Where Am I Missing The Boat?

Before Dark

—Poetry and Original Artwork by Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA

AN OCCASIONAL OWL

I have seen an occasional owl—
or think I have—a swift gray shape at dusk.
A whisper of wing-sound?  Imagination?

But I have heard the soft whoo-ing—
I think I have—whisper of wind—a moan
in the dark dominion of despair. 

Maybe the owl is a myth, something
to love despite itself, wherever
it is, or is not, it is hidden—

something to look for as
a proof to end some
superstition.   

This owl that is missing
is a regret I share with the world,
though the world seems unconcerned—

does not know, its own tragedy, or the tragedy
of the owl. But I remember—I think I remember
actually seeing—actually hearing—an owl.

____________________

FROGS
              
We hear of frogs that are missing,
that are deformed,
that are thinking new thoughts,

there in their bog of language and evolution
strange to themselves—
or not even strange,

but different—
green-smelling and iridescent,
like spells cast by witches in fairy tales.

But, here, they are real—enormous-throated
with warning, with trepidation,
the world around them bristling with doom.

They freeze, then leap
into known environments—the shallow green of murk,
the thickening shadow of extinction.


(1st Place Winner, Ina Coolbrith 81st Annual Contest)
(prev. pub. in Albatross, 2004)

 Go In And Out The Window

HER BEDROOM

closet full of dusty clothes
silver-veined dresses
squashed party wear
stained lace and fur
unwashables
a leopard coat and hat
coat-pin
some jewels missing
high-heels lined up
behind the slippers

on the dresser a jewel box
and perfume bottles
all shoved back
and in the grimy mirror
in diligent reflection,
in rows and rows,
white plastic vials
of prescriptions

                   
(prev. pub. in Philadelphia Poets, 1988)

 Can't Find Me
 

LOSING SUNLIGHT

Slant of cold sunlight.
No dust in the room.
Floor shadow tilting in its own direction.

A mute book lying across the top
of a bookcase, its words all missing—
the shelves empty, hoarding the emptiness.

A precarious lute leaned up against the
lack of music, its shadow-case perfectly balanced
behind it against the lengthening wall.

A round-bellied floor jug—bulging
to hold back door-shadow of a reaching room
into which all the other shadow is pouring.

 Hide and Seek

UNDERCURRENT

Focus, as what is missing from the view :
the blue window feigning distance
with only the sea as perspective—

except for motion, which is of the sea,
held level for a moment
where the horizon flattens out,

where faces of the missing
appear in the swarming shadows,
withholding what they know.

One figure remains at the round window
to question this, someone curious
about the levels of reality—

the way what is locked in,
and what is locked out,
are the same;

the way the horizon holds level
against the rhythmic balancing of the sea—
the same as want against need.

 Olly-Olly-Oxen-Free

SOMETHING MISSING

After The Moon-Woman Cuts the Circle,

1942 by Jackson Pollock
 
There is no moon.
there is no circle,
there is only rash of color,
representing.

There is no theme,
there is no riddle,
there is only the tense scene,
holding.

What does it mean
to be obtuse,
response,
unwilling.

No moon is clue,
and nothing circular,
only an imagined laugh
in the knowing.

 Three Kites

TRAVEL POSTER

where am I missing the boat?
even though I don’t know
where boats are going
I keep missing them
arriving at docks to see
the small speck in the distance…
the wisp of smoke…

others return
to tell me of their travels
secret with joy
intense with detail
I nod impatiently and sneak away
to my schedules and wardrobe
that I keep packing and repacking
until it fits small

each day is shrunken
with my anticipation
my off-sense of timing
that I keep perfecting
each day is waging
its size against me

Sweet Envy
smiles from her poster
and I, her collector,
study her closely
to memorize where she has been
for I would go there

                                 
(prev. pub. in Calliope, 1989)

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

SARAH AND JOHN
The Collected Poems of Weldon Kees, 
Poems 1947-1954, p. 89
—Joyce Odam

Who was Sarah—who was John,
that they were dedicated
in a book of poems,
the poet dead now—
missing from his life,
a mystery to solve—
and leaving us to wonder :
Who was Sarah? Who was John?

______________________

A big thank-you to Joyce Odam today for her poetic thoughts on “missing”, our current Seed of the Week! Our new Seed of the Week is “Outrageous!” 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.

Don’t forget that Sac. Poetry Center’s weekly Monday reading has been moved (for this week only) to tonight, Tuesday, at 7:30pm, featuring Julia Rose Lewis, David R. Surette, Elizbeth Bradfield. Zoom: us02web.zoom.us/j/7638733462; Meeting ID: 763 873 3462 ("P O E T R E E I N C”); password: spcsdv2020/. Also meeting tonight: SPC Tuesday night workshop, 7:15pm, hosted by Danyen Powell. Bring a poem for critique. Check with Mo Stoycoff at mostoycoff@gmail.com for info.

For more about The Moon-Woman and her circle, go to www.jackson-pollock.org/moon-woman-cuts-the-circle.jsp/. For more about Weldon Kees, see www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/weldon-kees/.

—Medusa

 The Moon-Woman Cuts Her Circle, 1942
—Painting by Jackson Pollock (1912-1956)

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