Pencil (an acrostic poem)


People say the pen is mightier than the sword

Except they are missing the point, the manually sharpened point

Now you could include mechanical versions, but that is such a lazy game

Can’t use all geometric aspects of the lead to create crisp lines to gentle shading

It is a uni-tasker, and as such fits more of the pen diatribe

Let’s admit it, all the power you need is located in a good No. 2…

Edit (an acrostic poem)


Evaluating his writing decisions

Dan sat there with his red pen and whisky bottle

It was too long before both were empty

That was when the flames in the fireplace grew larger

Armor (an acrostic poem)


As her alarm heralded a new call to battle

Randi braced herself for another day in the trenches

Making her coffee extra strong, it sent her heart racing

On went her power suit and matching shoe briefcase combo

Reaching for her favorite pen, she was ready for war

Paper (an acrostic poem)

Putting things in writing was what James preferred

As digital copies couldn’t be trusted

Pen scratching along a surface made something physical

Electrons changed too quickly

Really he just liked making airplanes out of his writing when it didn’t work



Daft (an acrostic poem)

Doomed to repeat the same mistake

Anton kept pushing his boulder up his hill

Fountain pen on paper, he began the poem once again

Though he might be insane, tonight he might have a new outcome



Red Ink (an acrostic poem)

Rallying all his reserves, Fannie pushed on

Every time the pen touched the paper

Doubt in her teaching competence would grow


It was always soul-crushing being an impartial arbiter

Now her hands were covered in the remains of her grading rubric

Killing her will to continue as her soul bled out on the page



Broken Accords

The framework of the accords were so biased against Francis that he didn’t know why he was even reading them.  He wished he could just draw a weapon and kill the man who was forcing him to sign it.  It might not end the conflict, but it would take out Geoffrey Winchester the Fifth, their best commander.  Francis could also imagine it would feel so good since Geoffrey was a pompous ass.  Of course that’s why Geoffrey’s bodyguards had made him surrender all his weapons before allowing him to “parley”.

Francis waived the document containing the accords at Geoffrey.  “Let me try to understand this.  We capitulate to all this drivel you demand and we get what out of it?”

Geoffrey smiled.  “Well good chap, you get to still be a country.  You keep your puppet government in place and enjoy a few more years of living well.  Otherwise I will roll over you and grind your little insignificant country between my thumb and middle finger, dropping the crumbed remnants to the scorched and salted earth I leave behind.”  He left his middle finger extended in Francis’ direction after demonstrating said grinding.

Francis looked back at the document, then back at Geoffrey.  Geoffrey’s smile grew larger, almost swallowing his mustache.  “Now you see how good a deal this it?” Geoffrey asked.

“Hand me a pen,” Francis said.  “I want to get this farce over quickly.  I have other things to do today.”

Geoffrey signaled for one of his men to hand Francis a pen.  As the man retreated, Francis tried to sign, but he couldn’t seem to make the pen work.  “I thought you wanted me to sign these accords,” Francis said.  He got up and held out the pen to Geoffrey.  “You try it.”

Geoffrey looked pissed, and all his men shrunk back a step.  Geoffrey’s temper was as legendary as his command of the battlefield.  He walked up to Francis, took the pen, and showed Francis that it worked.  “You and your people are uneducated idiots, aren’t you.  Maybe I should just rip this up and destroy you anyhow.”

Francis took the pen and paper.  He placed the paper on the desk then looked Geoffrey in the eye.  “Sir, I might not be educated in letters and numbers, but I have had a top education in what I am best at.”

“And would that be in screwing farm animals?” asked Geoffrey.  He turned to his men with a big shit eating grin on his face.  He was enjoying himself immensely.

“No,” Francis said quietly, “but I am a master assassin.”  Before Geoffrey could react, Francis spun and stabbed the pen into Geoffrey’s aorta.  He pulled it out just as quickly, spewing blood all over the tent.  As the other men drew steel, Francis smiled and licked some of Geoffrey’s blood from his cheek.  Yes, it did made him feel good.



Reality (an acrostic poem)

Richard felt around for his pen

Even though his agent had warned him

Always have a pen ready, but Richard was a bit forgetful

Leaving it here and there along this book signing tour

Is it really his fault with all the fans screaming his name

Telling him that he was their dream writer

Yet when Richard woke up, all he had written was xcdfrt where his head hit the keyboard.