In love with life and all of its foibles.
Mustard ochre walls Marked and dirty Hands, paws, life Indelible smudges Of passing time What if I sit down Face six inches away
By Aspen Marie 9 months ago in Poets
What does it mean To make a painting Adolescent hands Applied brush to every surface I could scrounge Cheap paint, chalky and chunky
Charles Ray of light Artist who dares To draft paper clouds For ancestral blue herons Elegant Ardea Herodias Dance on air
One small pause In my weekend Its entirety spent Intensely honed in on absorbing important material For my impending exam
What pieces of me Will you rehearse Surely not anything as mundane As eyes, lips and smile These are anchors For simple minds
You gorgeous creature Slinking your way Into my inner sanctum My thoughts are mine Yet here you are So then, let me
I wish to belong to the world Wash me into the masses Not the rushing waterfall of “busy” Plummeting into frenetic chaos
I’m so tired My word bank is running on fumes 18 more chapters Six assignments Two finals The countdown is on Cognitive psych unfolds the mind
Douglas Adams declared 42 as the Meaning of Life Of what? Why a number? I think about it a lot And to me, it makes sense
By Aspen Marie 10 months ago in Poets
What fickle creatures are we Such predictable mammals Led astray by emotion Bright smiles and colours Easily sway our cognition
First name Maries Matronymic bestowed with intention In holy reverence; a family tradition Valiantly named for French ideals
Why does sadness stick Like a pinecone In my throat The last ten minutes Of the Wild Robot Tears flow Down my cheeks
