Sheltering in trees. I think of the man I might expect
to find unhurt in a tree above any awful thing. This man who
on Christmas I said I would marry. When I met him I dreamt
we went cheek-to-cheek to the peak of the dome of my room to speak
privately. When something comes true it is like a wreath in your body.

and

 

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(via BLACK LEMON)

Best Hannukah present ever (poemthing; photos)!

 

OUR CHICKENS LAID THEIR FIRST EGGS

 

There needs to be something MORE

than capital letters to convey my joy. I swear

I feel like my best friend just had a child.

I feel like I just won golden admittance

to Charlie’s Chocolate Factory. Our little

chickies, getting sexy, making chickies!

For breakfast tomorrow: eggs on toast

and sauteed shiitakes, all of which

we’ve grown ourselves, oh heavens.

 

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(that’s a Brazilian bean soup in the process on the stove)

 

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Things that are small & purple in Vermont (photos).

 

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Can you tell what that is? It’s a teensy tiny PURPLE cauliflower! Leaves and all! Like, OHMYGOSH!

 

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This tiny cauliflower (the variety is called “purple graffiti”) is currently on display with some other small things, in front of the microwave, which we do not use. Oh, and Heather made me that oven mitt! Don’t you want to buy one for your best friend for Hannukah?!?

 

 

Thankful for bacon pancakes & so much more (poemthing) (mine).

On the night before Thanksgiving, I am thankful for friends. Thankful for the emails I get from friends like Chase, with this enclosed:

because I’M LAUGHING and because that video is so much like my life, my life is so much of making up songs about loving the things I’m cooking, picking, making, seeing. Thankful for friends who have and will come visit, and thankful for new friends in the making, thankful to be back east nearby closefriends I felt so far away from and thankful for the busestrainsandautomobiles which transport me and them to and from the country where I live. I’m thankful for my family members who are my friends in the deepest sense, the friends I haven’t picked but who have made me and it continues:

Thankful for

winter sun and

a grownup rooster fluffed with feathers (his name is Claude!) and

the shoes on my feet and

good soup and a fire and

the ever-discovery of poems and

the way lighting a candle makes me feel sacred no matter the time of day I do it and thankful

and apologetic to the mice we’ve killed in the basement who did not deserve to die and

thankful for free health insurance from the state of Vermont!

and emoticons and

thankful for sage and sweetgrass and cedar incense and

for the pond that I hopehopehope will turn to ice and hopeful

for finding ice skates at the thrift store for our pond and

thankful for nice thick socks

thankful for nice coworkers and kind customers and a wall of windows

thankful for how cheap a stamp remains and

for letters and packages and our big box from “fungi perfecti”

which means we’ll grow mushrooms underneath the sink throughout the winter and

thankful for the boldness of 2012 and all the good change it’s wrought and brought and

thankful for mittens

and a yellow hat from my sister

and a red hat from the country store which makes me look like a hipster which I am a little bit I guess but mostly I’m just a farmer who likes clothes and colors and thankful for

a grey hat from amsterdam

and thankful for all the things that weren’t stolen from our truck

like eachother and my gorgeous blue rounded piece of sodalite

which a woman at the stone store told me to select

because she said the purple of my aura was sagging that day

and it was

I was sagging that day

I’m thankful for people who help me unsag

like that cosmic lady who made me buy a very dark sodalite and also for my family and friends and

now I’m back to where I began which is thankfulness and

yayness and love and thankful and giving

this tinysmall poemthing in thanks and

in preparation for a bigmeal tomorrow, amen.

Joyful poem of New York City (mine).

 

Scott in the Guggenheim’s whorl

stared at a Picasso with both eyes

forward, said to me “I see the Eiffel

tower, a saxophone and some boobs

on a plate.” We laughed in the museum

and got in trouble for photographs

and got kicked out a closing time

and talked right up to the stop

where we split off from each other

in the underground undergrime

of the subway. I zoomed to Kathryn

with her foster dog who did not

love me but he loved my thigh

and dinner at a tiny restaurant

where we cried in the moment

in between dinner and dessert

when the cook in the kitchen

right behind us began slicing

tomorrow’s onions. Eyedrops

and overdue birthday presents,

hummus scooped around, wine

and wine and a whiskey, a bouquet

and a beer and asleep in Sam’s

bed with the lock fully bolted.

And so much to eat every day,

scalloped potatoes by Kath

in the sweet lowdown space

where she’s made her small home.

And Andy so tall that we hug

like a tree and a sapling. And Max

even taller, so full of face that I’ve missed

since last winter in Bushwick when

the cabs were all taken. Awe of piled

trash on every street, awe of the ease

of jokes and jingles made around a small

wooden table. Only three tiny pills

twice a day for Sam. Schiele for free

in a gallery uptown. The subway running

as if the storm never blew. Sean lives

with Scott and they’re both my true

friends. Poems and lentils and The Strand

and more whiskey. Running down 12th

like a bat outta barn. Coffee in mugs

and coffee to go. Dancing in honor

of a liver restored. And back on the bus

to my home in the country, fat to the gills

on signage, on sweetness.

 

 

Things that are small in Vermont (piglets! piglets are small!).

We arrived in Vermont on Friday evening. Yesterday, Saturday, we visited the farmers’ market, unpacked our trusty truck, Egret the Egret, visited piglets down the road, sampled raspberries and blackberries, went for a dip in the pond and ate delicous foods we did not cook ourselves, amen. Here’s Misha, in the sun. Here are the piglets.

Joy in Mendocino (photos).

Here are my Mendo-feetsoes

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And here’s my Mendo-face-o

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I look so glad ’cause I’m with Misha and the sea is silver dramatics and we’re headed to dinner.

Also: I wanna drink a cappuccino in Mendocino. ‘Cause that’s too good of an off rhyme to miss.

So many wonderful smalls (photographs)!

 

Well, first this tiny pitcher was found at the yard sale that happens outside of Ellie’s house every Thursday. It’s ceramic and according to the guy who gave to to me (for free! thank you!), “very old.” After bringing it home I filled it with one sip of lemonade, made from 1/16 of a lemon plus some sugar. I’m kidding!

 

 

Ellie made me the ultimate tiny thing: she filled a tiny gold book box she found with the tiniest ojo de dios (god’s eye) known to man or god, and affixed a hummingbird feather on the other side. Are you dying right now? SHE MADE IT WITH HER HANDS! I open it to look at it at least twice a day. It is the best thing.

 

 

On Saturday I received a package from my dad, also known as Jonathan F. Katz, aka Poppa Dids, aka P.Diddy Poppa. In it were three small things: a tiny mug with my name on it that I bought during one summer at camp, a small silver spoon from my great grandmother’s collection of silver spoons (COOL), and a photo of me, aged three, with a big belly. Here’s me:

 

 

And here’s the spoon and the mug. Tiny mug! With a font that I associate with 90s computers.

 

 

My thumb is so stubby.

 

 

And here you can see the mug in the Cuteness Lineup I set up on Saturday morning:

 

 

I present to you the full lineup:

 

 

The Hershey’s kiss is from Marilyn’s birthday party on Friday night, where she slaughtered a pinata! And I found the little terra cotta pot at the thrift store. And inside that little bowl are seed packets the size of my pinky finger. They’re so small my human eyes can barely see them! They’re from a vintage dollhouse set! Maybe you can kind of see the tiny seed packets in the bowl in this photo below?

 

 

Let me tell you, ever since I’ve started blogging my small things, I’ve been receiving them left and right. It’s been a most thrilling time of life! Stay tuned for one tiny living creature and a present that was dropped from the sky for me at the farmers’ market on Sunday.