C.J. Williams's Blog, page 28

Gleaning Italia

Piccola, piccola,

la vocina spigola—

questo o quella

qualcosa più scelta—

but that's in the upping

swift startling neat cunning

of voweled free running—

the whisk of Italian.

Coconut, Coconut...

Gluten-free cookies, da?

Most excellent, and quite the simple array of ingredients. They pack beautifully, and if I take the 5 minutes off of scribbling, or bouncing off walls, I can make two dozen and have them frozen for a supply that lasts a week or so at least.

Coconut Choc-Chippers @ Tumbling Gluten Free

Curiouser and Curiouser

Betimes it's the peculiar rhymes

derived jive, cherie, alive

and muckle buckled knives

of words—

those mines

of undergrowth

on ground and mind—

that make

curiosity climb

the long unlovely grime

into the new light

 of wonder.

Holmesian Mania

Holmesian Mania:

This seemed particularly apt as I had just finished reading about a new study (I believe a book is forthcoming) detailing the positives of soi-disant 'manic-depression'. (As soon as I find the link, I will post it.)

Anyhow, Brett give an incredible performance as Holmes.

But was the detective bi-polar? We all know he was an addict. But the things are often dual-diagnoses, and alcohol, and other drugs, have been used before to self-medicate. Holmes' astounding manic...

Gluten-Free Indeed

Gluten Free Tumbling has got some updates, but if you're coming out of a day's dousing in poetry and words—and find you're hungry for breakfast—the below is an excellent and easy breakfast. It also tastes wonderful.

In Need of Cinnamon and Sweet"

Draft: Stock Letters and Keys

Lenten, they say,

in the old spring way—

those pointing at dust blown in and tumbleweeds

sins: oh yes, we remember those,

and now the sway

is a chopping block.

Stock letters and keys

to lock away the shameful things of me;

we who know vaguely

infidelity.

But do we give them away?

The Child desires not sacrifice but mercy;

breathe the cruel breeze, they say,

see, tumbleweeds,

and we do not let them go with the gray

dust wind singeing corners of our eyes.

These things that come between

we lock away

and cling

to m...

A Blog of Gluten Free Tumbling

I've posted—in intermittent spurts—the recipes that sometimes fit into nooks which aren't full of words, wonder, or daydreams. Not that one can't wonder while making a meal. But I had for quite a while a blog in which I reviewed gluten free products, posted recipes, and generally overviewed a life which had to accommodate gluten-free food.

The blog, sadly, died in server misstep. Shan't name the server.

But, if you've read my gluten-free posts with any interest, here is my resurrected blog...

Yearn for Trees

What became of timber

on winter's wilting eaves—

like lines of coal the maple boles

bare-broken on the hills.

What became of silver

of aspen's peeling bark—

pale plates dissolved on snow-still knolls

a crackle in the dusk.

And trees that breathed

now still and seethed

frozen in their hearts—

but arms upflung

slivered  star-like, clung

to skies absolved from sun.

A Different Green

They told John Watson to blog too, didn't they? But he didn't.

I feel the sway of ennui, to whine or wave away the day—it's not a nook or curious corridor, it's a waterfall, a wash of mismatched roiling things, none to the point, none differentiated. It. all. falls. down.

Until we hit the bottom together, wet and worried and without a goal.

Engaging does nothing.

Upstaging wreaks havoc.

Gauging leads to raging. What's to gauge honestly in nothing—or everything, for that matter?

So out of it! I...

A Brief Interlude

Lovely Italian fellow I ran into whose singsong conversation and rhymes were a quirked contrast to his Southern California crooning. He's got an album he shared. And many stories—of trips to see San Valentino's head in una chiesa nell'Italia centrale; wallets lost on bus tours, and nights pouring new wine in libation over the spot Caesar was killed. A daredevil of a beveled night of tale-telling. 

All said and done, here 'tis the album.

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Look him up. Perhaps shoot him a note—on his music, or...