The Texture of Shadows

 The Texture of Shadows
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Original Art by Joyce Odam

 

 

BROOM AND SHADOWS
—Joyce Odam

woman with a broom
stoops to her task

long shadows measure
the gold wall of evening

the setting sun is swift
and she is slow

so patiently sweeping back
the shadows

so late
in the day

                   
(prev. pub. in Tundra—The Journal of the Short Poem,
#1 Premier Issue, August 1999) 

 

 

 

 Half Empty

A DARK SHACK IN A WOODS
—Joyce Odam

A dark shack
in a woods
edged with yellow flowers
and simple daisies
and tall green stems of
something thick and climbing.
Who lives here
among these darks and lights?
Whose little house
is huddled
in the closing shadows
that pull even deeper
into long, deep night?
No light is at the windows.
Does a face peer out?
Are we unwelcome,
passing by like this?
This seems a dream-place
of some ancient calendar
and we an unturned page
of our own travel.
Should we knock?
Should we ask
direction, or perhaps
to stay the night
now closing down upon
the last soft shining
of the flowers?
                    

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/17/15; 10/25/22) 

 

 

 

 Curiosity

AT THE PERIPHERY

After Edgar Lee Masters’ Spoon River
—Robin Gale Odam

I’m certain I was here before—
the deep lush of green shade at the
periphery, the bouquet at my breast,
the perfume—

fragile sunlight on my parasol,
the earth dry and soft—my gown
dusted the blue shadows on the path-
way, the dust of the earth. The dust,

the marker, the granite bench, the
linen kerchief—the bowl of fruit and the
plate of bread, the table set for guests.
I loved the blue shadows.

My mother prayed, she said, for the sorrows.
I tried to tell her they are called sparrows—

we came to gather at the valley, the one
you have to cross alone—not to pass like
an arid breeze, but just to dip into the
stream, and to die the death into the
holy grail.

I loved the blue shadows.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/27/24)

 

 

 

 Metaphor

TO ASK ABOUT OUR LIVES
—Joyce Odam

To ask about our lives
come through the door.
Sit on the chair.
Invent a topic we can use.
Ask if we care or do not care.
We do.
Ask us about our love.
We love.
Inquire about
the worst, the best,
our hearts can bear.
Avert your tender eyes.
The way we answer
is a snare,
the snare we make and live in
year to year.
 
                         
(prev. pub. in Muse of Fire, March 1997;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/20/18; 4/28/20)

 

 

 

Fragile

 

CHIAROSCURO

After The Mother of Loneliness by James Barkley
—Joyce Odam

She stands in a gray despair on a
cold black porch by a cold black sea

posing for no one that she loves—
not even sure the sea will have her

or that she will have the sea. A last
rim of light on the rail behind her

would define her next. A front-lit
window seems to pull her back.

She does not shiver in the swiftly
dying light—turning one way

and then the other—incompleted :
nude of winter, loved by shadow.

                                   
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/12/23)

 

 

 

 Silence

I WOULD LOVE YOU
—Joyce Odam

I would love you but love is not enough.
Love is an ache to memorize, a long guilt

to remember, no matter who declares it.
Love is not what you want it to be.

It is not a perfection. It grows lonesome
and cruel. It is always half-child.

I would love you, but we are the wrong two.
We are from the wrong arrogance and pride.

We could never be completed in time.
I would love you anyway, but you would

leave me even if you stayed, and I would
leave you at every disillusion and every regret.

I would love you, but we are dark inside—
two lights gone out as if they were candles,

the soft-scented smoke of effort,
fading out like a spent breath,

and that is all of us . . .
this sigh . . . this drifting silence . . .

 

 

 

 Dream in Color

INSOMNIA XXV
—Robin Gale Odam

Whisper of shadow in the dark,
the quiet death of indifference—

I shall retrace my steps, find
what poured out into the dream.

Wing-flutter outside the window,
book of sorrow, origami sparrow.

I shall light my candle—hush of
memory, flick of light, the quick
of night.

                     
(prev. pub. in Brevities, December 2017;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/29/22; 5/07/24) 

 

 

 

 Walk A Mile

SHADOW LOVE
—Joyce Odam

It was love, I swear, emergent
in the stricken world
into which I hurled
my broken self
and marveled
that I fell
so far—so near,
the marred perfection
of the one
who beckoned me
with longing look.
I did not care how long it took.
The hand reached up
as mine reached down.
How easily a soul can drown
in hope’s reflection—
shimmering within the mind
with no reunion—still entwined
in shadow’s promise.

                                      
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/14/17)

 

 

 

Somewhere To Keep Them

ALL THE OLD HANGOUTS     
—Joyce Odam

where life no longer lives
in all those happy peopled days
it is easy now to forgive

the follies that live on
in secret rendezvous
and myths of love

as if to squander
all that we believed—
those little dramas of the mind

the veiled relinquishment  
of sad returnings:
eyes caught in brief forever's

abetting all the drama
we preferred of life—
the old locations,

old dumps and dives
razed, forgotten,
torn down now

like all the years of memories
that merge down avenues of
fabled light that perforates the dark…
                  

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/10/20)

 

 

 

 I Thought It Was A Dream

AND DARE WE SPEAK IN COUPLETS NOW
—Joyce Odam

And dare we speak in couplets now
whose lives are

spent in ones and threes
whole conversations

lost among the burdens
and the leaves

upswept from seasons
sharp as growing pains

our fingertips are raw
from holding on

to every hope and rage
so far no work is done

we taught the bitter with the love
and now we set the work aside

too high, we say, and strike
the fetal pose

in case of cameras
in case of caring eyes

too long, we say, and shorten
all our tries

and drift away
downhill

or off the edges
of our wings
                             

(prev. pub. in Piedmont Literary Review)

 

 

 

 Lullaby

Today’s LittleNip:

spirit guardian
whispering of gravity—
shadow in the tree

virgins bathing in the pool
luminous in modesty

          —Robin Gale Odam

___________________
 

Our Seed of the Week was “Shadows On Our Lives”, and shadows are right up the alley (so to speak) of Joyce and Robin Gale Odam. Many thanks to them for their poetry today, and for Joyce’s fine graphics. Robin's birthday will be August 1, and Joyce's August 7. The Odams are truly a family of Leos.

Our new Seed of the Week is “Whispers in the Night”. 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.

___________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Swaddle

—Photo by Joyce Odam

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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