Delicious Phrases

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GIVING SHAPE TO April 29, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — deliciousphrases @ 5:24 am

This week’s delicious phrase

sparked a sand art memory

of Kseniya Simonova—

—artiste and creator

giving shape to

scenes of love, peace

war … loss

invasion, destruction

longing … tears




—creating beauty

as though

nothing else matters


for more sand art inspiration

watch these YouTube clips 


or find Kseniya on


Giving shape to…

Filed under: Uncategorized — deliciousphrases @ 3:56 am

Why is it that no one thinks?

Alone and afraid, the mind waits

For someone to use it.

It is wasted on the mundane and the irrelevant

Giving shape to the formless lump that sits in so many

Rotting, languishing and living

Not at all.



giving shape to April 28, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — deliciousphrases @ 9:18 pm

wind: air unseen

giving shape to

clouds: water suspended

giving shape to

colors: born of a sunrise

giving shape to

fancies and faeries

of so many daydreams




Filed under: Uncategorized — deliciousphrases @ 9:05 pm

a hand

giving shape to

another hand

giving shape to

a five year old

giving shape to

a conversation

giving shape to

a smile

giving shape to

a laugh

giving shape to

a heart

bursting with love.



Audience of one April 26, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — deliciousphrases @ 4:13 am

Walking on cloudless night, I turned my head

And saw streaking through the sky

A blazing fire of white.

It lit up the darkness and turned night to day

But I knew when I saw it, that it was meant only for me.

“Witness the beauty of my creation” whispered in my head.

I was His audience of one.


I cried as the love of God filled my soul.

All for me.


.                      Matchless


.                                                Infinite



Audience of One

Filed under: Uncategorized — deliciousphrases @ 1:06 am

it had been a very bad day.

it took only one









Audience of One April 25, 2010

Filed under: Uncategorized — deliciousphrases @ 6:41 pm

“I’m a letter writer,” I protest. “Not a novelist.”

“So?” says T. “Write letters.”

“But I write letters only my mother would read.”

“So write to your mother.

Others can read over her shoulder.”

“I’m an occasional gardener,” say I. “Not constant.”

“So write to your green-thumbed dad:

‘Letters from an occasional gardener,'” says she.

And so began my anthology, Audience of One:

“Letters only my mother would read,”

“The occasional gardener,” and

“Tuesdays with Tammy”