Solitary chewed end pencil
sedately perched on desk,
yearning tap tap of fingers in thought
waiting for rhythm and flow
to return with the muse,
missing in action
hidden beneath a velour vail
of strung together ideals.
Tendrils of hair cling
spiraling around her weapon of choice,
her most precious object,
collector of angsts tendrils
thoughts accumulated in strings
plucked from a weary scalp.
Her art,
forgotten? Scribbled forms in tatty
Avant garde notepads battered
dogeared doodles –
Questioning her own reality
against a tirade of other people’s ideas and ideals.
These idiosyncratic semi autobiographical meanderings,
an honest reflection of one woman’s perception,
Or her illusion of what life is like
through tired blue eyes.
Musings and Smatterings 