chocolate is a verb

colors, flavors, whims and other growing things

found poem: WHEN

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ WHEN
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: inside

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ inside
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: blurred

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ blurred
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: Syntax

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ Syntax
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: pray

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ pray
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: YOUR MEMORY

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ YOUR MEMORY
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: the reasons

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ the reasons
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: the warming

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ the warming
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: pulse

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ pulse
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: The shadows

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ The shadows
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: wide

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ wide
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: calling

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ calling
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: Every

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ Every
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

September, wistfully

Jonagold applesAfter the rain — yesterday’s really BIG rain — the morning earth is nearly black, the greens ultra green. In some places, September is the hottest month. But here, in our corner of Cascadia, the word Fall has found its way into many conversations. There’s a chill in the morning and evening, and leaves on the ground. I consider that it might be time to put away the fans, time for a heavier blanket on the bed, for sweaters and socks, for moving a pile of firewood nearer the back door. The garden beckons me with its autumn work, apples heavy on the tree, a last clutch of plums ready to pluck.

found poem: Some

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ Some
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

for Labor Day (a re-post)

wordhash © j.i. kleinbergTaking it easy on Labor Day, I offer this, which I posted a couple of years ago:
My labor is of the mind. I collect words: net them from the air, capture them from books, dig them from dictionary mines.
I labor at sentences, take the measure of nouns, verb them into rows, mortar them with conjunctions, prepositions, adverbs.
I labor at poems, each essential word shouldered upon the one before, dry-stone walls mortared with metaphor.
This is good work, performed mostly alone in a union of honorable laborers.
. . . . .
word hash (a postcard) © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: memory

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ memory
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

found poem: I HEAR

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ I HEAR
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

the horse

J.I. Kleinberg and Anita K. Boyle
words © j.i. kleinberg
photo and design © Anita K. Boyle, Egress Studio

found poem: to discover

found poem © j.i. kleinberg ~ to discover
found poem © j.i. kleinberg

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