This idea for a poem that has been rattling around in my head for awhile.
I liked the word play of kneaded and needed.
So being an artist old enough to know the joy of stretching those erasers I naturally used it as my subject.
I do still have a few sitting in a drawer waiting to be used.
If you can't read the poem when you click on the image and open it up bigger you can read it here.
The UnKneaded Eraser
A poem for artists who remember
The kneaded eraser sits alone on my shelf,
off to the side, alone, by itself.
wrapped in clear plastic, stamped with green ink,
it sits there unkneaded in it's rectangular shape.
Collecting dust and waiting for use.
the kind it would get from artistic abuse.
Pulled, and stretched, and shaped into forms,
people and animals and shapes I can't mention.
In the past I used them quite a lot, it's true
But, today I have a Mac in my lap, and a desktop too.
So the kneaded eraser sits alone on my shelf,
unkneaded, unused, and unsealed.
But today I have a yearning, a wanting, a burning desire
to make some thing with shape, and volume, and form.
So I take the unkneaded eraser down from it's place,
and spend hours and hours with a smile on my face.
Making monkeys, and lions, and something I still can't mention
Out of this wonderful eraser that's unkneaded no more.
