All the Pens I Own

All the Pens I own

I save the tins from instant coffee to put my pencils in

So that everything smells slightly roasty

And sets my head spinning when I sit down to write

Testing out all the pens I own

Turns out I’ve got loads

And lots of the pens have dried up or run out

And loads of the pencils are broken, worn down to a nub

Or have their spines cracked all the way through inside

I pick out my coloured pencils in every delicate shade

And all my strident, neon felt tip pens

My pencils of the softest lead

2B and only 2B

I spend a good long hour or more sharpening everything

That comes to hand.

It feels important

Because I’m waiting

Waiting for news of all kinds

Maybe for news that will never come

Times like these can get you down

Because they make writing seem like a thing

That you don’t do for yourself

And you don’t do for your worldful of readers

Wherever they are

Whoever they might be

These times make it seem like writing is a world

Where you answer to people who maybe don’t really care

Or aren’t even there

You’re waiting for the go-ahead, the permission

The great elusive green light

You’re waiting for the

‘Yes! We want it!

We love it!

We won’t let anything stand in our way!

We want to give this proudly to the world at large

We’ll be proud to buy this from you

And show it to everyone…’

The best thing you can do at times like these

Waiting and waiting and pushing all this stuff from your mind

Is to go through your pots of pens

And all your coffee tins of delicious pencils

And twist them and curl them into perfect sharpness

Get yourself ready

This is a terrible time for sitting

Alert for news

It’s a time for dreaming with all your pens out

Draw some long crazy outlines

And colour them in with every pencil

From your Lakeland tin

And yes

Make sure you go over all the edges

And yes

Forget about staying in the lines.