Tag: pad

Ode To My Favourite Pen (day 3067)

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I found you down a darkened road
Construction and rainy smells
Inside an old historic building
In to what felt like a historic store.
The walls were lined
With countless pens
And items supporting pens,
All illuminated so eloquently
Showcasing the finest specimens
Any penman could want.
In here I walked back and forth,
And fellow patrons wandered deep in thought,
Where finally in the deepest corner
I found you resting on a stand
Not a fingerprint laid your barrel.

And now so many years have passed
Yet not once have you let me down
Though the world we’ve traveled by foot
No wear shows upon your barrel,
Your nib a perfect flow.
And your mark has been inscribed
On countless pads sent afar
With, what I believe, quite an exquisite touch
Unique to me, my penman mark
You so critically help me lay.
I look and hold you every day,
Proud to know you by feel and weight
To have you by my side,
And to know that when I need you most
You’ll be right where I lay you down
Ready with your perfect balance
Upon paper we do play.

Forever Calling (day 1664)

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You heard me calling out your name –
Upon my tongue it would forever last –
Though you took flight into the night,
At a half past forever gone.

I listened then into light wind
For the call I had learned as my own,
And here at last, my breaking point,
A white wolf on the run.

I dare not breathe for fear of alarm,
A fear my existence would cause caution,
Clear for me was how set free
Thy heart as latched bygone.

Your paws I tracked into deep forest,
My soft pads doubled your quick steps,
Leading me as if by force
Into your nature’s home.

It was here I finally sat atop
A rocky outcrop, a simple bluff,
Where every night I’d hear your call
Leaving me forever, never alone.

Grandfather’s Shop (day 1557)

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A sentence was all I wrote
On a dusty pad of paper
Laying on the old workbench
Inside my late grandfather’s shop.
I knew he was still around there,
He spoke to me in hanging machine parts
Scattered about full walls.
Then I whispered goodnight
And turned down the lights
Making sure the heavy door
Was shut the way he’d shown me how.

Dirty I Dry (day 491)

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I’ve met you on the streets of Athens
Scribbling notes in you paper bound pad
I’ve photographed you sitting in a doorwell
Along the dark streets of Budapest
I’ve handed you change from my own pocket
Calm as I was, poor as I be
Because I’m a fortunate soul
You, begging with a bowl
Most would call an ornament
From the crumbles of Istanbul
Sitting on the stool sipping your tea
I’ve washed in your bathroom
My dirty hands of pain
As I smoked the hookah bong
Struggling forward in the death of desire
Bucharest pulls from my hands
I’ve slept alone with my fathers ghost
Dying in the ashes of a holocaust
Purified in the frozen ocean
Of the forgotten Baltic lands
Riga took away my pain
One knitted scarf at a time
Until my condom did run dry
My bitch dog fattened on the ham discards
As I strolled choking through the graves of kings
And as I stripped bare
And threw myself about the rocky shores of Stockholm
I learnt that I could still walk
In spite my increasing desire
To elevate my feet, out of the rain
Dry, protected with the wax from a can

Streets Of Home (day 474)

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The streets that feel like home
On the other side of the world
Make the days spent afoot
Easy to understand and carefree

Though meanwhile the memories flow forth
When all the days lust has been spent
Beautiful roads that lead in circles
Blow by my random waltz without cause

Hold back you lofty footman
Galloping here and there like that
Do you not see the trail of dust you leave
Scaring the peaceful travelers?

Pad lightly along the streets
They whisper intentions if you listen carefully
Wise in their resolution
Steady in their countenance