late lunch, lot going on
His pencil, well, not exactly,
sitting there on the table.
Such a vivid image,
a rich visual memory
a Ticonderoga 2 5/10, medium
that same yellow and green,
same script of the lettering
But this was different than his.
His pencils, Ticonderoga 3, hard.
Always sharpened,
the sharpener screwed to the desk,
always, seemingly, full length,
a full, untrammeled, pink eraser
somehow they always were so,
or so my memory is, clear,
even forty some years on
His pencil, his precision,
desk always neat,
his care for details
a rich flood of the thoughts of him
while sitting down
for a moment of peace, lunch
February 7, 2009
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2 comments:
Thank you for the memory of your father. I recall mine. He used a fountain pen at his office when writing the outlines for many of his 2000 or so sermons.
Hi Raymond - Love this poem! I am asking poet bloggers to send to me their favorite famous poem and a link to their blog so I can feature one a day during National Poetry month on my blog. I'd love to have you on board! irene at irenelatham dot com
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