Over the last seven days, I've added 4 more entries to my sketchbook for the 2011 Sketchbook Project. All 4 entries are still in progress. My theme is "Adhere To Me" and I've settled on it being a book of memories.
This particular entry has my illustration on the left and my poem on the right.
This is a sketchbook, so keeping my pages neat and clean has been a challenge. The acrylic I had applied on a previous page got messy and ended up all over on different pages. Finding a clean page is impossible now, so I'm working around these spots. I might paint her skirt to make the spot less obvious. We'll see.
This particular entry has my illustration on the left and my poem on the right.
This is a sketchbook, so keeping my pages neat and clean has been a challenge. The acrylic I had applied on a previous page got messy and ended up all over on different pages. Finding a clean page is impossible now, so I'm working around these spots. I might paint her skirt to make the spot less obvious. We'll see.
Waiting
You've been gone
ten days now,
four more.
You call.
Your voice
calms the raindrops
and wakes the sun.
I miss you more
than I could have predicted.
I'm cold at night, can't sleep.
Every morning
the canvas stares hard at me,
the brushes and oils have given up speaking to me.
I wander from room to room
watch a spider, small and brown
with a white diamond on its back, build her web,
carrying silk from the center
out and back again.
The web glistens as the sun
comes through the window.
the clock strikes noon,
but I'm not hungry.
You told me you loved me and
your voice echos still.
the spider has finished her web
and there is nothing more to do but wait.
November 12, 1999
J.A.
You've been gone
ten days now,
four more.
You call.
Your voice
calms the raindrops
and wakes the sun.
I miss you more
than I could have predicted.
I'm cold at night, can't sleep.
Every morning
the canvas stares hard at me,
the brushes and oils have given up speaking to me.
I wander from room to room
watch a spider, small and brown
with a white diamond on its back, build her web,
carrying silk from the center
out and back again.
The web glistens as the sun
comes through the window.
the clock strikes noon,
but I'm not hungry.
You told me you loved me and
your voice echos still.
the spider has finished her web
and there is nothing more to do but wait.
November 12, 1999
J.A.
Comments
I look forward to more sketch stories.
Elizabeth, JC and Gabbi, thanks for stopping by. I'm glad the poem and illustration compliment each other.
Zendot, glad the restlessness came through in my words.