Best Pencil Poems
My pencil plays in my hand....
Outside a card house that can barely stand...
I sketch a paper train on the wall...
Watch it travel from in a frame to the hall...
It passes through pictures from one to another...
From black and white scenes to colors that flutter...
The card house falls as the train pulls in...
And the path of my pencil tears a paper not thin...
I always thought writing with a broken pencil was useless and pointless
But then I became a broken pencil myself
I became emptiness, a wilderness of my own thoughts
I became depression and healing all at once
But then I was my blank pages created with empty pieces of hope
Then there were my sharp edges and ink to begin my journey of a scowl life
Pain was my sharpness with everything I did leaving a mark of grace
Making visible my scars to be useless from the inside
I was a broken pencil written for the last time and my destination was changed
But then something was important for me to know that I had to turn problems to opportunity
That at some point broken pencils, lost erasers
But mine lost its mind to its broken heart
Poet
Masego Nkuna
Guided by the writer's hand
it skates across page after page,
in complete abandon,
relishing the journey.
A short visit now and then
to the cut of the blade,
its red-lacquered coat
shredded to shavings.
Down to the nub, its eraser gone,
a last soft gasp,
a Frisbee fling into the trash.
Its life springs forth
each time a reader
walks through the pages.
I borrowed your favorite pencil
and broke it right in half
I'm sure you really needed it
yet now its in the trash
I know I should have asked you
it just didn't cross my mind
forgive me please for I was angry
and the snap of the wood sounded pleasant
and made me feel like smiling
a pencil, slender and sleek,
whispers secrets on the page,
its graphite tip, a dancer's toe,
tracing lines of thought, unencumbered.
it dances across the paper's stage,
twirling and swirling in graceful arcs,
a silent symphony of words and shapes,
unfolding the mysteries of the mind.
its lead, a conductor's baton,
conducting the orchestra of ideas,
scribbling melodies of inspiration,
in the language of graphite and wood.
oh, pencil, humble and unassuming,
you hold the power to create,
to give life to thoughts and dreams,
with each stroke, a world takes shape.
so let us cherish this simple tool,
this wand of possibility and expression,
for in its simplicity, it holds the key,
to unlock the wonders of imagination.
MEMORY TRIGGERED BY A PURPLE PENCIL
A reponse to Caren Krutsinger’s Pay the Purple Pencil Penalty Please
sick
in bed
not now
then
daddy
worked for
i.b.m.
simpler times
not now
but
then
to soothe
my pain
dad
brought home
a
glitzy pen
decorations
that lit
up
my eyes
danced me
back
to health
poet
in me
perked up,
colors
could have been
kaleidoscopically
whirling ~
a
mirror ball
treasure,
rainbow crystals
glittering
on the ceiling,
tactile
a friend
reminded me
today
of
this simple
gesture
love
accepts
a pen
or purple
pencil
and doesn’t play dead
you
seem “floored”
as you
look up
at the “pirate queen”
she sees the scintilla of your eyelids
peers
into the opening ~
she’s
no
fool
you burst out
laughing
7/5/2020
I am just
A little pencil
Made from
Wood and lead
My head is
Long and pointed
My body
Smooth and red
I write happily
Only when I’m led
I was once
Tall and handsome
But now
The days I dread!
You see
My little master
He treats me
Very badly
And often
Shaves my head
And when
He is thinking
He puts my tail end
In his mouth
Chewing till he thinks
Things through
Now I am
But half myself
An old stump, discarded
Bald and chewed!
Why the other day
He picked me up
Happy was I
To move ahead
But as he neither could
Shave or chew
He just threw me down
Thinking I was dead!
Just put a pencil in my hand and suddenly...
