a gel pen glides on paper effortlessly
It gives a crisp dark line
a marvelous device for writing poems
I have learned one lesson about gel pens
although, they are marvelous on paper
do not expect them to outline your paintings
I had always used markers until last week
Why not use pen? I wondered
forgetting it is not a ballpoint
it is a gel pen
as I added paint to my canvases
the gel pen turned into black streaks
not only were the outlines gone
my paint was dirty
lesson learned
the hard way
the way I seem to learn most lessons
ahhh... the crisp feel of the new notebook
its spine never cracked open
its pages of virgin white perfectly aligned
awaiting their marching orders
eager for all and any pen markings
from sunday best handwriting to doodles
inviting playful interaction
your creative élan of spontaneity
random thoughts splashed on a page
scripted lines scribbled to offload
a mind seeking clarity, peace or absolution
seeking a semblance of order
of profound clarity or silly mischief
one page then another
the daily journal of a busy mind
in search of something
through self-expression
hoping to find it between
the whites of pages
and the ink of a ballpoint pen
AP: Honorable Mention 2025
To twirl like a dancer upon paper,
And execute the swirling pirouettes,
One needs to keep a balance of the pen;
So step by step the stage is swept in strokes.
Now left, now right, and two and four, the beat
Pulses, pulls the body up to the brink,
Draws back, recedes. Silent is the hall. Now,
The ballpoint tip toeing the lines of ink,
Building momentum, movement towards
Climax — the bliss of literature achieved!
Shine Bright O' Golden Pen
To Empower & Inspire The Masses Of Men,
Burn Ever Luminous & Blaze As The Sun
And Let Thy Ballpoint Scintillate Like The Chosen One,
Fill Thy Longhand With Prestine Manuscripts
To Great Endeavors That Shall Sail Afar Like Ocean Ships,
Guide Thee To Depths Unknown
When Many Are Lost & Have Lost All Hope,
Illuminate Thy Ink Scrolls For All Of Time
With Knowledge & Wisdom & Light Divine,
Oscillate The Great Duality That Always Was
And Let It Transcend Through The Sword That Descends From Above,
Infuse Thee With Essence As An Emerald Stone
So I Shall Articulate These Jasmine & Fiery Poems
PEN
At first, it was just another pen
A ballpoint, as is called by some
Not one in that old clear plastic
But shiny metal, looking fantastic
A present, as fancy as they come
Quite the classy image back then
That silvery glint in my top pocket
And a perfect weight in my hand
I used it for all my college work
And if ever I lost it, I’d go berserk
All avid students will understand
It was my thing, so don’t mock it
Over time, it became my identity
Still as the messenger of my writing
My signature in places I had to sign
Unique, clearly to know it was mine
Then creative stuff became exciting
On the page, words flowed rapidly
I replaced the refills, always black
In my life it was a solid workhorse
I held it up to point, for emphasis
It was a poor performer’s nemesis
As detailed in my notes of course
A reliable instrument I’d never lack
From the first day that I was hired
I wielded that pen just like a sword
The barrel shone, the clip was strong
No smudging and never went wrong
Given a new gold pen by the Board
A parting gift when we both retired
Ballpoint pens or sharpened pencils,
Scads of pads of virgin papers,
These are the tools,
The base utensils,
This poet needs for his mental capers.
Thesaurus and dictionary close at hand,
A steaming mug on the chairside stand.
Prepared, I wait with anticipation…
What's keeping that muse
With the inspiration?
He really should use
a ballpoint pen
ink blots are hard to remove,
and they can mask our reality.
The blots form mysteriously
shaped smears and smudges
that conceal rather than reveal.
We who avidly read His works
are apt to badly misinterpret.
He should have learned to type,
or at least used a computer,
but no
and now all we have are
these mysterious word-puzzles
many of which
are half-hidden between
speculation and conjecture.
An April fool
twelve months out of the year.
And it’s been a full calendar year
without you in it.
Empty spaces
take up my planner now.
Devoid of you and me
and all the plans
that we made together.
You’re gone, and what’s left
is just empty spaces
Does your name lay
along someone else’s
planned-out days?
Is their planner
surrounded by hearts?
Or was that just mine?
Is it written forever
in ballpoint pen?
Or carelessly penciled in
haphazardly
as a second thought?
Pencil means
subject to change.
Is she just waiting
to erase your name?
Waiting for something better,
someone better…
than you.
Just remember
my poor fellow fool,
I cared enough--
when you were mine…
to use
permanent
black
ink.
Nearly two years ago, on April 1, 2021, I decided to try ’30 days of poetry.’ This was day one and the prompt was ‘Fool’ and this is what came of it.
Martial Artist
draws ballpoint pen
weapon
This year 2021 seems so very hard
with covid and all its limited implications
but it's worth comparing centuries before
five hundred years before was no celebration
In comparing all these 500 years ago
when it was a world so different from today
this was what Europe then was like
even U.S. hadn't been brought into play
During the 1500s there were no basics
no sewer system, central heating, water supply
refrigeration, antibiotics, penicillin or surgery
in our day not having these we would die
As well as no water heater or water
also, ballpoint pen, typewriter, pc was none
it beggars belief what life was like
life was harsh certainly not much fun
People in that day would've been so poor
struggling would have been a daily chore
so be thankful we're not still back then
despite covid we're still able to roar!
The horse gave way to the car
The boat gave way to the plane
The quill gave way to the ballpoint pen
from Oklahoma to Ohio to Maine
Radio gave way to TV
TV to the Internet Sreen
Yet radio's making a comeback now
A pleasant surprise unforeseen
About one thing I'm sure, however
There's no going back to cloth diapers and pins
Like today, tomorrow belongs to disposables
~ So as to get rid of manure-eating grins
Ballpoint Bully ~ How I write.
Navel Gazing ~ How I think.
Hot Grey Matter ~ What turns me on.
UFO ~ What I believe.
Life Insurance ~ How I live.
Cut To The Wick ~ How I try.
Baby Birds ~ Why I cry.
Doll ~ I pulled a thread and let my stuffing out in this one.
Normally my mind's a meadow ~ My scariest poem to post.
Chimney Swift ~ Just how much I love birds.
This horny shaft of ruffled feathers
Is hollow and needs to be filled
This shaft has become a hard ballpoint pen
It needs secretion within parchment
It is filled with ink wanting to write
Without you I have writers block
I will glue your pages together
Placing my hard cover around you
I need to be in your table of Content
I will turn your pages over and over
I will never dog ear anyone's page but yours
My Quotes will be long and hard to understand
With each stroke of this pen thinking, then
Writing and filling this book from cover to cover
The Main Chapter and Verse
Is You, the most interesting book I have ever read
A banana peel littering the sidewalk
A candy wrapper lying carelessly on the parkway
An aluminum Coke can, crushed, by the side of the curb
Cigarette butts scattered randomly on the pavement
A plastic diaper stuffed into a trash container
A ballpoint pen, squished, bleeding in the roadway
A torn knitted glove abandoned on a park bench
Sunflower seed shells strung along a sandy beachfront trail
A careless remark, tossed out haphazardly, devastating a reputation
A promise broken, unintentionally, rattling around our soul
A lifetime of effort, squandered, forever unappreciated
Love spurned, nonchalantly, rending our fragile heartstrings
P-owerful writer
E-xcellently expresses
N-othing but the mind.
Form: Haikustic
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