Ode To You

November 11, 2009
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You are who ever

I am the writer

You read what I write.

Do you hear my words?

Each letter a different note,

Turned in a symphony of noises.

In a five-stanza poem I can make music.

Do you see what I'm writing?

Can you see the dog wagging her long black tail

Against the side of the computer and her nugget sized brown

Eyes looking up at me, making your heart melt, giving her anything.

Her long hair reaching to the floor and endeared the dust mites collecting

In it. Stubby, sinuous body reaching out and feeling every change in the air, soaking

and processing it all into the movements of the room analyzing,

Waiting for an attack from the cat.

My words flow from my open mind

Onto this once blank ivory page

The words appear black

And they are.





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