A means, of course, it doesn’t spell success.
And of the pen itself the most important part,
The thing that gives it spirit, soul, and heart,
Is that metallic tip of it, its nib.
It is, let’s say, the writer’s thirteenth rib—
To make a nod, with tongue in cheek, to God
Who, if the text is right, instead of flawed,
Used Adam’s rib to
write the script for Eve.
Or perhaps that rib meant to deceive.
The Hebrew might be read another way:
God might have nudged Adam a bit astray:
“From your own rib is where the woman sprang;
She’s merely yin and You are proudly yang,
(But as for Eve, she was right up My sleeve,
A wonder a mere man cannot conceive.)”
Now as for nibs, to get back to my subject,
The finest nib’s the worthiest of object,
And the writer lucky who gets as a gift
Two fine-nibbed
pens to labor on his shrift.
A Pencliot is in full agreement particularly with those last two lines.
ReplyDeleteGood heavens, how did I miss this lovely poem back two years ago now? I was looking through your blog posts at only the poems, picking a few that I am using as material to transcribe as I train my left hand to write (long story I'll tell you about later) and I ran across poem, which until now I'd never seen.
ReplyDeleteDelightful! Another Pencliot adds her compliments to this poem, belatedly.
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Two pencliots who like these rhymes? I'm doubly honored!
ReplyDelete