Saturday, March 06, 2010

How Does That Sorrow Go?

Photo by D.R. Wagner, Elk Grove

—Howard Moss

The terraces rise and fall
As the light strides up and rides over
The hill I see from my window.
The spring in the dogwood now,
Enlarging its small preconceptions,
Puts itself away for the night.
The mountains do nothing but sit,
Waiting for something to happen—
Perhaps for the sky to open.

In the distance, a waterfall,
More sound than vision from here,
Is weighing itself again,
A sound you can hardly hear.
The birds of the day disappear,
As if the darkness were final.
The harder it is to see,
The louder the waterfall.

And then the whippoorwill
Begins its tireless, cool,
Calm, and precise lament—
Again and again and again—
Its love replying in kind,
Or blindly sung to itself,
Waiting for something to happen.

In that rain-prickle of song,
The waterfall stays its sound,
Diminishing like a gong
Struck by the wakening hand
Of a walker walking away,
Who is farther away each time,

Until it is finally dumb.
Each star, at a different depth,
Shines down. The moon shines down.
The night comes into its own,
Waiting for nothing to happen.


—Dawn DiBartolo, Citrus Heights

in an overload of idleness
the mind takes leave of linear trees,
branches into things like…

why does morning
come so early, rising chilled
with frivolous voices wanting
to mouth the darkness steady closing

why does time flake away
so easily as if happiness
were a dry skin; by the thought
you reach to rub it, it’s gone

why the hearts of youth are so
blocked to truth until age
itself whispers sweet everythings
in emaciated ears

why seduction dances so freely
upon drunken tongues while
sobriety is weighted with vows
of chastity

or why some pretend
that things are so much more
while resisting the restrictions
of it being so, and others
in such times of abundance

are themselves, burdened
with famine.


—Joyce Odam, Sacramento

Loud and thin.
An imaginary violin.
A silent cry
out of some resounding din.

Well, yes, and well, no.
One of us is wrong.
One of us is remembering
the wrong song.
One of us will be up
all night long.

Why buy more tears. We cried
long ago, and the tears dried.
We forgave and were forgiven,
and still love died.
We took its little life and said,
Oh well, we tried.


—Joyce Odam

Why measure what is measureless?
Partake of life, not just exist.
Exist and feel.

Partake, partake of light and sound.
Ignite and burn.
It’s light It’s love.

Rejoice, regret, are but two words
that co-exist.
And yet . . . And yet . . .


—Joyce Odam

Why weep—
why waste your tears on love?
Love has no need of you, dear ones;
love has grown famous for its puns.
Why waste your tears on love?

Why love?
When you give it your all—
stand up to its challenge and bluff,
your tears will be payment enough,
when you give it your all.


—Joyce Odam

The way she, and then, oh god, why doesn’t, and why
can’t she—oh, how I suffer and rage. I am so. Oh. The
way she,every time. And always. And always will.
And even though
I try, and even though I swear, I never—oh. I do again.
But she, oh she, is always so… so… and I will never.
Well, maybe, when she. I don’t know.


—Joyce Odam

Everything is too far.
Why do I know that now
after the longest
and the briefest farewell?


Time is not traveled alone.
It goes between us
like wind in the years . . .
like conversation.

(first appeared in Cotyledon)


Today's LittleNip:

This is the one moment in ten thousand ages.

—Li Si



Thanks to Katy Brown for finding us this picture.