Sketch Poem by Suzanne Hayasaki
Sketch
When I pick up a pencil to sketch,
Language fades away
Taking with it time and place
And I am left with myself.
As pencil contacts paper
I feel something dormant come alive
A different set of eyes
I don't just see
I ask my subject to talk to me.
And so when I am lonely,
I commune.
When I am mourning,
I remember.
When I am lost,
My muscles guide me
And sometimes to my surprise
And image begins to appear
Which pleases me.
The act is my consolation.
The image, as primitive as it may be,
Is mine to give, as a trifling token,
To someone who loves as I do.
A thoughtful and well crafted meaningful poem. Thanks for sharing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/3/2024 2:41:07 AM # 1.0.0.1119
Oh, What Beautiful Imagery And Meaning To This Wonderful Poem! ! ! ! ! You've So Eloquently Sown/Sketched! ! ! ! ! Thank You So Much For Sharing This! ! ! ! ! Many Many10S! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! +++++
Thank you always for your comments Rebecca!