Poetry: My pen - by Jon Coe

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4 of 29

by Jon Coe

Created on: June 24, 2009

My pen leans forward, sometimes holding back
these words that are writing, filling out my lack
Gripping tightly, slippery, slips fingers' hand
eagerly, brain leaves words, smoking in the sand

Scratched parchments, quill poised, full of ink
waiting for a word to be scribed from my think
Scribbling joyfully, birds' feather tickling nose
pleasantly stimulating,thoughts that turn to prose

In and out, up and down, pages fill, no time at all
blue liquid pours freely, thy stories short and tall
These written words, that hath flow'n from my pen
are now dried up thoughts, that read better, then

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Poetry: My pen

1 of 29

by Olivia Bredbenner

It rests carefully hardly anyone knows
The ink it has shed and the stories it told
Yet all the while bearing my ebb and flow
2 of 29

by G E Barr

My Pen

Lies between the pages

Of some book

I keep going back to

Over and over

I want not

For the ink to dissipate
3 of 29

by Elizabeth A. Marion

Born to Create

To think such a small item, the pen,

Can hold so much power.

The words it helps create,

The messages
4 of 29

by Jon Coe

My pen leans forward, sometimes holding back
these words that are writing, filling out my lack
Gripping tightly, slippery,
5 of 29

by Moeze Lalji

My pen
He thinks
He is a great boss

If I had
Not bought him

He thinks
My writing would
Be sleeping

On shelves
On dust
For years

Undiscovered

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