Old shot from last summer of The Tornado and The Hurricane’s shoes, just found it.
Gratefulness
Friday and Saturday Shots
Mango Chutney, Dumpling Slaw
Another day in the [recipe] books
Topless cauliflower burger I had for lunch with white cheddar, exotic mushrooms, and roasted tomatoes. Topped with the coconut aioli. It was amazing.
Best thing that even exists, I don’t like milk but almond milk is my thing. Love it.
Beautiful marbled look of some tomatoes today.
The Tornado taking advantage of the chalk art from the block party, on our walk to summer camp this a.m. .
Kidicure.
My life in one picture.
Peach cake plating, with pickled peaches, buttermilk ice cream, and a mango cherry chutney. Our sous/pastry chef really is a genius.
Hard to believe wings are 50 cents apparently!
Life is good today.
The sunset in Wilmington tonight!
Workflow
Lunch at work.. Mixed greens with tofu, carrots, cucumbers, cashews, and the house vin. Of course eaten while prepping!
At Lucky’s in Wilmington DE with my love.
All in a day’s work
Oyster mushrooms..
My lunch eaten while chopping.. Vegetarian pho with avocado.
Enoki mushrooms.
Home Life
#clouds #wilmington #skies
Juxtaposition
My Kitchen Life..
#passion #thaipeanutsauce #ginger #linecooks #foodblogging #workflow #dangskippy #charcuterie
My homeland.
Wilmington often gets a bad rap; it is my home though I am a transplant, and I see the beauty everywhere. These photos are in Wilmington and the surrounding area. I have been told that Wilmington is not pretty, I just have the eye. But it’s home to me and I think the grittiness is beautiful.
The darling child in some of the pics is The Tornado, my creative director at a prodigious eight years of age. Her hobbies include leaving her methods of transportation, such as her sneakers, water shoes, and Razor scooter, in pathways where people will trip on them; playing the same board game over and over to the point that her opposition is defeated in Candyland by means of boredom, which may be her strategy; watching The Loveboat; asking for snacks, money, toys on commercials, and answers; jumping from and climbing on structurally unsound things such as a swinging gate, a wobbly table, or my back. She is the axis of my heart and my reason for being my best self.
Movie date, wearing the necklace my sister made me two Christmases ago. 👍
Cold Hard Grief
Went back in time
Came back into the future
Without my boy
Just miles of highway
Bitter pills
Stronger wills
Finding the mean
Caught between
Longing and exile
Determination
And denial
Love is a verb
But no one is doing
Half of my heart
Is waiting on standby
The other fifty percent
Keeping me alive
Refusing to be ignored
Unable to forget now
I can’t move on
Because I don’t know how.
HW . 06.27.15
Best. Roommate. Ever.
Brought me home a bacon cheeseburger and fries from Walter’s. Love her..
Rainy weekend in Wilmington ..
JG, adventurer.
Taken by HW on 04.11.15 at Valley Garden Park.
Wilmington neighborhood on a Thursday afternoon.
Taken April 9th, 2015 by HW.
Fraught
A bandage ripped off
Pain’s recollection too vivid
A glove that’s slipped
Shows a hand beneath, timid
Reaching for improvement
But exuding impatience
The minute hand crawls.
Strategy notwithstanding
The present is excruciating
Looking for the next day
A preemptive welcome acceptance
Of pressure alleviating.
And the sun rises as intended
Fraught with reds and oranges
Beautiful in the chaos
Do you sense a metaphor?
Time keeps its word,
Regrettably, the chagrin palpable
Pain matches its timekeeping
A blow for every tick
Those verbal more powerful
Every last one still sticks
Pushing down what happened
Just craving the normal
Its almost over
But ‘almost’ is no portal.
_HW 12.17.14
Cold As March
Feet keeping time
Beat meeting rhyme
Kids holding signs
Effective as iodine
Curing, procuring
Bystanders leering
Others cheering
Hearts exposed
The gods morose
Pursuit of justice
Youths restless
In the face of injustice
Color dividing
Simultaneously uniting
In the face of adversity
A generation thirsty
For equality and acceptance
The children of parents
Still comfortable with just tolerance
Differences prevalent
Progress evident
But still far from enough.
