Stickfigure Poem by Phil Kellogg

Stickfigures hide in the dark
In pens and pencils
Clouded by paper
Waiting to leave their mark
From freehand and stencils
Along they caper
Jumping and dancing
Like the wild old cavemen
Hunting and romancing
More wild than ravemen
Their obstacle is imagination
Wanting more muscles
And something that rhymes with 'ation'
Living in every town including Brussles
The original gangstas of art
Long drawn on walls
Canvases and a shopping cart
In the schools and down the halls
Locked forever in permanent poses
Whether the good guys or bad
Unproportioned limbs and no noses
Most smile others sad or mad
Some expressionless
Later found
Still the stillness
Tall and thin or short and round
The people of many races
Always have different and multiple faces