My Birthday Poems

The Thirtieth Page

My pen, she’s almost done
Writing on the current page;
Few more scrawls and soon
She’d be turning another leaf.

The next leaf, smooth and glossy,
It’s the diary’s thirtieth page;
Still a blank, clean surface
On which my pen’d pirouette

Maybe with a black or blue ink
Or why not red, pink or green;
With lines graceful and thin
Turns planned and disciplined.

But will my pen be singing
Or perhaps be a-crying?
Will she leave marks of laughter
Or perhaps stains of pain?

Will her scrawls be legible
Or hopelessly unfathomable?
Will her lines and loops be meaningful
Or simply pathetic scribbles? .

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//Sherma E. Benosa
14 October 2007; 1:07pm 

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Scrawling Still…

(The Thirtieth Page II)

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It was blank, but now it isn’t

The first smear, the first tint

They glisten amidst the once

Blank page. The scrawls

Of my pen, I can’t yet discern.

The pen’s pirouetting still.

I see the letters, I read the words

But where they will end,

And when, I can’t yet tell.

There I see a pause, a short one;

My pen’s contemplating what to write;

Looking into the vast expanse beyond

And into the abyss within

There’s so much I have yet to fill.

Reading again what has been written

On the pages my pen had walked on

I see reasons to keep writing still —

Lines I have yet to expound

Good thoughts I have yet to share

Sentences I have yet to finish

Meanings I have yet to seek.

There are still leaves I need to turn

And pages I must fill.

Yes, my pen’s scribbling still.

//25 March 200812:15am; My thirtieth birthday