Finding Joy

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“Find your joy,”
I scream.
But you don’t hear me.

 

copyright 2018 susan stone

Starting Again

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I look to the shelf at my sketchbooks of face drawings and pen and ink drawings of rescue dogs and cats. Simple, imperfect sketches that are perfect in many ways. Because in January, I started drawing, and starting is everything. If you don’t start, you don’t get better. And if you don’t start because you think you can’t draw, well, you can’t because you never started. So I am patting myself on the back for starting, and I’m patting myself on the back for continuing daily drawing for the months that I kept going. And today, I’m kicking my butt to start again because I know that my imperfect drawings will get better–one drawing at a time.

Copyright Susan Stone 2018

Prompt: cat nose

My son and I resumed our prompt project–open for interpretation.  

His prompt:  cat nose

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What a Cat Knows

A cat knows that if he alternates his stare to under the sofa— where his favorite ball of catnip rolled, and to his human’s face, his human will crawl under the sofa to retrieve the ball.

A cat knows that if he wraps his smooth, sleek body around his human’s legs and he forms a cute question mark with his tail, his human will jump through hoops for him till he figures out what he wants.

A cat knows his claws are sharper than the biggest, badass noisy dog and if he aims his weapons at the dogs’ eyes he has the upper paw.

A cat knows if he is aloof with his human, the human will love him more, just like he has observed in the human mating ritual.

A cat knows he is the alpha dog.

 

copyright Susan Stone 2018

Haircut and a new EPA

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cute fun fringes
frame my face
as clippings fall to
tickle my neck

but he trims with a machete,
blindfolded,
as dolphins die and
animals scurry from

burning trees
with no place to go.

fringed locks wilt in 100 degrees
and damp clumps stick
to my face

floating fine particulates

drop from the haze to

burn my throat and fill my lungs.

 

copyright Susan Stone 2018

Painted Man Face

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What does it mean when a little rescue
dog, who spent six years in a cage,
barks and growls at this watery
painted man face that is
propped up against
a white wall?

Susan Stone copyright 2018

Nothing To Say

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I stare at a white
piece
of paper,

not a word,
not a thought,

not a day goes by that
I don’t think about
what I would  say,

but today,

not a word,
not a thought.

copyright Susan Stone 2018