_HW 8.28.14
Untitled Resentment
You’re asleep in bed right now, your rumpled t-shirt damp with sweat, and glancing over at you I feel as if it has been years since the silence began. Silence never bothered me before The Accident, but now it’s like a growing, breathing, vital ..thing, that navigates into the empty, vulnerable places, and has chosen to habitate in the space between us. It is like the anger and frustration that we never suspected was within us, has become without us, and is an elephant in the room that we refuse to address. But it’s not going away, and as salient and succinct as these thoughts are on the paper that chirps decisively from my typewriter one-half inch at a time, I cannot seem to expel them to you in such a way that is easy or comfortable for you to swallow. This was all your fault, I want to say calmly, damning you to guilt and remorse. But the words never come. And lurking almost silently behind my will to lay all of the blame on you is a rigid and ugly fear that you feel I am the one responsible, culpable, for all this mess. And so I remain defiantly silent, wallowing in my grief and so afraid of where this story is going that I refuse to let anything be written. I remain stagnant, unchanging, unable even to choose between Dim Sum or General Tso for my Friday night takeout. It matters little because I will eat it alone in my office, surrounded by the cold comfort of stacks of paper, reels of typewriter tape, and the stacks upon stacks that you used to tease me about never getting around to reading. It won’t matter what I order because I don’t taste it anymore, I just cleave to the routine out of fear of anything else becoming different, unexpected, too hard for me. The sadness in this flat is so palpable that neither of us can barely stand it, but out of fear of accepting the inevitable and confronting what the future no longer holds for us, we both continue to tiptoe around what will gradually become our reality. Without turning, I hear your movements and know that you are turning over, your splayed limbs wound into the tangled sheets, your sleeping sounds betraying your private dreams. We both dream of The Accident unfailingly, unceasingly, incessantly. We soothe one another when we wake up crying or screaming, and in the morning, we pass one another in the hall like nothing happened, our unwillingness to console each other in the bright light of morning is as palpable as the drip of the faucet down the hall. Sometimes when you’re down in your studio, painting your sorrow relentlessly into a canvas of blues and grays and greens, layer upon layer of resentment and longing, I crack the door to Her Room, and I wonder if you sometimes do the same. Do you stand in her doorway like I do, afraid to venture in for fear that reality will come down crushingly and you will no longer be able to keep it together? I keep her locket in my office, in the top left drawer, underneath a stack of unfinished novel beginnings, and in the depths of the night when the coffee has failed me and my ideas just run together, I gingerly pick it up and turn it over in my hand. She was not the glue that held us together. We were Us before she came about, but how to come together again since The Accident has eluded us. I remember longing for a full night’s sleep, kept just a reach away by the night-time awakenings for a glass of water, and now I lay awake wishing to hear that creaky board next to Her Door again, for normalcy and sameness and a promise of nothing being different. Yet you lay there so comfortable, so content with The Way Things Are. Unable or unwilling to grieve alongside me, drenched in acceptance as much as sweat from your nightmares, and I see so much of myself and what I refuse to acknowledge, and I think I hate you.
HW 01/25/13
Collision
flex your sensitivity
engage my emotion
flip the switch
make it all slow motion
i’m a lover
but they think im a
fighter
i keep on reading
like i’m not even a writer
but you know me
you get it
duality of oneness
i cant forget it
trust issues aside
walk next to me
our hearts collide
you’re expecting me
HW 08.13.13
Latte Baby
Faint of heart
Never.
Unstoppable
and unfailingly clever.
My heart is open to you.
I know I can let you in.
The glint of the sun
On your mocha skin.
Those dark eyes
Full of blatant curiosity.
The love I have for you
Is a giant, epic monstrosity.
Mind always working
Your little head, a mystery
Gears always spinning
Come sit and make a wish with me
The tambre of your laughter
Like a silver tinkling bell.
That comical stage whisper
When you have a secret to tell.
Your precocious mannerisms
Just my baby, playing pretend
Hide the quietest of wisdom
A love never coming to an end.
HW 08.30.13
HTML
Your html is Dorian Gray,
Always the same fucking thing.
Only pathetic because
of the repetition,
Humorous just because it is.
The encoding is jarred;
Screen frozen.
You want to be a mystery,
But nothing is never a mystery.
Nothing is just nothing.
Desperately trying
To appear more than you are
Like a short kid, at a carnival ride,
Or an Italian
In line at the movies.
HW 04/08/2013
Illuminated
Cool hands
Span the pale latitude
Of back
Ink beneath them
‘Dying to tell a story’
Snow buries
The pain beneath
A winter’s pledge
Of truth’s safekeeping
Meanwhile
Trust forms
Simultaneous
As complex
As frost’s beginnings
Unsure
A heater rumbling
To ignition
Mimics
The persistent sound
Of resolute defenses
Undermined by
Warm breath
Beneath deep blankets
Mouthing words of
Fate
To a soul resisting.
Resilient fear
Withstanding
Recollection vivid
Of oaths reneged upon
Makes it hard to swallow
But hope catches
In cautious difference
For plans
Not yet carried out.
