A doodle starts between those moments
when my pen doesn’t write words
a swooping line arching up, back down
a thought on the very verge
but then the lines are not letters wound
tight in stories, now swooping back up
down and forth, a seam of lines
out come the pearls so close up
little drops of caviar so aligned
a poke leaf or two, not a poem
but a symphony of swirls and drops
No thought, no rules, only gems
of black lines impatient stops.
I tend to doodle, or dabble in Zentangle when I can’t concentrate on writing. And I wasn’t srue where I wanted to go with this. I feel like I should have doodled out thoughts on Outlander because that is where my focus is right now. As I write this I’m looking up the show and images because I’m kind of hooked as I read the book. But I do find when I can’t concentrate on writing, I draw and doodle, sticking to about five specific designs. I have cards filled with them, and in the margins of notebooks, and on random scraps of paper.
I think I picked it up watching my mom on the phone and the drawing she would do. I didn’t get it until I started being on the phone more with people I didn’t really want to talk to.
I find that I’m more apt to go and actually do something, like makes beds, and water, and pick up things, while I’m on the phone. I feel like I need to do something. I actually had someone ask me why I was so out of breath while I was on the phone and I said I was making a bed. He laughed and didn’t get it, but I can’t sit still while I’m on the phone.
I don’t know if this poem works, and this one is a harder one to do, but it’s something.