This poem is about a lowly object with the power to change the world.
Worn like an old-fashioned bookmaker,
Ready to lick into action,
Grey matter as sharp as a stilletto,
Wooden body short and stumpy,
Worn down by constant sharpening;
I was going to throw it away,
This little piece of ash and graphite
With its chewed end and flaked paint,
Faded as a shuttered seaside town in winter,
But what about those messages in waiting?
A defiant declaration from a prison cell,
A forgiving farewell from a hospital bed,
A simple 'I love you' on a postit note,
A long goodbye in a castaway bottle...
I wear that puny pencil like a talisman now,
A holy relic, part of a wooden ark or cross,
When I press it against paper, black blood
Oozes out and a miracle happens - humanity.
Chris Fernie, 2006
Poetry by Chris Fernie
Read 504 times
Written on 2006-08-22 at 22:49
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Stub
I found it behind my ear,Worn like an old-fashioned bookmaker,
Ready to lick into action,
Grey matter as sharp as a stilletto,
Wooden body short and stumpy,
Worn down by constant sharpening;
I was going to throw it away,
This little piece of ash and graphite
With its chewed end and flaked paint,
Faded as a shuttered seaside town in winter,
But what about those messages in waiting?
A defiant declaration from a prison cell,
A forgiving farewell from a hospital bed,
A simple 'I love you' on a postit note,
A long goodbye in a castaway bottle...
I wear that puny pencil like a talisman now,
A holy relic, part of a wooden ark or cross,
When I press it against paper, black blood
Oozes out and a miracle happens - humanity.
Chris Fernie, 2006
Poetry by Chris Fernie
Read 504 times
Written on 2006-08-22 at 22:49
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
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