Ode to the Pen Tall and slim, inky-hearted reed, you attempt to shape life's secret surges, but you are only a fountain of folly, your substance nothing but breath. A long, narrow road is your path to search for the sun. You flow forward bleeding a meandering line slim as a desert road. Weaving fragile nets, you think to capture the world. Thank you for phenomenal faith in my imagination, O avid amanuensis, alphabetizer of longing. You are one soldier in the army I will need for the territory I want to cover. Faithful follower, sometimes I have a whim to reverse our order and let you lead. Once you took me down a hidden path into a thicket, where I came into a hushed clearing full of dusty shadows. At the center stood my heart's desire. He turned and looked at me with eyes that startled words into a flock of rising birds.
Rachel Dacus's Questions:
1. Does the sequence of images keep the reader moving expectantly
through the poem?
2. Does the poem achieve enough freshness and surprise to make the concept of an ode or poem of praise seem relevant?