I keep all my pencils, I have for years. I keep not only the long, skinny colourful delights, I save what remains; the nubs and mere shadows of the pencils that have served me well.
   A pencil’s life is determined by usage, the firmness (or softness) of its graphite core, and measured by the number of words written on the page. Pressure is always a factor.
   I prefer the efficiency of a pencil with an eraser attached. The pencil shows you how you are progressing, its eraser always a sign of how many (or how few) mistakes you have made.
   When a pencil gets to a certain length and are no longer comfortable to use, I begin afresh with a new sharp tool.
   I used to toss the dead pencils into a box, and then a larger box when it was required. At some point I realized my little friends deserved more than to simply be stowed away in a dark closet.
   I now display pencils suspended in past tense in a series of glass jars. An artful display, perhaps, but more a reminder of what the pencils have done.
   Don’t we all have a collection of things that matter?
   I know many people collect pencils. They keep them whole and proudly marvel at the colour and design, but what’s the point of that?
   Pencils were created to create and communicate. If they are safely kept in a drawer they are nothing more than potential.
   I believe a pencil is more than that.

for a shadow

dead pencils
still leave a mark
salvaged from the litter bin
gave most of their everything
      from within
now surrounded
              by cigarette butts
salad oil      tuna tins     phone
messages   hydro bills   coffee
grinds                    orange peel
rotting spinach              or kale
    broken
shoelaces              leftover pain
                    a sad refrain
      still saving a few scant lines
                    of sentiment
for a man
and a night
and a poem
                   for a shadow

© 2015 j.g. lewis