Matters Of Love

The gates of my garden are left open to wanderers

They say I’m too friendly and I shouldn’t be so trusting

and that matters of love are a waste of time

But that just isn’t me

The roses have died and bloomed

dried out

been over watered and pruned too early

But come spring they show their rosey pink cheeks

as if none of those things

ever mattered.

-Saschia Johnson

 

 

New England Cafes

Painting Nature

Gold paint was left unopened beneath the microwave

Butter knife around the edges to release the magic

What shall I paint?

To My dismay the purple roses I planted for my grandmother

have turned pink

do they no longer honor her

Will they bloom again this spring?

Passed the roses are dandelions

passed the dandelions are dead leaves

left over from fall.

I tip the bucket and drizzle them gold again

golden leaves in the spring

discarded hedges

the ones off to the side where no one is supposed to look

I painted them.

And they glistened in this hidden place

dead leaves

discarded hedges

an exchange for boredom

 

-Saschia Johnson

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This piece was inspired by Sculpture Grounds located in Old Lyme Connecticut.

 

Nova’s Tenth Birthday

I walk in after speeding to get my daughter’s cake which was the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since Willy Wonka, and notice the tables aren’t ready. The plates are still in plastic wrap and so are the table clothes. Panic struck me like a piano falling from a third floor apartment. I hate dishing out commands, but it had to be done as quickly and gently as possible. I’m at least trying to have cake table ready because that’s the thing these days. But plastic wrap and boxes and purses keep appearing on there. My mind is everywhere trying to do everything at once. Finally got the table set and the cake table decent. Kids are every where and since it was three or four different communities some kids were left out but so goes life. I finally get the cake table decorated with gifts (which I’m super grateful for). We round up the kids and prepare for the feast to begin which is a giant subway grinder neatly divided between four tables. The tables are adorned with a fairy, blue, and gold theme. You’d think feeding the beast (beast as in a mass of children shoved into a small room) would tame it, but let me tell you I’ve created a monster. My daughter (of course) begins some chant that sounded something like “pop-the-balloon” and you should have seen the fear in the adults faces when they came together in unison. My plan was to keep it moving by lighting the candles on the cake. So I grab the cake which was pretty heavy and lug it over in front of my daughter. The chanting grows louder and there’s an air in the room (which would properly be described as fear) of what was going to happen next. And somehow it shifted, it was no longer about popping a balloon. I pull out a match and whoosh a gust of wind which I think came from the thunderous chanting, blew out the match. I now realize why people can’t light things in horror films. I search the room for my closest friend who mind you has military experience and she gives me these eyes. They were big and I gave her the eyes like Save me. And I waved the matches as if they were a white flag. She (eventually) came to my side and we lit the candles together and the chanting slowed. Because fire does that. And then together they sang happy birthday in a way I was much more comfortable with. Thank God for best friends and creating monsters, because without them stories like these would never be written.

Novs cake
The candy cake by Tina 🙂

 

Too much snow

There’s too much snow

It’s to my knees

and everything I need

is hidden below

I have to plant seeds,

side the house

and these gutters

won’t clean themselves

My days are spent salting and shoveling.

Cringing from the snow

that fell in my boot

I liked it in the beginning

I liked it during winter

but now

it’s just too much.

-Saschia Johnson

Someone do a spring dance please. I don’t one but I’m willing to learn.

 

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New Project, New England Authors

I’ve started compiling a list of Famous Writers from New England! 

Still working on the list. But this is what I have so far. I’m proud to be from New England and live where so many great writers have lived. Thought I’d make page to show off my home.

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Saschia Johnson- Morality Collection

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 -Creator from Southeastern Connecticut

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Wanna read more? Here’s another great piece in our collection written by Simon Williams