..Smilling, talking, dancing across the page, climbing in a story,
Drawing a leaf, a picture,
Writing an adventure waiting to be read,
Drawing, writing all the whille,
Smilling at every word to be born,
Expressing every feeling ever known to man: happiness, sadness, love, and hate,
Every feeling ever imagined and described,
Magic in my words and fingers,
Creating beauty and perfection,
Beauty on paper,
Love in the sky,
Better and better do my words fly,
Higher, stronger, more beautiful, to perfectionperhaps not yet, perhaps not ever.
What's this?
Pure bliss
NOTE: Hey everyone ... so I've been pretty busy these last few days, with packing, cleaning up, setting up yard-sales etc., so I'm gonna take a short break from posting and commenting ... but in the meantime feel free to enter my very first contest, March of the Footle. Curious to see how it goes ... happy writing!
I, the sleeper and dreamer
Wish for your end
Is it wrong, blasphemer?
Should I break, should you bend?
I sharpen your demise on a pencil sharpener
Peeling you away….reaching your core of lead
Should I break or should you bend?
Or can’t I just wish for my end?
There’s knives protruding from your eyes
The eyes I know are dead
The blasphemer you are will reveal where your body lies
Beneath your core of lead
I found you among the disposables
Wishing for my end
I blasphemed you and you just gave back
My pencils burning with lead
I screamed as you pierced through me
I felt it in my soul!
But I’m to blame for this masterpiece
I sharpened you with gold!
The shavings fall upon the ground
And still this dream moves on
Pierced, I fall without a sound
Until the break of dawn
I, the sleeper and dreamer
Am still pierced to this day
So I hand the pencil sharpener to you
And pray you’ll be with me
An ode to my pencil
To the strokes of the tip
Expressing my thoughts
The firm feeling of a grip
An ode to my pencil
To the mistakes that are written
The imagery that is caught
The ideas that are given
An ode to my pencil
Sharp lines of emotion
Direction being sought
My mind in motion
An ode to my pencil
Imagination whirring
Precision that can't be taught
Feelings stirring
An ode to my pencil
For guiding my hand
With care that can't be bought
Creates an ending that is grand
A pencil world, there are marks everywhere
I’m formed by some pencil streaks on paper
She lives on this paper, a grand image
Standing on some raggedly made passage
Lines to form the walls and shadows abound
I see myself in strange footage around
Seeing everything in only line form
Crafts mastery in circular reform
I can sense she’ll approach with her strange arms
And aligned with pieces of pencil charms
This page envelopes me, confines me more
My brain still functions, not sure what I’m for
My world is a bunch of stray pencil marks
Drawn onto a paper as some remarks
Russell Sivey
The earth knows your business child;
there's nothing anonymous ...
about alcohol.
Them drunks like to show off ...
yes, they like to show their strength.
They beat women like bongo drums.
Them gal down at the factories,
they love a man on cannabis;
a mellow man -
in a constant mellow mood,
always hungry for good food
and a good cook.
Their pencils are always sharpened,
ready to write -
in rain, sun, or sleet;
Not so with them funky drunks,
theirs are more eraser and less lead.
they'll erase even wet dreams,
their pencils are nothing but dead,
carcasses for the crows.
Write love on puffs of cannabis clouds
just like Nesta Marley did.
How bloody is Mary
after glasses of your spirit poured out?
love is forever yours Mary Jane,
my darling and consort.
A finger will never hurt thee.
I sit here with chin in hand
My pencil poised on paper
My mind is buzzing
Words tumble and fall
In all areas of my brain
They fight for a place up front
A bouillabaisse of letters and words
Searching for significance
Demanding to convey a sentiment, a thought
With eyes closed
Ideas form more quickly
My pencil is ready
My fingers grip tightly
Eager to record each expression
One word, two, a phrase springs to life
Words flow as a poem begins
The page fills quickly
My pencil is content at last.
Every child in school owns a pencil
Used for bringing out a writing skill
It always goes with the sharpener
So it writes clearly on a paper
Sometimes it styles in many colors
Also smells in different flavors
In school it is very important
Need to have this not only for want