Fence with Tree-Shadow
—Photo by Joyce Odam
ENNUI
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento
I think of times between
other times,
between luck and despair,
hope its enemy.
I think of times like that
when time is wrong
and I can’t get out
of my chair
to become relevant—when
now is past—or about
to begin. I am that tightly crushed within
time’s measurements that I
cannot measure.
I am out of math or
cleverness.
I am caught in dream’s mind. If I run, I drown;
I’m in a stillness caught
within a whirl.
Perplexed. Unwound. Where do I
pick up the beat of it
all—get back on track—
wipe the dreaming mirror
and find my self again
in the faceless glass.
_______________
THE NEW
BIRD
—Joyce Odam
the new
bird
in the
old cage
is
already
loud
is LOUD
is
expensive
already
does
tricks
sly and
winsome
his
owners
weep
to love
him so much
already
so
handsome and young
so
healthy
so
brilliantly colored
a glossy
bird
with eyes
that already
know who
they are
who
already is
learning
the words
they
choose
for him
to learn
oh how
he fills
the
loud
emptiness
of the
house
the way
it was
before he
came to them
ordained
or just
lucky
and he
looks out
over the
new yard
with its
tiny grave
and
struts himself forward
into
their lives
_______________
OUR DOMESTIC CAT PRACTICING
HER WILDERNESS
—Joyce Odam
O
|
ur silver
cat sits looking for her mouse,
patiently
stares toward the gleaming field,
until she
turns to patient silhouette.
T
|
he
closing darkness, hiding what it owns,
holds
itself real still: no breath of wind.
No twitch
of fur. No luck. No sign of mouse.
(first pub. in Poets' Forum Magazine, 1997-98)
Torn Blue Canvas
—Photo by Joyce Odam
THE QUIET RIVER
(based on "Fur Traders Descending the Missouri"
by George Caleb Bingham, American, 1808-1897)
On smooth mirrored water the low boat glides,
doubling itself and its occupants—taking
the day lazy and long—a small black cat
leashed to the bow for luck—the rower
and the one who just leans and watches,
admiring the thought of themselves
—created by art: the red shirt of one,
and the blue shirt of the other—
a low fog misting, soon to involve them,
tame as a shadow—the black cat
staring down at itself in the staring water;
not even a ripple to show them
moving through golden fog toward
some shore, or deeper water, the paddle
inert in the rower's hand while a drifting
thought holds them immobile: the
featureless cat and its featureless double,
the boat turned upside down so the sky
might swallow the whole tableau
if it wanted to. Nothing can drown here:
no room for a cry—the thought too shallow.
no room for a cry—the thought too shallow.
______________
WHEN YOUR
SHIP COMES IN
—Joyce Odam
How soon
will the boat come for you?
You are
such a small harbor;
maybe the
boat will not find you.
Will it
be a rowboat?
Will it
have a sail?
Will it
be a yacht?
You are
such a poor person,
wearing
mended clothes.
And you
are not impatient.
All your
life you wait,
bent in a
looking position,
staring
through the glitters
in the
direction of the setting sun.
You will
not see Luck coming,
until it
gets dark.
And then
it will be too late
to go
sailing,
or
rowing, or riding on a yacht.
_______________
TODAY IS NOT THE DAY
—Joyce Odam
Today is
not the day for luck.
For rage,
perhaps;
for
staring at the rain.
But today
has come too swiftly,
on
borrowed news, with static
and wet
shoes.
And with
today comes
those two
proper sisters,
Grim and
Lonely,
who sit
on my two
chairs. I feed them
whiskey
and dirty blues.
They blur
and whisper.
The man I
am holding
is half
unholy—
the half
I’m telling—
the other
half
is heavy
with mute clues.
Today is
not
the day I
choose
for dim
remember.
The
sisters are sleeping now:
I follow
the
secret smile and meaning.
(first pub. in Riven,
2008)
_______________
Our thanks to Joyce Odam for today's delights! Friday the 13th is over (we have three this year!) and we're abandoning Lady Luck, our Seed of the Week for a new seed: a senryu by Sandoka, which is as follows:
A lone figure
Back turned
Receding into the mist
See what you can do with this and send your images (maybe an imago?) to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though—scroll back up to Calliope's Closet in the FUCHSIA LINKS at the top for a stupendous load of past SOWs that might bring you fame, fortune, and happiness.
We have a new Form to Fiddle With, too—one that Joyce brings to our attention in her little Brevities Mini-Chap called 16 More Short Poetry Forms. Today's LittleNip is her example of the Imago; see what you can do with that, too—and Calliope has a long list of other forms we've tackled in the past, most of which can be found on the Internet, particularly at shadowpoetry.com, along with examples.
This is a good place to point out that Joyce's Choice of Words Press has lots of little books and a whole set of bookmarks that demonstrate various poetic forms and examples of same. Contact her (and submit to her monthly Brevities, too) at choiceofwords@aol.com.
_______________
Today's LittleNip:
THEY LOVE
—Joyce Odam
—Joyce Odam
They love—cautiously—afraid
to trust. Or they love
completely—beyond reason,
wanting more fire for
the passion and its ebbing—
the flaring coals they
keep stirring—for the embers,
and for the ashes.
_______________
—Medusa
Fence-growth
—Photo by Joyce Odam
