Quiet Little Pen

A quiet little pen, she be.
Glistening above her fountain.
With thoughts from ocean depths
to the peaks of soaring mountains.

And who am I? A robber of sorts,
to spill her ink alive….
That her breath and heart might fancy
something that I contrived…

Nay, not today I say,
nothing in my words of glory
could capture the boldness
of her very solemn story.

But might our hearts merge?
When finger touches quill?
Might the scenes of Heaven
be etched on parchment still?

Nay, not today I say.
Her blood is black
and her heart so cold.

Heaven waits another day.
For her story is yet untold.

Quiet little pen.
Quiet….

For all sad words of tongue and pen, The saddest are these, ‘It might have been’.

                                                                                              John Greenleaf Whittier

© 2013 John Richter

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About johnallenrichter

I am an aspiring Poet and adorer of life, a conqueror of nothing. However I am a champion curator of truth and friendship and hold both of those things most dearly to my heart. Welcome to my mind's eye. I hope you will enjoy what you may find and please know that you have a friend here. View all posts by johnallenrichter

20 responses to “Quiet Little Pen

  • Mary

    I love how you have given life to this pen, John. I am sure someday the story will be told.

  • Margaret

    That her breath and heart might fancy
    something that I contrived…

    This whole poem is enjoyable and so witty! Very nice.

  • wolfsrosebud

    Really enjoyed this write, John. Loved the tone in these verses:

    “Nay, not today I say,
    nothing in my words of glory
    could capture the boldness
    of her very solemn story.”

  • flipside records

    John! I haven’t seen you in ages! I’m so excited to see you linking. 🙂 I have a new blog, so you don’t even know who I am. Anyway … on with the poetry.

    I love this:
    “Her blood is black
    and her heart so cold.”

    I’m sort of picturing your pen as a metaphor for a woman you love … and also your muse, real or imaginary.

    Your ending is perfect.

    “Quiet little pen.
    Quiet….” … I picture this last one-word line as being whispered.

    Because your opening line makes me think of pirate-speak, I’m thinking of the ocean. And because one of my writer friends says her muse is a mermaid, I’m also picturing this woman/pen/muse of your poem as an elusive mermaid with a cold, black heart. 🙂

    How’s THAT for an active imagination?

  • ManicDdaily

    So clever and poignant. I think she did fancy the words you were thinking of quite a bit. k.

  • brian miller

    really lovely piece sir…and great to see you as well…been seeing you around a bit more recently…smiles…intersting verse…in its time the story will be ready to be told…to ruch it before its time would not honor it or do it justice….

  • Claudia

    oh i’m so curious to hear her story…there are so many stories yet unwritten, waiting to be brought alive by our pens..

  • vivinfrance

    Ah for the days when I wrote with a beautiful fountain pen! So much romance could not possibly have come from touching these insensate keys!

  • Steve King

    The words that showed up were anything but cold…fine poem.

  • Gay Reiser Cannon

    I thought this was clever. The use of personification here so very poetic – however throughout I couldn’t help but wonder shouldn’t she be “under” the fountain (thinking fountain pen here)…with the double entendre of course..being beneath the fountain a very dark image indeed.

    • johnallenrichter

      Hi Gay… No, very specifically atop the fountain and glistening to attract the poet’s attention. She wants to write, but it is he who has doubts and misgivings, feeling that he can add nothing to her great wealth of knowledge and artful craft… he is slowly regaining his strength and confidence to join her in tales of joy and beauty, but nay, just not quite yet…. You are so very perceptive….. Thank you…..

  • ayala

    Beautiful poem ! I love it 🙂

  • Pat Hatt

    Someday her truth will show
    And she will let it flow
    Not sure when or how
    Maybe she just needs to learn to meow
    Nice play with the pen
    Enjoyed at your den

  • Uneven Stephen

    Very cool poem – great concept, executed well.

  • johnallenrichter

    Thanks to all for visiting my quiet little pen… It is so fun to see some of my favorite colleagues here… I am pleased with all of your visions. I wrote this poem as a whimsical piece to represent a poet whose ink well had run dry, for whatever reason, and left him unable to write. Several times in my past I have found myself unable to practice my craft, usually due to extremely tumultuous or extremely happy times in life…. It seems that I am a blue writer and can only put pen to paper when the other fronts in life are calm. Unfortunately the last 8 to 10 months have been anything but calm for me. But I need to stick my toes in the water, metaphorically, every once in a while. Miss Flipside, yes, my troubles include – but are not just limited to – lost relationships,….. but the pen was just a pen….. Of course you know my belief – the reader defines a poem, not the poet…. He merely splashes the paint upon a canvas. Happy reading and writing all. I very much enjoyed reading your work this week….

    John

    PS… Quite right, the very last line is meant to be whispered…

  • Heaven (@asweetlust)

    I like the quiet little pen…but what if the muse wants to run away with the ink ? These lines for me captured the magic of writing:

    But might our hearts merge?
    When finger touches quill?
    Might the scenes of Heaven
    be etched on parchment still?

    Enjoyed my visit and hope all is well ~

  • Laurie Kolp

    I love this… it has a classy feel. I especially like:

    But might our hearts merge?
    When finger touches quill?
    Might the scenes of Heaven
    be etched on parchment still?

  • darkangelwrites

    Is your muse a genie who lives inside your pen perhaps. Fanciful and sophisticated at the same time. Big grins.

  • Sharp Little Pencil

    It ain’t the pen, it’s the poet who wields it. Your description of ink as an object in this romance, along with the quill… aaaaaaah. Amy

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