I don’t walk with a swagger
I’m not a callused hand
I don’t wish for stars
Or four leaf clovers
I sing with a guitar that holds a tune
But my voice is held under water
In a rusty tin can
So I sleep in a cold corner
With a sore back on my side
I run out of gas
When I’m driving too fast
And my knives all go blunt
So my pencils aren’t sharp
But I’m still trying hard
To grow something again
Tag: pencil
Blur (day 2747)
Don’t thank me anymore
I didn’t write
And all guest appearances
Have been and gone
A lost ark
A broken pencil
A spent dollar
On an unfulfilling crimson
Shaded by the blur
I drove away
Pencils (day 2651)
Tracked time to lose myself
Two pencils and a measure
Which broke down each snapped line
Dull blades and drill bits.
Like settled dust
The wind blew over untacked down recycling
Snow began to fall
And the ground I had become familiar with
Turned hard and markedly frozen
Warm Tea (day 2516)
I’m not Gothic, but I’m made for the edge
I sharpen my pencils with one long steel blade
And whisper in darkness to ghosts running around.
There’s still time for me to walk away,
A path where shrunken skulls remind me
Of voices necromancy.
I’m not here for anything but tea, kind Sir,
Help me bring silence
In this sea of raindrops dragging
For my pencils and warm tea.
Hashmark (day 2452)
A passage of my minds disguise
I float the little waves
And carry on in nature’s ease,
I dare not look too far
For far shall be my last rebirth.
But as sweet whispers carry over
Tender ruffles of my mind
I hold a little longer to
Pencils I’ve had perfectly sharp
That count with each hashmark
Dear boldness I’ve become.
Back Endings (day 2283)
I never wanted to fall apart like this
Leaving pages bent and pencils broken
My back pages are written upside down
And my back pockets are filled with memories
That keep reminding me I’ve gone away.
Rusty backstops echo number five
From a once was now gone away
And we might send a letter
To remind you we’re far from you are home.
I close my eyes and wind lays your whispers
Upon my hardly kempt whiskers
With leaves blowing too early now
For autumn to be upon us,
Yet every breath I hear coming towards me
Leaves traces of my sadness
Rolling along to the tune of the trans-Canada
Like coyotes howling in the night
Reminding me you’re far away.
But I don’t want to say goodnight
I don’t want to wipe the tears
That cool my evening breeze,
I want to take back my endings
I never meant to write down
In a love poem I never meant to send,
No, I want to listen to the stars
Until connection has been made
And my back pockets hold bits of paper
Your pencils wrote to me.
Afternoon Buzz (day 1594)
I hear the sounds of last night’s rain
Dripping off the guitar man upstairs
Like he’s drinking an unmarked bottle of wine
With candles stuffed inside
Green colored empties everywhere.
His pancake heart is shifting
As his torn-bottom baggy jeans scuff
His unease like a broken pencil
And no sharpener.
But two fifteen will buy a slow drip
In a soft-white ceramic self-logo
– Without refill – from a beanie-topped
Organic cycler that always smiles
And talks in soft tones to her cute co-worker
Humoring her choice in music.
Piles of Hay (day 1171)
Green green grass that pulled my eye
Away from studious pursuits,
Left me blinking beyond recognition
Against the mid-summer sun.
And ‘for too long I was bound
To be a gentleman farmer,
With two brown cows and a flock-o-chickens
To keep collectors at bay.
In my haste I left my pencils
Behind the ol’wrecked galley,
Which held my plans of adventure and folly
Through lands of foreign accents.
As Big Ben – punctual suitor a-high –
Chimed my daily ritual no more,
I whisked away the piles of hay
To woo my mid-summer sun.
She laughed at me upon her stoop
With joy only innocence can bring.
Though my knee, dusty it be
Was scraped in childhood folly,
Look here my man, in my hand
I’ve a sun and it’s even more fun.