For If And Then . . .

 The Portioned Air
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Original Art by Joyce Odam

 

 

FIRST SHADOW
—Joyce Odam

I am the one your heart cannot recall.
See how pale I am against the moving wall,
my shadow glancing past the glazing mirror
to become the faintest image there—
the way it falters. as though caught,
and maybe held by memory—or not.

I was the one, alas, who entered where
you were—the one who stayed—
who stayed—
you welcomed me awhile, the years
like sand, and, they were, alas. 

 

 

 

 Earth and Sky

IF THEN
—Robin Gale Odam

What if you meant to say a thread of
uncertain synonyms for if and then,
and then I looked away—a fine strand
of twisted fibers—

I tried to write this letter, I thought
I heard you say,

for if and then, as statement of fact—
and then you looked away

—starlings in the sky again, the flurry
of startle—

evening divides into two evenings.
If you arrive then I shall go.

 

 

 

The Flight

 

THERE IS MORE TO NOW THAN NEVER
—Joyce Odam

—oh flowing time—oh moving river
made of tears

                    take the word away
            and nothing changes
the count is nil

time is held in every moment
all now,
not when,

thought knows
how this
is so

life cannot hold you
        it moves on
                and you move with it—

                saying  yes
           saying no
saying  oh,h,h

 

 

 

 The Occasion of Life

WOMAN FLOATING ON A BED OF LEAVES
—Joyce Odam

In a floating soliloquy of leaves, among flicker-
ing water-lights, among vanished sound of ripples;

among the sweet and carrying sounds of birdsong,
and the complete, stunned, listening of the bright

air, and the vast, prolonging sound of time stand-
ing still, and the powerful bunched feel of the

shoulders of the shoreline as it suspends its own
breathing—among the great forces of waiting at the

end of this sentence—among all these—the woman
floats—asleep on the eddying surface of the water

(her floating arms stroke the water in assistance)
slowly following the buoyancy of its own motion,

her eyes closed forever and her mind tuning 

    inward—
not here to remember or forget—not here to sink

into death’s oblivion—but here to shine against
the sweet instant—the imagined something caught

in a flash of someone who glances up, or someone
just staring to see if she is real—or just another

glittering illusion of this sun-lit, moving water . . .

                                                           
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/14/21) 

 

 

 

Angelic

THE ANGEL THAT WILL TAKE ME
—Joyce Odam
(for my mother:  “I’ll just let the angels take me…”)

Each morning the angel wakes her
with its supporting arm and guides her
through her day’s small chores

though she is not aware of the presence
of the assisting angel—ready
to lend her its very own wings

at the moment she needs them.
Obedient to the rising, she goes,
dream-like, through the rituals she

measures by as she strengthens and
leans into the heart of the angel
which even now is moving inside her.
                                     

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/10/13) 

 

 

 

 How Round The Hour

DRIFTING BACK INTO SLEEP
—Joyce Odam

Let sleep appease me like the comforting
mind-wander of a daydream
as I lean against a pillow
with my finger in the pages
of some book I’ve read before
and read again because I love the words.

Let some soft sleep just overtake me
while I rest within its wings
and drift in the sounds and light
of some quiet morning—
the house at rest
and the bedside lamp still burning,
though the sun is on the wall,
moving across my mother’s picture
and the face of the uncaring clock.

Such a sleep—
completely restful,
my glasses on,
the book holding its place,
and the little urgent map of time
folding back against my need of it.

 

 

 

 The Sense Of Time

Today’s LittleNip:

INSOMNIA XXXIV
 —Robin Gale Odam

the birds in the third shift,
the moving prelude of a season
changing overnight

the long train leaves the city

the metronome of the second hand
measures the spell

                       
(prev. pub. in Brevities, September 2018;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/19/23)

__________________

 

Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam have sent us fine poems and fine pix today, and we're grateful to them for their on-going support.

Our new Seed of the Week is “Exasperation”. 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

 

 

 

 Bird of Paradise
“. . . the birds in the third shift . . .”
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For future poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
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 “Drifting back into sleep…”