Little purple person

Who are you when you’re

not looking,

when that sweat is dripping

from your brow

When your feet are up

on the couch.

Can you define yourself?

Not your hobbies

or your top responsibilities,

but who you are,

those spaces,

 between your out-right 

maddening choices?

“I’m a little purple person,” it whispered in my ear. “I run and frolick and think of the many ways I can return to you. It’s just a matter of getting to you.” It takes ten huge steps away from me, but since it’s so small it doesn’t get more then 3 inches from my face. It sits, crosses it’s legs, and faces me. “In between the spaces is space, my dear poet, it’s space to be filled with memories and love and if you even feel the need, hate.” The little purple person then lays down staring at my popcorn ceiling, and places two arms behind his head. “And if you must know, my dear poet, the space between my maddening choices is balance. Where the imagination runs wild because the madness isn’t present, but it was and it will be. Some call it peace, but I believe, my dear poet,” he faces me now, “it’s best left temporary. Because to grow we must change.” He goes silent and slowly closes his eyes. I study this tiny person. He must be no bigger than my thumb. I roll over and look at my popcorn ceiling. My eyes slowly close. That could be true, it could be true. 

 

interior-931947_1280

 

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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

Stitched Together

From time to time I think of you

From minute to minute you cross my mind

From hour to hour I’m lost in our fantasies

If I stopped I might lose you

So I leave myself little reminders

Moons and doors

and stars as big as your eyes

The truth is I don’t need reminders

But they bring me closer to you

-Sasch

It’s speaking to me

Mid sleep checklist incomplete

Dreaming of writing this

While skating and collecting snowflakes in my pocket

I’m with my old boss looking for the next word

It’s underneath the ice and as long as we keep moving

they’ll appear

Slowly we place each word one after the other

What we build here makes complete sense

Door hinges break without salt so we sprinkle liberally

And we have to crack the window so my mom can hear her alarm

It’s in the next house along with my mom

The moons out it’s big and the night sky makes me weak

So I sit on the porch watching it glisten hoping that in some way

it’s speaking to me.

Phantastes by: George MacDonald

Phantastes by George MacDonald is so fun and imaginative I can’t stop reading it. It’s about a man who ends up in Fairyland and wanders in and out of trouble. C.S. Lewis claims this is one of his childhood favorites. It is quite inspirational for me and even more so for some of the pieces I’m working on.  I have a thing for older literature so a book published in 1858 is perfect for me.

Here’s a link if you’d like to check it out.

 

 

Happy Hump Day Everyone