—Indications
—Poems and Original Artwork by Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
COFFEE
In the mornings she wanted
her small blunt cup with the
wide handles,
a soft matte white,
no design or picture,
no cute wording—
a silent cup
that she admired
for its unobtrusiveness—
a small white cup that would
gleam and be warm in her hands.
__________________
WATER MAN
All day
he traces his findings into poetry,
his long and patient journeys
into what he knows and seeks to know.
This time he is a fisherman, standing
in patient loneliness while all around him
the sudden mouths of fish sing to his effort
and make him weep and fail.
How many mermaids
have offered him their souls . . . ?
He rewards their memory by saying
all their names on other shores.
What a soft shadow he makes
at twilight; small against the immensity;
small against the sky;
small against the swift night
which is never surprised
to find him there.
Coloring
THE POET, BEING GENEROUS
He has a weepful eye
and a roving one.
He has a long-time wife
and a yearn of lovers.
He loves the
child in himself
and becomes his parent.
He will be free, and he is, until
he chains himself to the poem
which will enslave him.
He moves there in total freedom,
rearranging the furniment
of those words
and putting them on the walls
for pictures
and for faces in
the mirrors.
He opens his arms
and the whole world crawls in
and sleeps against his shoulders.
Steal me, he says, and they do.
He is a happy man at last.
He is a happy man.
(first pub. in Cedar Rock, 1978)
I Wish For You A Rose, A Rose So Sweet
GIFT
The poem has waited for you to grow into it,
to read it at a later time to learn its power,
what it says, and what depths it has.
Not just the words but the force
under the words, the life
that lights up darkness,
reveals the dimension—
the poem has waited
for you to listen, a sound,
time as the first time, what
is here that was always there,
this growth, this maturity, this
acceptance of sadness and love—
this readiness to accept your creativity.
___________________
OFFERING
It is as brief as that:
the sudden ascent
into shadow
of a thought-thing—
a mystic bird,
releasing
right off the page
of this night—
straight up
and into the morning.
I am free of
this thought—let it
go—it does not
look back—
it sings.
Loves Me, Loves Me Not
THE POLITE ENDING
Yes, I will have more wine. Will you pour? I will leave
my plate and my spoon and the rumpled napkin for the
easy gravity of our tired intoxication. Look how the table
tilts in our direction with its falling goblet and carafe,
with its awkward pronouncement of something that is
over—like this night. The shadow beneath the table is
too deep, and the wall is becoming as gray as our empty
conversation. But, yes, I will have more wine, for the
sober road that goes nowhere again. Will you pour?
Harp Strings
THE TRUTH
We made it from moonlight and cold shadow.
We made it from sinister winds
that tore through our worn-out barriers.
We made it of every
remembered thing we could not bear :
dangerous laughter
made of crying,
that flood of tears from years,
and moments, of confrontation.
We made it out of love
that was tired
of loving,
we scattered words like epithets,
coated with black-sugared innuendos
straight from the cauldrons we stirred
and stirred,
until the air
could no longer breathe.
There was nothing sacred
from our rage—enemies at last,
our mouths bitter from kisses, threats,
and promises—only shreds
of dissatisfaction left to deal with.
I would not love for all of that.
Maybe Just A Little Breeze
EDIFICATION
Let me become the quiet of my troubled
mind—that reach beyond suffering—
that tribute to self for acceptance and
realization. Let me become the quest
that I be found in myself—not let
the ego be all, but become the
believer of the quest that seeks peace
and understanding—that does not reach
beyond intention into the shame of failure
__________________
Today’s LittleNip:
PERSPECTIVE
—Joyce Odam
Here is a gift for you, oh sky, two trees
atop a mountain of sheer stone,
with many white birds circling by,
and low gray clouds, and
far away, in distant scale,
the earth.
__________________
Joyce Odam sends us perfect gifts today of fine poetry and artwork, celebrating our recent Seed of the Week: The Perfect Gift. Our new Seed of the Week is Stress Relief. 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.
For up-coming poetry events in our area, scroll down to the blue column (under the green column at the right) for info—and note that more may be added at the last minute.
—Medusa, celebrating the perfect gift that is poetry ~
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
