Pen and Pencil

Pen and Pencil

The product is not interwoven with the vines
In my skin, it’s deep and refined, with each rhyme
And each design that it’s in, each word confides as defined

behind the line, to align, my inner-king to speak his mind—

 

No telling with the mood that he’s in, I try restoring heaven

But I’m left with more questions that deafen my blessings

The impression wears thin, and life has more lemons,

If driven to get them, then the sky’s where I’m heading

 

Now, to swiftly reimbursing my soul for the pain

I’ve caused, the way my brain handles the chains

Because, I’ve always lost my ways, in those days I wane,

I seesaw right into the haze of purple and champagne

 

Caught up in theses vines again, I reach for the pen,

Tangled in these thorns and horns, the abstract caves in.

I’ve settled into this pine box for confessing my sins to him

I’ve written them again and again, yet confusion sets in.

 

My mind drifts far from halos and the day glow.

I wrote lines for C-notes, and wrestle through egos,
curse those who steal from me using stenciled placebos
and those callow to the motive of a pencil and the credo

I always tell people, you’re stronger than you realize

and my eyes see strong reflections of that real guy

and his skies, but birds keep humming, and bullets fly

names etched on each cartridge case, those planning to baptize—

 

And those bullets take pride in ending their journey

Each one thirsty for a flood of parables and stories

Some stories are dilatory but fit the allegory

It is never too long before we know the territory

 

But no bullets will my chamber bind, by design

Those bullets found life within my mind and they define

Me, all those rotten vibes that were intertwined

Were realigned and redefined to fly free

 

When I grab the pen and the alphabet, my palms sweat

The habit of writing outside the lines upsets

me, and I reach for the pretense of a cigarette to vent

I know the pack is illusory but addiction besets me.

 

So swung swords supplement like dirty pennies there are plenty,

and the real pens and pencils I have will offend you, if you let me

I envy those too ignorant to see and who ape ready,

When I put in work I’m deadly, and such threats seem elementary.

 

Though it’s messy My pencil perfects the dreams I’ve seen at night

I astral project and reflect like a beam of light

The aftereffect is a scheme I write to teem with might

My words interconnect to make the soul free and right.

 

I know this poem is trite not meant as an impressive piece,

But words are my lease on countless loose-leaf sheets

I compose my allegory in enraptured caprice

Weaving through nostalgia and many entendre, to find my crease.

 

That is no smudge left on the parchment untouched,

But a simple tear, profound to some, to me it is my judge.

When shed, I was numb, desperately in need of a nudge,

Drained too much of pure emotion, my muscles would not budge.

 

I opened this river of ink, it was not long for me to sing,

And with confidence, to bring me to the well of everything,

To shatter the rift between gods and men, this torrent pissing

Away, enveloping the world with a plan, the sights I will bring.

 

My haven of lead and ink, of wood and plastic

My veins like an IV drip, the pen a needle so tragic

It drips forth, and plays like a gramophone in silent static

Awaiting the melodies, the cascades of life and magic.

 

These pens and pencils I speak of, are not objects to heave,

They are words to aggrieve, to save certain souls, to deceive,

To fill in holes when the plot twist screams to weave, but to perceive

Something so grand, so received, maybe you start to believe—

 

that you are the writer, that makes the reader seize the empathy,

On their couch cushion, sipping merlot, they find love and ecstasy,

Not with your choice of words, but how your words make them feel,

how endlessly, they visualize each phrase you’ve interwoven as weaponry.

 

Each phrase you compose with a pen should deeply puncture

Right into the neocortex, causing sensations to rupture

And each maxim should strip the ramparts of an erudite youngster,

like sweet nectar on the tip of the tongue, it makes them hunger.

 

They lust for pen ink from that nib, that endless well of wisdom

Each rhythmic stroke of ancient script becomes their brand-new vision,

A kingdom you created, a breathing organism,

One, with veins coursing with the blood of lyricism—

 

My air of imagination is ripe with a small touch of cynicism,

my words and thoughts, they are ruled by imperialism

they are solely mine to release from the inner prison

to enter the system, and wait for their turn at criticism.

 

…They sound so big, so grand, yet in my hand not at all

You see, they are extensions of me, ones I knew of already

I hope to use them meritoriously, like all good writers would be,

This way I know if my pencils grew from the same tree…

~

For more works like Pen and Pencil, and other great topics, by this author, see Paul Neglia Author Page.
You can also find great works by Paul Neglia on HubPages

Paul Neglia
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Paul Neglia

Proud father of 3. Part time writer of poetry and short stories. I want to paint the world in but a few words.

7 thoughts on “Pen and Pencil

  • March 15, 2020 at 7:21 PM
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    Wonderful piece Paul, any writer of songs and words would see themselves in this….

    Reply
    • March 22, 2020 at 8:24 AM
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      Thank you so much Kurt. Glad you enjoyed this.

      Reply
  • March 16, 2020 at 10:34 AM
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    Great work, Paul. Any writer can certainly relate to the poem – your expressions are so true. Our words, when sent out to the world, await their praise or fate. I enjoyed this piece. Well done.

    Reply
    • March 22, 2020 at 8:25 AM
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      Thank you do much Phyllis. I love constructive criticism and honesty when seeking a review. It almost makes me feel like I’m steering in the right direction

      Reply
  • March 21, 2020 at 1:30 AM
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    Paul, you can always be proud of the writing that is created by your pen and pencil. All writers can relate to the deep sentiments in this poem. Good work as always.

    Reply
    • March 22, 2020 at 8:28 AM
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      Thank you John. I hold everyone’s opinion on this site in such high regard. I’m usually proud that I can just finish a piece nowadays, so much craziness going on. Thank you again.

      Reply

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