A Poem about a Dying Pen

poetry/prose day - a small, slightly, amusing offering on a slow day.

Hello all,

Today is self imposed poetry or prose day. I am still recovering after taking a couple of days to expend an exorbitant amount of energy to go see one of my most favourite bands (Depeche Mode for those interested, and I have a draft awaiting finishing about that). Because of my ME/CFS I now have zero brain cells working and will be resting on the sofa for most of the week to recover. Luckily I have many, many drafts sat waiting for me and so I chose this one. I seem to like anthropomorphising pens. (What a weird word, my really mouth doesn’t like the feel) The first poem about one was a good, what erm, 36 years ago. I write about it here Today. I seem to have a small sense of humour about pens that give up on me.

Anthropomorphised

Are you dead pen? Dying?
You don’t seem well.
Rationing your ink is mean.
I can barely see you, 
more indentation than coloured line.
I keep writing in the hope you may revive.
But the ink continues to lessen.
I may need to rub a pencil all over the page
to see what I've written.
I'd like to say you served me well
but the cartridge is still half full.
Are you a traitor instead, trying to stop my flow?
It's not that bad, your purple brethren
is happy to take over your task.
Okay, in the bin you go. 
			
			January 2024

l tried rubbing a pencil over it to see the words, it didn’t work. Maybe the pencil wasn’t soft enough, but I had to take a photo and greatly increase the contrast in order to see the words. (I’d already taken the photo before the using the pencil.)

Can you read it? Oo, I struggled. Indented paper words.

So there we are, a slow sofa day, lots of scrolling to be done, drafts to be updated, and hopefully lots of tea to be drunk in my new-to-me favourite cups. which is your favourite? Hubby has claimed the black and blue one, and I am caught between the other three almost equally, but it depends on my mood, whether I’m grass green or petrol blue, with red a very close contender.

Four new-to-me and basically ‘we’ve been sat in a cupboard since bought, unto we were sold on’ beautiful tea mugs.

I suppose I really should go fill one of them up!

I’d love to hear your comments either on the poem, my new glorious cups, or interest in the concert.