There’s a breeze and a howl
there’s a dance I’ve missed
one I’ve longed for
and one I remember
stomach pains and a kick in the rib
my mind squanders and so I do too
I’m here then I’m not
I’m connected then drifting
oh the fires of life burn
so strongly in my soul
-Saschia
The words that drift out of me are sometimes a shocker. Who’s that man with the big moon eyes? Who’s that girl with the upside down curls? If there is a time we need to think it’s now, but thinking is entirely too much work so we busy ourselves with tasks. Redundant tasks that require little to think about. Tap a pen tap a tap pour the beer and give a smile because they love the smiles. Rest is something we need but too much is no good we need just the right amount. Google-me-drids is that a thing? Who gets just the right amount? I’m either tired from too much or from not nearly enough. Twinkle-me-timbers my toes are cold or I’d be napping right now.
A friend of mine once told me that when we read a book by some author long dead, we sometimes feel as if we know them on a personal level, while when we read a book written by a friend, this makes us feel as if we’ve never truly known them. Truth is, there are a lot of aspects when it comes to understanding another person. Their work, their life, their habits, the people they surround themselves with. And every single one of them plays a part in shaping their art.
Today, we try to get a bit more insight into the minds of famous writers by visiting their bedrooms
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I feel the madness trickling in
Under the door- through the door
Makes my legs electric and
My heart flighty
Madness waits for no door
To be opened
It stains eyeballs red
As reality quakes out of view
Let it trickle let it trickle
Because there’s no escaping it.
Stone steps in the dirt
A field of wildflowers
Dew drops
And a cottage filled with love
-Saschia
Hope floats around my house it fogs the windows and clogs the drains but it smells of lemons and roses. And so we just wipe our fogged windows clean…..
Hope floats around my house it fogs the windows and clogs the drains but it smells of lemons and roses. And so we just wipe our fogged windows clean and continue to clear our drains. Because a home without hope is no home at all. We give thanks for todays and pray for our tomorrows. Just one more day, one more word, one more prayer.
-Saschia Johnson
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The times I wish for are the times my family is at their best. That they are full of peace and love. That fear and doubt are far from their door. And that they are prepared for the worst times as well as the best.
This is a poem about nothing
I’m just writing this to sleep better
and maybe wake up better
There’s a million things to write about
but I’m not choosing any one of them
because the only purpose for this poem
is a good nights sleep
-Saschia
Respect her sacred spaces
her secret garden,
her desk,
her solitude,
her thoughts
let it be hers and hers alone
and when you do this you will see
a change in climate
-Saschia
But wait I’ve got more poetry here……It’s All History
The twigs snap and the leaves crackle beneath me
This is where I recharge and reboot
I don’t always wish to be there
but it’s where I end up
Beneath the breathing branches
and budding leaves
-Saschia Johnson
Don’t stop here keep reading… Returning
