My Birthday Poems

brainteaser — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 14:45:15 +0000

The Thirtieth Page

My pen, she’s almost done
Writing on the current page;
Few more scrawls and soon
She’d be turning another leaf.

The next leaf, smooth and glossy,
It’s the diary’s thirtieth page;
Still a blank, clean surface
On which my pen’d pirouette

Maybe with a black or blue ink
Or why not red, pink or green;
With lines graceful and thin
Turns planned and disciplined.

But will my pen be singing
Or perhaps be a-crying?
Will she leave marks of laughter
Or perhaps stains of pain?

Will her scrawls be legible
Or hopelessly unfathomable?
Will her lines and loops be meaningful
Or simply pathetic scribbles? .

.
//Sherma E. Benosa
14 October 2007; 1:07pm

Scrawling Still…

(The Thirtieth Page II)

It was blank, but now it isn’t

The first smear, the first tint

They glisten amidst the once

Blank page. The scrawls

Of my pen, I can’t yet discern.

The pen’s pirouetting still.

I see the letters, I read the words

But where they will end,

And when, I can’t yet tell.

There I see a pause, a short one;

My pen’s contemplating what to write;

Looking into the vast expanse beyond

And into the abyss within

There’s so much I have yet to fill.

Reading again what has been written

On the pages my pen had walked on

I see reasons to keep writing still —

Lines I have yet to expound

Good thoughts I have yet to share

Sentences I have yet to finish

Meanings I have yet to seek.

There are still leaves I need to turn

And pages I must fill.

Yes, my pen’s scribbling still.

//25 March 200812:15am; My thirtieth birthday

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