Crayons (for Dale)

[scoff]

When I was young,
spilling over with inky passion
and too sprite to feel a duty to cap it,
I wanted to write about my generation.

I wanted to sing with an upbeat heart,
a peacock pen
and the pretense that protest was new.
I wanted to ‘Howl’.

Now, maybe of lesser ideal,
I draw a sharp, new brown crayon
from my box of brightly coloured stubs,
and intend to scribble through the night.

I swear, my friend, if I get it just right,
I’ll find the juice in these legs
to run –
and nail it at All Saint's door –
before the last dawn,
before crayons are outlawed for good.

I love the reference in L8. It's not that I'm a big fan of that poem or that style, but I cannot fail to recognize the impact it had on writers of his and subsequent generations.

I love the playful tone of this as well. As a writer, I think the crayons are a perfect metaphor for my own poetry. Pass me a pale blue stub (if you have one you can spare.)