What of Love?

 

No Birds Yet

—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,

Sacramento, CA

—Photos by Robin Gale Odam

 

 

 

LOOKING OUT THE WINTER DOOR
—Joyce Odam

a long row of sun along a fence,
along the fence, a strip of green—
next to the green, for blocks and blocks
next to the street, the noise slips through

the miles don't stop, this is our town,
above the town the city trees—
above the fence, the tiring sun
dims through the row of swaying trees

but no birds yet to disappear
to my concern, old summer town
dimming the sun through another day—
old summer fence, old summer town

 

 

 

 Their Presence

I DON'T KNOW,
ARE THERE ANY MORE BIRDS?
—Joyce Odam

I am lonely
for their song—I am
farther now—I am
angry from their going,
though I'm gone. I want
their presence and their
singing. It was mine. I am
alone now without singing
of the birds, gone so long
ago and I am a dis-location
to myself . . . a new despair—
there are others but I
am alone in my discontented self—
feeling selfish—
alone from being
almost gone to the
heavenly redemption of extinction.  
I feel wounded—I feel gone.

 

 

 

 Some Forget

WHAT OF LOVE
—Joyce Odam

What of love.
      Some forget.

It was so real.
      It will forget.

And so will you.
      Love is so new.

Love is not yet.
      Love is so true.

It's waiting for you.
      But you resist.

Not yet! Not yet!
      Love waits for you.

 

 

 

 Under The Night

LOVE'S OLD SWEET SONG
—Robin Gale Odam

It was a slow dance, remember?
    No, I'm sure it was a swing . . .

I remember a slow waltz.
    No, I remember the music well . . .

Our friends were late, the music low.
    No, they arrived and found us there,
    joined us and the night was long . . .

I'm sure . . . it was so dark by then.
    No, just the lighting in the room.
    The room was filled, the mood was
    gay, you danced the night away . . .

I remember you asked me to waltz.
    That wasn't me, it was our guest—
    the two of you were cheek to cheek.
    The hour was long. I asked the band
    to step it up, then I cut in—it was a swing . . .

I'm sure you held me close . . . it was a waltz.
    It's time for bed. I'll make some tea.
    I'll dim the lights and turn the blankets down.
    I'll take your wrap, I'll tuck your slippers under-
    neath the bed. I'll set the phonograph down
    low—I'll play Love's Old Sweet Song.

                           

(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Winter 2019)

 

 

 

The Night Was Long

AT THE CREST OF EOS
—Robin Gale Odam

I promised to go with you as far
as I could—I am here at your sleep.

And here you are, at the crest of eos.
I will cross your heart. I will hold your
hand, place the kiss on your neck.

I will silence my sorrow, for your three
sacred breaths.
                                          
I will walk for a very long distance
down the fluorescent hallway, and then
stand, mystified, before the elevator.

I will lower my eyes, shield your
memory from the pall of tomorrow. 

 

 

 

 Then I Will Say

OK,  NINE
—Robin Gale Odam

I will give you
seven poems
and then I will say
goodbye.

(prev. pub. in Brevities, January 2014)

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip(s):

origami sparrow in the tree—
someone's yesterday

—Robin Gale Odam

* * *

painting on music, falling
through shadows and into my
heart—tiny black hummingbird

 —Robin Gale Odam

(prev. pub. in Brevities, January 2020)

______________________

Poetry today on this Valentine’s Day is from two songbirds, Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam, with photos from Robin Gale—and our thanks to them for their handiwork, writing in response to our Seed of the Week: Love, Regardless.

Our new Seed of the Week is “Fury”. Once I watched a blue jay and a hummingbird yelling in concert as they chased a cat not one, but two blocks down the road, away from their territory. Such is fury, and I have never seen the like since. What does fury look like to you? 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. And see every Form Fiddlers’ Friday for poetry form challenges, including those of the Ekphrastic type.

Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.

Tonight, Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center presents Tamer Mostafa and Carol Lynn Stevenson Grellas plus open mic on Zoom, 7pm. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.

_________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 “… through shadows and into my heart—”
—Public Domain Photo











 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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