A very short poem on the mechanics of creative writing. Although I am drawn to the clatter of the keyboard while writing, these days, I still enjoy the feel of holding a pencil to pen poems. Reason is that a pencil’s mark can be erasable and I have also being obsessed with the image of a poet as a pencil-holding child who never outgrows the lure of his pencil’s tip.

Enjoy!

Poised in motion,

Lead-tipped, business end

Fashioned like a dagger for semantic expeditions,

Bloodless wars;

I see a pencil and

I want to desecrate blank sheets

Purge my thoughts with mind laxatives

Spew words in scribbled graphite

Let kindred thoughts pour from my soul’s fornices

Solitude holds the key to introspection

Writing is a kind of mind sanitation.