Short Pencil In Poems

Pencil in my hand.
What will I write about next?
Writing is a process.
...

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blessed assurance
thy computer is fine
for now
but just wait the next crash
and sharpened pencil in hand...

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Take a pencil in your hand
   It becomes a magic wand
Transports you to most distant lands
   Snow-capped mountains, desert sands...

Place it gently down, my friend
   'Till you next depart again...

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What was Picasso’s first word?
Ba?
Baba?
Da?
Flower?
Bird?
It was lapiz
Lapiz is pencil in Spanish
I read this printed in a book of facts.
How did the fact-checkers verify this? Hmmmmm
Curious isn’t it?...

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Politicians 
Congressman, Senators, Mayor's, Governors 
In city,  states presently 
Now and in the past tense 
Yesterday's voted in governing 
The land while in the voting booth 
We pencil in our choices 
Who will lead us


2/18/21
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2021...

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All the love you can hold
leaves one, oh so cold!
Ice man! They now call me
cheap now with this affliction.
Enigma your middle name
April’s fool you made me,
pencil in one broken heart
purple haze you created.
Loneliness evermore
evening time will
bring on home
your destruction!

© Harry J Horsman  1997...

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Sunday sunrise
breaking through
bay window
coffee brewing
the aroma inebriating
crossword puzzle
pencil in hand
and in the kitchen
dreamy wafts
of costa rica java
mingling with 
perfumes of 
strawberries
and waffles



Published in my 24-page photo/anthology ~CAFFEINE INFUSION~ 2020

AP: 3rd place 2021

Posted on May 9, 2019...

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He sits with a pencil in hand
Laying back in the golden sands
Letting the ideas flood his mind
The words he writes are so kind.
He listens to the waves roll on in
What ever he writes, he will win.
His pencil flows like a dream
Or he will have it seem.
This is how I imagine James Fraser
He’s as sharp as a razor!!

Thanks for your inspiration James...

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with muse in hand 
and wire tapping in brain
I begin this endless journey 
to explore the depths
of my imagination 
to surpass this longevity
called boredom 
I willingly shall
come up with a great story
for others to enjoy when its
bounty is found



Note
Inspired by a 
photo from 
a sister site


Photo showed a blank piece of paper 
and a pencil in a hand    lol...

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I decided to write a bucket list 
Things to do before I die
Experiences that I’ve never had
Or stuff, that I’d just like to try
So I sat down with my paper
And a pencil in my hand
Then tried to think of what to do, but
It never went quite how I’d planned
I couldn’t think of a single thing
That I would rather do
Than spend my last remaining years
At home, just me and you

© John W Fenn  26-09-2009...

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it is 3 am....Mind overflowing...Pencil in my hand
Visions screaming out ;to be but on paper is their demand
Late nights and early mornings...best time to create
Nocturnally creative...I guess it was my fate.
With a sketch and a smile something beautiful coming to form
Spewing out my heart ...this paper I've adorned
Should be asleep..in the morning off to work
But nocturnal creating better justifies my worth....

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On a bench in the sun,
With the river close by,
I can get something done 
(Or at least I can try).

For out here I unwind
As I soak up the rays
And I’m likely to find
Something I can appraise.

With my pencil in hand
And a notebook page, blank,
I fulfill the command,
With the river to thank,

That I jot down a poem
(Which is almost complete).
Now it’s time to head home;
There’s some popcorn to eat.
...

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God gave me a sheaf of blank pages
And a pencil in my hand of destiny
When I came in the world He made
To write the story of my life I make.
After a long journey truly recorded
My mind now turns the faded pages
I have filled writing over the years
Agrees with the people who say
I failed life or life me
Which one is true
I don’t know.

God, give me an eraser 
I shall erase the story I wrote
And compose my life once again....

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Whenever I hold a pencil in my hand ,I shake.
If I try to draw and pretend to imagine, I will fake.
It's not that I do not like or appreciate this form of art.
Just that it does not come to me from inside of my heart.
We all have different abilities, likes and dislikes.
Drawing does not excite my brain if I have to be precise.
Still it always hurts me that I just cannot draw.
But I would like to believe that it is not a flaw.

...

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My kingdom for a topic;
I do not need a choice,
Just one to which I can attach
My daily rhyming voice.

Most subjects seek me out
Or fall, politely, in my lap
And others show as soon as I
Put on my thinking cap.

But once in a great while,
With my pencil in my hand,
I stare into my writing book,
No thoughts at my command.

And so I write a little poem
About my lack of theme,
The words cascading quickly
In a firm and steady stream....

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Traces of errors - demarcate my past mistakes - I could not erase.
While perfectionists - are gluttons for misery - hints they can't redeem,
like beaches, victims - left barren of memories - surging waves stroked clean.

I welcome the sight - of my miscalculations - to refine my trace.
Unhesitantly -  why seak perfection with one stroke!? - Far better to strive.
With pencil in hand - I raise my blunt graphite sword -  better live, than die.

by,
Martin Braun
3/25/2020...

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This vexing pencil in turgid fingers I gracelessly hold
  Sorcerer's lead conjures up casuistic captions, fools' gold

My peripatetic purple pen winks at my commands
  Dancing to a distant drummer on sun-scorched parchment sands

A cunning keyboard mocks me, in cast-iron briefcase locked
  Contrarian bent, loaded for bear, at my Muse pointed and cocked

What with erasers missing and forever low on toner ink
  It's a wonder the poetic process has not driven me to drink!...

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Some days I don’t feel that inspired;
Perhaps I am down or just tired.
It could be the blues
Or maybe my muse 
Has gotten too old and retired.

Still, I will keep plugging away
Since there’s still quite a lot I can say.
With my pencil in hand
Words are at my command 
So I’ll lasso a few to come stay.

Then I tame them and get them in line
‘Til the rhymes and the rhythms entwine.
The results that I seek,
With a tug and a tweak,
Might be what I’ll be proud to call mine....

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