A farm land churned
and over cropped
Fruits of labor plucked year to year
I have no regrets
I’ve fed and nurtured
new life I’ve cradled vulnerable
seedlings not yet ready for the rays
of light that
brighten and burn
Tucked away silent inside
warm dark loved
A symbolic womb with a pulse
pulse pulse
-Saschia
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
She asks for symbols
while doodling stars and hearts
in blue ink
across the top of a blank page
Maybe I don’t get it, Professor
Maybe I never will
She’s on to circles and squares
then sees images of old Egyptian pillars
And creates her own hieroglyphs
with no meaning
(to her)
“To evoke the imagination.”
She voices before putting her head back down
Simi circles and unfinished squares
That are dotted like a morse code
But they have been placed
With no meaning
Dotted with intent
But no definition
Somehow she still feels the depth
Of each meaningless symbol
-Saschia Johnson
Yesterday I blogged about Jan Van Eyck
