There was an old woman who tangled.
With Microns and tiles she wrangled.
She blogged and she swapped,
'til one night she dropped.
With her fine strings, she'd been strangled.
Sandy Popa is one of the moderators of the "Zentangle Inspired Art" Yahoo group, and she presented this poem:
Fountainy cylinders of dripping ink,
What patterns will come
Not sure what to think.
A dribble, a swish, then a dot,
Zentangles develop
Without a thought.
And since what's a book without pictures, here's a recent tile shared with me by Jenn, one of my students. Pretty cool!
