a pencil in my hand does a happy dance
plain and unplanned, my thoughts in a trance
I watch the markings, wondering what they are about
when I see the words forming, I give a tiny shout
why does my pencil always know before me
what my mind is doing, all fearless and free?
these words were channeled from beyond the veil
from Coleridge or Poe, I turn a ghastly pale
the pencil does not hesitate, she knows what she’s about
I follow along fiercely, not about to anger or pout
for my Ticonderoga knows how to write a poem every day.
I am not going to hold her back or stifle her in any way.
...Duncan laughed bitterly at the sight,
was this why so many men had died?
Half-ruined stones, piled gray and white,
the goal that brought such slaughter, denied…
Ticonderoga, it was renamed,
the title by which it gained great fame,
nut Ducan cared little for that now,
his time was up, he mustered out.
He bought land in the New Hampshire grants,
had a family, and settled to farm,
hoping never more to do souls harm,
but after sixteen years had advanced,
he found, with the fort, he wasn’t finished,
when he helped seize it from the British…
I get can't get this right
no matter how many times I do it
The clock continues to click
My paper stares back at me empty
My mind tires from pitching out ideas only for them to be foul balls
The yellow Ticonderoga pencil is lifeless, without amusement
It's better half is warm from rubbing against the blank paper
Both sit still not from anticipation but from boredom
My fingers dance outlining a circle
a never-ending ring of what it is to be a writer
to read
to think
to write
to read
to think
to write
The USS Ticonderoga
In January of ’45
Was engaged off of Formosa
When the kamikazes darkened the skies.
Hit on the flight deck and the island,
One hundred forty four died.
An inferno that day and that hour,
Yet the Ticonderoga survived.
The sixth of the Essex-class carriers,
Launched just the year before,
She and her crew served nobly
Til the end of that long bloody war.
Years later I sailed on the Tico;
Together we sailed on the sea.
We journeyed throughout the Pacific
Til she was decomm’ed in ’73.
Most of her sisters are gone now;
They live on in just memories
Where they continue to sail on,
Sailing on far distant seas.
Some kids play soccer.
Some go out for a mocha.
I, however, chew my DIXON Ticonderoga.
I look out the window
and cringe in disgust.
They're fighting over a basketball and making a fuss.
I just nibble at my eraser.
Happy as can be
Well, I am kind of friendless.
And I’m often lonely.
Oh who am I kidding! This is the life, baby!
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