Epiphany
—Poems and Photos by Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
—Poems and Photos by Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
BACK FROM PORTLAND
corpse of old tarp
lies in field
like old collapsed cow
on her way to frail fence
that birds lift from
in little startles of silences . . .
almost a death
to bring forth gasp
from the passing monotony
of the bus
(first pub. in The Orchard, 1976)
_________________
THE BEAUTIFUL HORSE
There is a sway in life—there is a sway
that moves in itself and never knows it moves,
whatever sets itself against some force,
whatever we desire and think to hold,
something in the mind that won’t obey
its own resistance, some old rule that proves:
seductive choice becomes its own remorse
—like follies of the young are to the old.
There’s always something that you can’t make stay
when the mind imprisons what it loves:
In moonlight I beheld a beautiful horse
that would not come to me, though I cajoled
and thought to possess with love. It stared at me:
whatever haunts us knows just where to be
—something that the mind will not set free.
(first pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine, 2004)
Three Versions
PIEROT GATHERS CHILDREN FOR HIS TEARS
One day Pierot came and called Lost Child away,
one day in reflective sunlight of a brimming summer day,
and Child’s distracted shadow was left playing on the sand
with the little seashell that was dropped from Lost Child’s hand.
And Bodiless Shadow was left to wander day’s hard light
until it blent into Total Shadow of engulfing night.
And Pierot had one more child to love—to steal Child’s tears
and Child would not be found again . . . for years and years.
(first pub. in Ship of Fools, 1999)
__________________
LOOKING FOR THE MOON
How the moon
in a worry of sky
is kept bound by the tree
that keeps hiding it in its branches . . .
~
How the moon—in spite of this—
hides from the tree
in a freedom of sky—
cold and far—nearly perfect . . .
~
And how the tree lets it go
when we pass it by, leaving
these thoughts to wander upward
toward that unreachable surface . . .
~
Tomorrow we will find the moon,
in one of its places in the sky—
fully round—the cold, chiseled moon,
phrased lightly with scar-like detail . . . .
Grasp of Meaning
looking out the window
thank you,
weatherman,
for the rain
dark bird shadows
hunched on swaying wire
the wind
the wind
takes the blossoms
for the wind
the pavement glistens
bright new weeds
emerging
new green leafage
welcomed
by the trees
squirrel
scampering through
the branches
Many Sighs
BLUR OF LIGHT THROUGH TREES
This could be a bird swimming in water.
This could be the lace-shadow
of trees in pond reflection—
their leafy branches offered as camouflage.
This could be the whiteness of thought
in its purest meaning,
this
white
blur.
This could be art in its deepest reaching :
no depth here, only the surface of depth,
everything safe as possibility.
The bird passed over like that,
furiously flapping through the trees—
the sky opening its safe height.
The bird had no thought such as this.
This gasp of prayer is for
the bird of swift light in its resemblance.
Breathing
PERFECTION
After “The Beautiful Princess”
from Firebird, 1910 by Leon Bakst, Russia
Attending women dress her in a flowing
paisley gown with glowing red buttons.
Hovering women comb her hair into
shining and perfect smoothness.
Whispering women advise her,
and warn her. She bends her head aside.
Silent women place her before
a glowing mirror of contemplation.
She holds a red orb of light in her hand.
She waits for the force of your admiration.
She looks at you demurely
and hands you the red globe.
The discreet mirror sees nothing.
You wonder why she loves you.
Compatibility
ENDINGS
1.
This is where we take the different ending :
the walk on the beach
in that peculiar light—
the sea immense and lonely.
“Oh,” you protest,
“we can’t say the sea is lonely.”
2.
This is where we take the delicate ending :
the walk on the particular beach
at a particular time,
approaching some object
made of dark light
that seems to be moving.
When we near it,
it is the disheveled doll
left by our childhood
that seems to remember us,
for we pick it up and hold it.
It is so cold and wet and
featureless. It gasps like a kitten, and expires.
3.
This is where we take the difficult ending :
walking the roiling beach in winter light,
leaving the doll behind.
The sea rocks and moans over the doll,
retrieving it in its foaming arms.
4.
This is where we take the desperate ending :
You look back and tell me
what you see.
I don’t look back.
I am watching a seagull swooping and crying
into the sea’s defining loneliness.
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
BAPTIZED
—Joyce Odam
you were surprised
to go so deep
and come back gasping
air has not been kind since then
its bare, flat echoes thin
and dwindle out
your own sensations
ebb and fade
into another sea of effort
(first pub. in One Dog Press, 1997)
__________________
Many thanks to Joyce Odam for today’s breath-taking poetry and flowers! (Our Seed of the Week was Catching My Breath.) Her “Beautiful Horse” is a sonnet in the form of the Vivianne: A 15-line (Rimas Dissolutas) sonnet incorporating iambic pentameter, rhyming: abcd,abcd,abcd,eee, for “subtle rhyming” ending with a strong rhyming triplet. (Pattern created by Marianne Logan, Poets' Forum Magazine, Winter, 2004.)
I woke up this morning to a surprise of light rain, plus Joyce has written about rain. So our new Seed of the Week is Summer Rain. Send your poems, photos & artwork about this (or any other) subject to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though, and for a peek at our past ones, click on “Calliope’s Closet”, the link at the top of this column, for plenty of others to choose from.
—Medusa
“Attending women dress her…”
Celebrate poetry!
Celebrate poetry!
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