an Ode for a Bic pen

Every once in a while, the muse strikes us with the most innocuous ideas... ideas that make us giggle at the idea, and drive the writer's itch so deep into the brain that we can feel it in the fingers. We know we HAVE to do something with it. We are driven to DO something with it. And, sometimes(read rarely) when we sit down with the pen in our hand or our fingers upon the keyboard- we disappear and the muse takes over.

I have many BIC® pens, but there are only a few that I consider "collected." They are old friends from the days when I was not so fortunate as to have my fingers rest upon the keyboard. I remember those days fondly, and the empty corpses of Crystal BICs® that I have kept are a testament in and of themselves of my dead-ication to the written word. It seems only fitting that I should title my blog, and lead my entries with this earnest lament for my fallen friend.


an Ode for a BIC® pen


How do we say goodbye?
How sad, dear friend, to part.
Do we measure your life in inky blood?
Do we commend your duration?
Or are the tracked thoughts
Blots
Words across a page
Written in your blood
A testament to your time?
How brave the mighty BIC®,
How clear.
We see your veins
As we bleed you;
Slowly;
Word by word,
Letter by letter.
You are the voice,
The Bearer,
The Apollo of thought;
An avatar to the world.
We cherish as we remember
That ev’ry colour is yours.
Blue
Red
All black.

Now the rainbow dresses in black,
In homage;
In sorrow.
They say a picture is worth
one thousand words…
How much greater, then, is
the stately BIC®?
So vivid its details
Its expressions
Its lines upon the page…
It is an analog truth
a fortune teller
a historian
a soul.
Should we torturers be guilty
As each drop
blot
clot
Of viscous blood
Becomes a culture,
a revolution
an idea?
Do we pity the BIC®,
A martyr to the cause,
A brave and heroic villain,
That we wield without
a second thought
Against an unthinking world?
Or do we relish
spilling the BIC®’s life-blood
writing comedy
celebrating vanity.

Is each drip of
inky blackness
that
slowly kills the pen
a
necessary sacrifice?
Do we make trophies
of the
bloodless BIC®?
Do we count it a victory
To empty our maker
and deliver its corpse
to the garbage?
The BIC® has made us
And it will break us
For what can the writer say
when the BIC®
runs
d…