Will Write For Tomorrow

Light in the distance

A globe or maybe an orb

It flits around the corners of my heart

Dashes against the edges of my mind

I look and touch and smell

What it may be like

I want things a way

Smooth oiled machines

But life isn’t so oiled

It’s jagged and rough

There are times when moments

Connect seamlessly and those I pocket

And dissect later

But mostly it takes work

and prayer

and sweat

-Saschia

Coming Back To Life

The bare trees will begin to bud again

the flowers will crack through the soil

and bloom and amaze us with their colors

We will thaw and glisten under the warm sun

and our thoughts will be on simple things

like picnics with fresh berries and huge sandwiches

or beach days scented of sea salt and sunblock

those days are coming where we

will come to life once again

-Saschia

There’s more poetry at Jayne.press or click here~~~> Makers Of Dreams ~*

Moraldom

Saschia Moraldom

Moraldom

Wrap me in white and send me along,
away to a place where there’s no rules

Rock me steady on a hollow log
listen for my beats, while I drift along

Gift me your love while in white I dream
but what I want is to be alone, I suppose

watch as everything escapes from your scheme
but please oh please let my lover of prose

Sing until I’m a blooming rose.

 

-Saschia Johnson

 

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passionate seekers

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

Propped upright

Upright because I can breath

no other way
Propped like a doll in a pillow shop
placed snug between designer pillows
Except I’m no designer item
Just a prop
A comfort
a symbol of home
I am home between the pillows
not because of the pillows
I’m home because the stuff inside me
the stuff that fills me to the brim
it’s all I need
whether in a shop

in the arms of a loved one

or left to collect dust
doesn’t matter
I am home