Through a Poet's Eyes
As my mind shifts to poetry,
my world suddenly changes.
During a two A.M. intermission from slumber,
words of an ode to air conditioning fill my head;
the vent looks on approvingly.
My Golden Retriever's face
transforms into a cascade of wordsó
loyal, feisty, protective, eager;
she stares at me with her soft chocolate eyes,
gripping her favorite green tennis ball,
forever her trusted companion.
She, forever mine.
Wilfred, my daughter's tattered penguin,
companion through frustrations and tears,
guardian of late-night secrets,
beckons me to lend voice
to his tell-all book.
A love poem is trying to break through
a weekend of tension.
The words are drowning,
It sees us from beneath the translucent ice,
too thick to cut through.
Fighting to make it to the surface,
to be heard.
My mind scans memories,
searching for poignant moments
worthy of further introspection
and hopefully, a line or two.
It rests on a day with my daughter at four.
A lazy summer afternoon,
her brown eyes remind me of hickory wood.
A teacher at heart,
I challenge her.
How will she respond to my multicolored, hazel eyes?
She contemplates silently;
She smiles and says,
"When I see your eyes,
I think of God."
On an ordinary day,
she touched my soul.
With eyes of a poet,
the world seems to change,
and I, too, find
I often think of God.