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a tribute to Kambiz Abbaszadeh
He always made a place at the bar
Dan I would show up
And with a flash of his warm smile
Kam always made a place for us
He would serve us a knock-out cocktail he dreamed up
And then, after attending to other patrons and washing a few glasses, he would fill us in on his family
In this way, he made us feel like family
Kam did that for people
For any of us
We sat in his presence
Whether it was on the bar stool
Or at the BBQ grill
Or at the family gatherings that were so precious to him
Wherever it was, we sat in the radiance of Kam’s playfulness, his spirit, his heart
…
Kambiz in the Kitchen
Kambiz enthralled with the cosmic
Kambiz with the shaker
Kambiz with magic massage fingers
The warm heart
The Love for the art of good food, good drink
The Art of Family
He gave us nothing short of love
He gave 100% to work, to his obligations but also to playfulness and to fun
Kam’s life was an adventure story from Tehran to the U.S.
From the Caspian sea to the ski slopes of Tahoe
He lived his dreams with all his heart
But as much as he loved adventure
Kam
loved his family more
Nothing more cherished
His presence with his kids, with all his loved ones
was unmistakable
and even us. Just a couple of friends
he always gave us a seat at the bar, the table
But mostly
Kam gave us a place at His heart
That’s just who he was
how lucky we were to be in the orbit of his shine
The flash of his kind smile.
his steady gaze that held ours gave us a place
a special and coveted place
at his heart-filled table
He showed us nothing but Love
He gave us nothing but Love
You opened our hearts, Kambiz Abbaszadeh
You showed us how kindness worked
the importance of family
and how love prevails
Shine on, Loved One
Thank you for the seat at the table of your heart
We are better for your lion roar of laughter
Better for your imagination of the perfect cocktail
Better for knowing there is nothing better than Love
Better for the place we now hold for you
at a permanent seat in our hearts
Honored to be included in the current San Mateo County Poet Laureate’s project with my poem “12 Miles.” Thank you to Aileen Cassinetto, Poet Laureate. See link below to read various works, find poets by first name.
For Jerry & Lorraine Olson on the closing of their beloved Mountain House Restaurant in Woodside—a landmark in our area
those wooden boards
that
soaked in the laughter
held the warm bellies and scraping chairs
creaked beneath the heels dancing
they hold a love story
a love story between a community and their retreat
between a man and a woman who loved it into being
the forest fairies circled
and the wood nymphs stomped
as patrons filed in
bright smile Lorraine greeting, buzzing, tending
if you were lucky, even Brett!
Jerry, gracious smiling eyes also greeting, also buzzing, and tending, tending
those boards took a lot of tending
the menus a lot of wild imagination: Venison, Elk, New Zealand Lamb
the wine list took your breath away and a great fraction of your worries with it!
the dream was fueled by a lot of heart as this landmark grew and fed, evolved and stayed
bringing a dream to this community, a home
a spirit in the woods
we carry this gift you gave us in our hearts
we carry it forward as we walk away with you, remembering
reminiscing, appreciating, relishing
the Good Times this place graced
a spirit in the woods will echo on
the boards, like our hearts, they remember
those epic times
the blazing fire
the warm drinks
the camaraderie
the love of this place
a spirit in the woods
the boards of this place are marked, like our hearts
and The Mountain House
we will, always, always remember.
gliding in this naked canoe
sinking me into the mists
no shores to steady me
just the ripples of lost meaning breaking the water before me.
whether this vessel is propelled toward muddy swamp
or pristine lakes of bliss i do not know,
the current has been directed
and the mists bog my mind
tease me into confusion
rock me between trepidation and bold embrace.
god save me from this slippery slope
how dare i tread on these waters?
but it is too late for that, this journey has begun
the current has been directed
and for all the fear, i can’t deny that love softens these waters
the surface so smooth and the body so warm
this boat glides easily into the depths of the unknown.
i can shiver or sing, no matter
the current has been directed.
perhaps these waters will lead me to trust the mysterious river of love
to call the sun to burn away the hazy fog
to see through the fear that i imagine in front of me
yes, i am traveling into the mists, it is no accident
this current has been directed
and i am the passenger
duly appointed to this voyage
this post by guest poet, Tim McKillop
l
The wind blows with out them these days.