HW 02.24.13
Stowaway.
Photography by HW on February 21, 2013.
Knowing Sunlight
Uninvented
and unrevealed
Your temperament
is a mystery
Clues scattered
But no big picture
Forthcoming
Like clay
On the table
(I am)
And I am
anxious to
see a sculpture
Manifest itself
Seeing your
sweet disposition
metastasize
Into urgent
personality
Is a gift I
never expected
So unlike
My other:
Withdrawn
yet so intensely
heartfelt
She is an enigma
The root of
Feeling
The axis
of my heart.
You are
Exuberant,
one little character
Flamboyant
in emotion
Reassuring
in your relentless
affection
Assaulting
with your
charisma
Borne of calamity
Inherently calm
Always on
Love gargantuan.
HW 02/21/2013
Waiting
a garish orange jacket
text speak prevalent
i am wildly inappropriate
nerves jingling
i feel exhilarated
answer my questions
berate my mortality
screw the bedside manner
give it to me straight
“where is the next dimension?”
HW 12.12.2012
“Writing saved me from the sin and inconvenience of violence.” -Alice Walker
Strange Planet
relinquish the synapses
examine the brainwaves
test your hypothesis
on my bare legs
medulla oblongata
hook up the electrodes
one at a time
only the satellite knows
check for a pulse
object to my objections
draw all the parallels
it’s become your obsession
fine, tune your radar
to capture my ecstasy
foreign planets in reach
chaos at the embassy
fork over your language
register on the meter
craters and meteorites
take me to your leader.
HW 02/05/13
Gym boy on January 21, 2013.
Busch Light
Loud music
Intermittent
Ping pong balls
Intermission
Warm beer
Interaction
Clear headed
no reaction
Blending in
Set apart
So far behind
So far apart.
HW 01/20/13
Stormont
killing my spirit
lifting me up
flooding my senses
not cleansing enough
total transformation
is not change enough
i know who i am
but i’m scared you do too
and who i wish i was
i’m afraid to stay the same
or to change too much
HW 06/24/12
12-year-old Brazilian violinist Diego Frazão Torquato performing at his mentor’s funeral (Evandro João da Silva, who was robbed and murdered on 18 Oct 2009.) Diego died within a year later (2010-04-01) from leukemia.
Excerpt from The Nation, issue Dec. 24/31, 2012.
“While social movements might not be sufficient for achieving social justice, they are still absolutely necessary.” -Brad Lander
5 A.M.
cold coffee
second guess
inhibitions
please say yes
on your level
off your chest
incubating
second guess
redirection
learn the past
memorize
under the glass
keep my interest
take my pain
don’t take the questions
that keep me sane
like change in a jar
to fall back on
or a change of heart
you call me out on
heaviness / let go of it
envious / of letting go of it.
HW 01/15/13
No More Killing
Blueprints
You are a wood house
Oak or cedar, ever strong
Remodeling, ever-changing
Showcasing your innovation
Breaking down my infrastructure
I am a concrete house
Steadfast, I’ll be your rock
You present to me a challenge
With your fragility and sensitivity
Communication lines are open
You keep me thinking
And question my brainwaves
Our houses are under construction
Rebuilding
Rewiring
Rethinking
Look at my blueprints
Suggest improvements
I’ll return the favor
But I’ll still owe you one.
HW 01/12/13
Our Creative Director. January 10, 2013.
Bass Guitar
Keep my soul close, let my heart breathe
Fuck you and your reasoning
Touch me in the cool night
Pull my hands away
Talk to me the next day
Push me into trusting you
Pull me back from wanting you
Keep me reading
Keep me writing
When I stop you, keep on trying
Be different than I am
But show me how we’re the same
Be the girl and be the boy
Keep me wild
But make me tame
Show me your intellegence
Buoyed by your emotions
Exercise your logic
Don’t just go through the motions
Fall for me
Keep me guessing.
HW 01.10.13
No Honour
Impasse
Trying to fix the present
And excuse the past
Even though it’s evidence
That we moved too fast
Tutus and dresses
A bright birthday cake
Learning life’s lessons
The right roads to take
Tomorrow she’s five years
A bright light from the start
So many giggles and tears
Careful with her little heart
He’s the tiny one
In his hospital bed
Fever finally done
Cool cloth on his head
We’re at a crossroads
Their lives in our hands
The future that we mold
Deserves a second chance
Tired of fighting
Only so much left to say
Will all the wrongs that we’re righting
Even matter someday?
Is it worth giving in?
Too stubborn to quit.
Choices hard living in
Are just as hard to live with.
HW 04/29/12
High Definition Poetry 
