Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

Archive for the tag “freedom”


I doodle when captive.
When I am shackled to the phone by a curly cord,
my ear tired and sweaty from close
contact with plastic and monotony.

I grasp at post it notes and edges of envelopes.
The fine line black felt is my weapon of choice
But any cheap ball point will do
in a pinch.
Start with a line, a curve, a hat with a feather.

“Yes, I’m listening.” I assure the droning in my ear
as strokes become longer, curling into petals
and dragonfly wings.
The drone becomes a staccato as it lists point
after point and the pen dashes out rays of starlight
in time.

Finally a face evolves from chaos and little eyes look
a question at me.
“I’ll have to call you back. I have someone here.”
And I smile at the little person I’ve created,
my escapist release.



Pushing Snails

We’ve decided to set a goal,
an ultimatum if you will,
to end this futile habit
of pushing snails uphill.

Of slowing our pace for slugs,
of tailoring dreams to fit
into a life that somehow shrank
more than we like to admit.

You may not notice at first.
You may not see us begin.
But turtles preparing to fly
must first learn how to grow wings.

Very soon we’ll take to the sky
and laugh at the people who still
think they’re accomplishing something grand
by pushing a snail uphill.



Live Again

What good is sunshine in a windowless room?
How do you know if it’s raining outside?
What good is wrangling over maybes and coulds?
How do you know if there’s truth in the lies?

But one day the sun’s gonna work its way
through roof and wall and light it all
and the rain will wash it away.

What good are windows if they just face a wall?
How do the trees find a place they can play?
What good is staring at the same set of facts?
How many bricks are in a day?

And one day the trees are gonna eat their way
through roof and wall and turn it all
into molehill mountains once again.

What good, How do you do what you do
when you know that nothing’s ever gonna change on it’s own.
How do, what good is waiting for the rain,
and the sun, and the trees, because all of these
are waiting for you too.

Climb a tree, touch the rain
feel the sun on your face
and never wait to live again.




Between nest and ground
is where all birds learn to fly
by just letting go.

And in the free fall
all weight and fear drop away
and lose their power.

I will close my eyes,
spread my arms, and fly away
if you will come too.

And we will look down
on the fallen fear and weight
so far below us.

We will watch them shrink
as we wheel and soar higher,
like fledgling eagles

and we’ll wonder why
it took so long to let go
of the nest and fly.



I Need to Be That Other Me

I need to be that other me for a while, the me who smiles wide and thinks large and stands in the middle of the page, not in the margin. The me who dusts off yesterday’s remains then calls the rains to wash it away and yet I won’t get wet unless I want to, I just walk away, no, the rain can’t touch me unless I say so. That other me is free to think unconventionally, painting my world with thoughts curled around dreams hurled at walls where they spread and glow and pulse and show the way to be this me permanently. I need to be that other me.



Where Did She Go?

I know why the snake sheds her skin.
Self-reinvention being a hobby of mine, I envy
her ability to slide out of her personal slip cover,
her new skin gleaming and fresh,
A personal do-over.
I know why the caterpillar cocoons.
I, who often dream of flying, sometimes curl
up in my duvet and wonder how long
I’d have to sleep before
the wings grew.
And in that sleep I’d dream the answer
to every question, the key for every lock,
the solution to every problem.
I’d rise into the air, free from pain, doubt, and fear.
I know why the chameleon blends.
How many times have I wished my skin
would take on the pattern of the couch covers?
“She was here a minute ago” they’d say
“Where did she go?”



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