Finding My Pen

So many unwritten lines
words
letters
over such an expanse
of time.

The thoughts have flooded,
roiling and pounding like
boiling waves

the images bright and vivid
pale and diffused
clearly confusion

The transition to a keyboard
For journaling my thoughts, poetry and dreams
Never successfully negotiated.

The ink flowing from the scratching penpoint
even if aided by the rolling ball tip
is a lubricant to my awareness...

The thoughts tumble as
socks and towels, T-shirts and jeans
in the heated air of the crucible
until ideas form, and/or
Are tossed away with the clinging lint.

And/or are collected,
sweet-smelling in the basket
For careful, crease-less folding
sorting, stacking
re-stocking the closet shelves

To be retrieved and worn again
And tossed into the hamper.

In the daily and weekly routine
A rhythm which comforts
by its constant repeating

Yet now and again breaks forth
into awareness
causing my fingers to reach for
and grip the comfort of my pen.

(c)Steven B. Eulberg
10/13/05 journal