Day 358: Palettes

While I kept staring at the pencil sketches on the side of my notebook I kept looking outside at the rain outside my window. It smells of a memory that you can go to when you close your eyes. It reminds you of the first time you walked in the rain or maybe reminds you of paper boats that would go to no places. I think in the colors we mixed together in the palette we have painted with only a few while the rest are still waiting for brush strokes to spread them around. My color palette grows in my imagination for now, slowly as we sketch again, come paint with me.

Palettes
Come paint me like the outlines your draw
While you try to recall things that you saw
I will be the sketches in your handbook; for now
Keep drawing with no instructions, not knowing how

These palettes with dried out colors of mine
Have seen much that has passed in the passing of time
While some I have painted on canvases in the background
Important things that have refused to stick around

How do we capture a thought or a memory?
Is it fresh when it forms and nostalgia to be?
Or are we painting sketches from rough outlines
Things that we remember and the ones that we define

I am the restless boat on your wall, resting by the sea
I will be tied to nothing but the waves that are set free
While time will pass on and I will capture just today
In pictures and sketches and writings in my own way

Day 357: Sketches Here

I always feel that our notion of carrying memories are similar to when we travel to conferences with posters, locked in poster tubes. Wrapped somehow as we carry them in our mind. The idea was that the poster tubes they grow and we keep sketching and drawing new things onto the canvas. We trace walks we took, we think of moments we share and probably find inspiration scribbled somewhere. As I wrap up one of the conference here in Boulder, I keep thinking about this staring at my very own poster tube. In the hope of more things I keep writing, maybe adding a few thoughts of my own to the days that pass by. The airport windows loom with sunshine and yet it feels just a little cold as though the city waves goodbye.

Sketches Here

My poster in the tube it lay
I watched the sun flickering on and off
I kept wondering about things to say
And hoping some will get through to the top

I was moving around in bed sheets
Hoping a few more hours of the day I would cheat
While the sunlight grows stronger for now
It escapes outside my window somehow

These pencil sketches of people that I know
Some who remember me and some I will draw
As relentless as my travels may seem
I have yet to go these places where I may have once been

Rest for now my friend you have come home
Or maybe just places you don't feel alone
While the rest of us come and go
There are some who leave traces you don't even know 

Day 356: Chocolat

Some of the sweetest things in life are often indeed like chocolates sweet and bitter, blended and tempered and handled carefully. They are sweeter still in my hot chocolate mug and as they are in the pieces I unwrap one at a time. In whatever shape or way, in hope and in dismay I find them better than comfort food or maybe something I would eat everyday if I could. But why lie maybe I do get the steal the taste every now and then and may that's all I writing about, wishing I had hot chocolate instead of ink in my pen.

Chocolat
I am only in the sugar coated wraps of my mind
Sweet tastes and chocolates that I can find
While reminders that warm memories are tempered too
They are aftertastes some for me and some for you

Why make bets on things you cannot see
Why wish upon things and then set the thoughts free?
Keep the hope they are things that manage to stay
Some that are persistent even if they seem to slip away

These questions that I am sometimes asked to frame
The bigger ones that are different but not the same
Things that encompass everything I know and do for now
So I keep coming back to the drawing board somehow

My chocolate chip cookies or biscuits whatever may
They are things I keep in jars hoping they would stay
While some things they drip like hot chocolate drinks
On the edge of my tongue & my seat, while I wait for you to blink

Perfect reminders of sweet things maybe hard to come by
So I write them down anyways, in my words I try