Sandra Dodd

Rookie (April 17,1967 / Los Angeles, CA)

Sex Kitten, Super Hero, Or Rock Collector? - Poem by Sandra Dodd

Its a poem, just a story, a fictitious work
In it I could be anybody I wish you to think I am
Often I am myself, sometime I camp it up
Poetic license is a tool I use often
weaving the reader into strange theatre
that is cast with me, my pen, and them

With the stroke of the keys, swish of a pen
I transform into anything I wish to be
with so much ease, none of the fuss
required if I joined an opera, play, or
worked them out on pretenses in real life

If I wanted to be a super hero
I would conger up some super words
to make it seem I had special power
to overcome evil for the good
I would say 'My cape is woven of
spun steel, my eyes beam
brilliant lights, with my super feminine
strength, I fight off all the bad guys”
or something even more absurd

Perhaps I am feeling like a sex kitten
sitting at home avocado facial on
greasy pony tail with grey hairs
sweats with jam and peanut butter,
dust bunnies on the shoulder
I could spin the words to make you so yearn
for my loving attention, make you jerk
Though if you saw me
in real life you'd be thanking God
I was not your wife!

a 10th grade education can
toss, turn, and twist around words
to make them hide their fictitious birth
Some one living alone
with their rock collection
feel much affection for the igneous,
embarrassed to put into words,
they write their rock is as a baby
a poem of maternal love is penned

Writing is a theater with a cast,
stage hands, producer, director
The writer sets the stage
directs you which way to step,
word choice, puntuation,
twisting of a simple verse,
The reader produces images
which decides if the play is a success.

Each reading the same printed words
interpretation is what determines
that we never read the same piece of work
While I fashion words of a sex kitten
you may hear crime fighting super hero
Tender prose regaling love of a mother
may in fact be inspired from a rock
retold in a fashion
making you call your mother
the first time in months

The poet, play write, story writer
must let go of the meaning the reader gleans
they cannot deliver what they wish
just bend the words to their intentions
Words of writing are in the eye of the beholder
they see them as they wish

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Poem Submitted: Monday, February 15, 2010

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