.
                                 pencil
                            pencil pencil
                         pencil pencil pen
                          cil pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                            pencil pencil
                    pencil               pencil
               pencil pencil     pencil pencil
           pencil pencil pencil pencil pencil
              pencil pencil      pencil pencil
                  pencil                    pencil

No one cared until I started holding a pencil
until I started writing
let's call them poems

Did writing make people actually care about me?
Or did it just make them curious enough to ask about me?

Do they like my writing?
Or do they like how I can describe things in ways they can't?

Has this pencil brought me closer to people?
Has it made them finally see me?

Questions start to occur
every time I hold this pencil of mine

questions question question
so many questions
and not enough answers

If you ask me to speak my feelings
I will not be able to utter a word
I will not be able to form a comprehensive sentence
However
Give me a pencil
and I will express... gladly
Whether through writing or drawing

I suppose I owe a lot to my pencil
You might see it as a wood that leaves mark on papers
but to me
It's a whole world,
a world that I'm eager to explore

Thank you pencil
Thank you for being there for me
when my tongue isn't
Thank you for speaking up for me
Thank you for being my voice

They say that I'm somewhat of a poet
   I tell them rather not but a man with a broken pencil
   That share his story through this broken pencil
    Through this broken pencil history has been written
    Through this broken pencil lives have been save
    Through this broken pencil secret have been kept
   They ask why don't you fix your broken pencil
   I reply "why fix what not broken"

I am the pencil
writing on the blank page
that you can easily ignore
or erase

I am a pencil
trying to write on skin
no damage done unless
I press deep

I am just pencil
because I am expected
to make mistakes
you don't keep

I am not a pencil
for then I could not die
or end my life in
escape

It feels good to know how the head looks like
I have a green pencil
The head is the eraser
In the nite time she picture the future
She painted them green
There are plenty pencils but different eraser
This pencil is breath taking,full of life
With the pencil it feels good that anything is possible
Yes!!! anything is possible

Let's make a new kind of pencil, so that anything can be possible
We can decide to erase the old one,
With a new kind of pencil
We can believe in the new world of ours
Ours is a generation of unending love
Let's stay all night designing a new kind of pencil
Let's be creative, let's be green.
Though we are going to be misunderstood,cause people don't like trying new things
The universe is waiting for us down the lane
I hope we do it right. . .

WRITER'S BLOCK

absorbed in haiku
poet absentmindedly
scratches inside of ear
with eraser-tip pencil
breaks off...oh dear...trapped in ear

all sound erased now
tiny tip of eraser
stuck inside of ear
I can hardly hear the hoots
of laughter in A & E

snapped off rubber tip
finally extracted from ear
treated for acute
embarrassment & red face
"The shame will soon fade!" I'm told

wife beside herself
after initial panic
nothing but giggles
bad jokes about writer's block
like Queen Vic...I'm not...amused!



Well...that's today's true life drama done for today...I hope. It could only happen to a poet. Talk about work related injuries! Didn't know haiku could be so dangerous to the health...and you think it's easy being a poet!

The incident brought me back to an earlier time when I had to bring my little girl to A&E in the wee wee hours of the morning when she inserted a red Lego block into an orifice she had an insane interest in exploring. We used to tell her "Don't put things in there dear...they will get stuck and you will have to go to hospital to get them out!"
Little did we know it would turn out exactly like that. She would put all manner of things inside her "special place" to our great consternation....little toy soldiers...pieces of jigsaw. She would call it her "lady's pocket."

late night at A & E
my little girl thrilled to bits
at the adventure
Lego block stuck inside what
she calls her "lady's pocket."

And what manner of haiku was I writing when the pencil eraser disaster struck...why these of course. It could be seen as the pencil's revenge!

in its self the pencil
no longer exists
its shavings dance its nothingness

pencil becoming
nothing but its shavings
so many swirling dervishes

so many pencil shavings
the pencil enjoys
its new life

pencil, then:
not a pencil
wind scatters its shavings

pencil shavings
the secret life of a pencil
no words just little dancers

My pink mechanical pencil
Is sitting right beside my computer

The brand and lead size
is worn off, from all the use

The eraser has been changed
Countless times

There is graphite dust
in a few places in the grip

My other pencil
the same but purple

Lost its clip
I wiggled my pencil too much

Which is why the purple one
Is out of order

When I'm bored
or anxious

I'll pick up my pencil
Spin it, wiggle it, open and close it

Take apart
and put back together

Anything that can be done to my pencil
Will be done

Thanks to my constant need
for motion

On the first day of christmas my teacher gave to me
1 essay

On the second day of christmas my teacher gave to me
2 major projects
1essay

On the third day of christmas my teacher gave to me
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the fourth day of  christmas my teacher gave to me
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the fifth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the sixth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 joournals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the seventh day of christmas my techer gave to me
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the eighth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
8 calculators
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 bingers
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the nineth day of christmas gave to me
9 work sheets
8 calculators
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

On the tenth day of christmas my teacher gave to me
10 mircoscopes
9 work sheet
8 calculators
7 laptops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major project
1 essay

On the eleventh day of christmas my teacher gave to me
11 math problems
10 mircoscopes
9 work sheets
8 calculator
7 lap tops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text boooks
2 major projects
1 essay

On the 12 day of christmas teacher gave to me
12 test tubes
11 math problems
10 mircoscope
9 work sheets
8 calculators
7 lap tops
6 pencil bags
5 binders
4 journals
3 text books
2 major projects
1 essay

Pencil ✏ and pen ✒

My Faded lines
My added lines
Ways to decide '
My flows with a ink
As my hand could only
move forward in length but
Could not go back backward height
Direction to illustrate
my path with a stick

     Pencil and Pen

Actually actions is so little as
my first name written with
ink and stick of my followers
Saying, am a Pencil and
our lives Is a symbol of pen
I can only destroy my pathway
but cannot change my way's of life

       Pencil and Pen

You hast put my love ones
into  epic sleep by the Difficult passenage
Like a blade line's through my skin,
even when I choose to Fill my pathway with ink's
I still ran out of source'
Looking for a source to refresh my ways
I think,  
Am gone
And another pen could be' my kid ' as he
Count my lines through freedom and unbearable pain

                    Am a  Pencil ✏
   Am a  Pen ✒

Make sure there is a pencil in your bag
A small notebook in your pocket
Ideas are sometimes spontaneous
And inspiration does not come everyday
Look everywhere, listen, and smell,
And don't forget to write things down.
Even if you see and listen well,
What you have seen, might not come back around.
That's where your pencil plays it's part.
And with your pencil, there's no regrets.
Especially when pertaining to the heart,
The pencil remembers, what the mind forgets.