Whenever I'm lonely
And wouldn't want to trouble my honey
I'll look for a place
Where I can travel out of my physical space
Into a proper solace
Where the hums of mosquitoes won't displace
Nor the buzzes of my babies
Often prompted by their cartooned fairy fantasies
Without hum and haw
I'm in a faraway land of relief where I poetically draw
With my quill full of ink
Instead of pencil on sketchbooks or brush in paint of zinc
Whenever I'm lonely in my precinct
And wouldn't want my troubles make me shrink
I'll proceed apace
To replace my sorrows with a scripture or a verse from my inner space.
Categories:
sketchbooks, creation, deep, imagination,
Form: Rhyme
Antique fountain pens, I love;
magic wands of the finest make.
I love to collect and repair these
treasures, for my own creative
fantasies...
For my poetry, oh, how they bleed;
my sketch books are filled with
expressive zest;
essence of my imagination,
dreamscapes conjured during
REM moments.
Not all of my little dots and blots,
are contained in sketchbooks and journals;
sadly, some have escaped.
One day as I sat sketching,
a paper-fiber snagged my nib.
It spat out ink, just a blot
but, imagine how I felt when,
suddenly, like Tinkerbell,
it flew away!
Categories:
sketchbooks, appreciation, art, imagery, imagination,
Form: Prose
Talk about your nuclear weapons.
My brain feels like it’s about to explode.
Last summer I started sketching
with a group called Sketchbook Skool.
I drew and colored and Zentangled and arted
every day for months and months.
I felt so alive
and so energized
and really, really exhiliarated.
Then winter came and I got tired.
And put away all my pencils
let my watercolor tubes and trays
dry up and blow away.
All my sketchbooks are still there
mocking me from a jumbled drawer.
Now it’s summer again and I
feel poetry springing from my brain
my eager, excited, easily stimulated
brain.
So now what?
Am I doomed to the same tired pattern
of summertime creativity
followed by wintertime gloom?
If I didn’t already know it was an acronym
I’d say,
“That’s just S.A.D.”
Categories:
sketchbooks, art, creation, depression, humor,
Form: I do not know?