Artists

The road winds in a manner

that seems as if I keep walking in circles

but there are very subtle differences

differences only a curious person would notice

like the flowers are a different shade of blue

or the bugs are crawling on their backs rather than their bellies

Makers of art wander on and off this road

collecting things

while others trudge trudge doing the same thing

over and over

Artists do at times get caught in the monotony of it all

because we are one of the others

however our path is different

it is of more depth

less conformity

(which might I add is much harder than it sounds)

Our satchels fill with old cocoons left behind by butterflies,

odd shaped rocks,

and twigs wrapped in twine

left as symbols of where we’ve been

or left to warn of places we dare not tread again

So it may seem as if we are constantly stuck

in the same ole rigamaroe but trust me

We are not.

-Saschia

 

(Yes, I wrote rigamaroe)

 

the unwritten character

Symbols- revisited

She asks for symbols

while I doodle

stars and hearts in blue ink

across the top of a blank page

 

Maybe I don’t get it, Professor

Maybe I never will

 

I’m on to circles and squares

Images of old Egyptian

pillars appear

containing hieroglyphs

with no meaning

 

Evoke the imagination

She voices

before putting her head

back down

 

Semi circles and unfinished squares

dotted like a Morse code

have been placed

with no meaning

Dotted with intent

but no definition

What is this place where

I feel the depth

of each

meaningless symbol?

 

-Saschia