I used to think we would always ride on the wind,
all of us, wings out, eyes forward,
a squadron of feathers tip to tip
doing roller coaster rides over
our favorite mountains, the ones with all of the oaks
and pines and the grape vines
lined up into runways
of green pastels and orange poppies.
do you remember those peaks
white frosted and cool where
we would ride the highest branch tips
back and forth on the highest trees
singing all together as one
while the wind painted and fused us
into a sky of exaltation and being,
and all of it was ours.
funny, I’m smiling now
thinking about the look,
you know, the recognition one
a nod, a slight tip of the head up
from one of us to the other to the other
until we all knew right then
that this was good really good
and we would swing up into the air
and play and dive and loop the loop
and barrel roll and laugh and laugh
and laugh or was it singing
i can’t remember exactly
but it was fun.
ll
is everyone still here? i’m not sure.
i don’t think they are.
there once seemed to be so many of us
hanging right up here
at the very edge of the world
turning all of our favorite pines and aspens into
big loud debates of being
and chasing everything
everything else away.
oh how we loved the air
its coming and going seen and unseen
on warm days and cold
i wonder
are we breathing in
everything we are
and expelling all we’ve been
or trading places with ourselves
into some kind of cold vapor of invisibility
i don’t know
i think.
do you see?
i’m flying pretty high now.
I can feel everyone right there with me
the edges of our wings massaging the sky
and dipping down into the deep valleys
and riding the face of the mountains
right up to their very peaks
where you can see so much. everything is here.
watch closely I may just disappear
i don’t know
i think.
– tim
reposting this poem which got 1st place at the 2021 San Mateo County Fair
in the dream i am picking meat off a human skeleton
it is miniature, but still anatomically correct
i am consuming the last morsels off the bones, picking it clean
and i marvel at the structure, the bony foundation that held this life for all the years–
living and breathing, it was perfectly designed to hold so many things
the skeleton of what held us
and at the same time, i’m calling his number
one digit different from my cell number, that’s how we were linked
it’s been so long since i dialed those numbers
the ones i relied on countless daily
they always got me through
but now, i try his old number and then,
another man’s voice is at the end of those sacred numbers
and i’m not surprised, was just testing
it is a confirmation of the crossing to some kind of foreign frontier
and i find myself here in a new world
with a phone number that no longer connects me
our worldly code dissolving into infinity
i’m picking what little is left off the bones
of our past
it is getting thinner every day.
for my duchess on the wedding day of her son (I wrote this a few years ago and just realized I never published it!)
hold tight
you’re still the girl
who was
before your life as mom
caress her face
she’s the grace
who picked her music bright
call of the wild
took on a life
your blue eyes
put some stars aside
baby in your nest
rocked through little one’s tides
ocean cool to fireside
hold her hand today
my sister’s hand
as i watch her
let loose her fingers
embrace this bold day
big wings, he spreads them
we gaze his dactyl flight
sky to call
him from your palm
brings your hand to future light
hold to your breast
endless mother gold
son of your heart
your wings will always enfold
cherishing the nest of family three
forever relishing
the Mother you will always be
Sharon Lea interviews me on her podcast show, produced by Dan Powers:
https://www.artblender.org/the-interviews
who we hold in our hands
we enjoy
we feast together
we misunderstand
tussle with
you who were in the heart of my palm
i held
attended to
rebuffed
and tangled
you melted into my dream and colored my days
so vivid
so outrageous
so hard and so real
your light i still hold in the eyes of my heart
the deepest place to feel you only lost from my physical sense
but forever precious
in this awakened dream of striking life
your light and the light of our beloveds
is held in the eyes of the heart
the deepest place to see from
our beloveds only lost
from material touch
but forever precious
in this fitful dream of sharp reality
marking forever
the fortunes in our hands
happy april 1. holding this april fools day as sacred
as i have done since 23 years ago when daniel and i were married on this day.
our love was tall and skinny
graceful but dynamic like aspen quaking
we could never hold the sound echoing from the friction of our leaves
bright hot fall colors
so loud against the blue sky
and i don’t dare question it now
i have to let that echo ripple off
let drop the dried leaf
into the world of the past
stand tall, shivering in my awakening
this is a tree that is not coming back
roots so deep and for so long that i thought they would hold us forever
but you were felled and all that was us fell too
crashed like an earthquake
thundered in a new terrible reality
graceful white tree
no longer tall against the sky
leaves me lost in a cleared forest
lost love crushed under the weight of cut branches
scattered leaves
it’s a terrible thing when grace is felled
but a beautiful thing to let go, when it’s time
and let it lie in peace
its quaking stilled
leaving only the echo of love
in the composting roots
iwritemyself 