A Tug of Time
—Poetry and Photos by Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
LOSING TIME
It was because this morning’s full white moon
shone in the window and I happened to look
and could not look away.
It was the endangered way a distracted bird
sat on the fence, so close, outside my intrusion,
and did not fly away when I stood there staring.
It was the studied, patient way a long-dead
picture stared back at me
when I was in a reverie and the clock stared, too.
It was the brooding way I could not answer my
own lost self that could not move, for the world
fell back, and time stayed frozen to my thought.
It was the unrelenting way some time-worn
heaviness became a weight that this day made me
wear—like a heavy garment made of grief.
It was because this morning’s full white moon
shone in the window and I happened to look
and could not look away.
It was the endangered way a distracted bird
sat on the fence, so close, outside my intrusion,
and did not fly away when I stood there staring.
It was the studied, patient way a long-dead
picture stared back at me
when I was in a reverie and the clock stared, too.
It was the brooding way I could not answer my
own lost self that could not move, for the world
fell back, and time stayed frozen to my thought.
It was the unrelenting way some time-worn
heaviness became a weight that this day made me
wear—like a heavy garment made of grief.
Getting Lost in the Dream
WHAT SLUMBERS, WHAT RETURNS
For she is loyal to this wild emotion
she remembers… tells of…
first she will tell you her long love story,
and drift into its ending…
then the lull while she remembers alone
and is gone from you…
_____________________
COMPLAINERS
Word by word, by bitter word
of grievances with which they play
on sympathy—although we gird
ourselves against the endless way
they list their wrongs—which is to say,
we cannot listen any more.
We try avoiding them. But they
recount their tallies—score by score.
There’s no way we can get the floor.
They are relentless with their woe.
No use to fake appointments or
make some excuse. We are too slow.
I guess, at least, it’s good to know
we help by listening. They leave—
unburdened for awhile—although
they’ve now become our own pet peeve.
Now we complain in such a weave
that seems to go from birth to grave.
Time lost. Time wasted. Life a grieve
that beats us down—wave after wave.
Reason Enough
DOUBLE EXPOSURE
Two horizons emerge from the blurriness,
become an apparition of fear and wonder
if not the old blindness of the unresolved
truth or question—when all is not stable,
uncertain of the wonderment.
How else explain the duplicated vision
that appears to the truthful imagination
of the mind—the self-deceiving
mind—that relies on the rationale of
complex desire : two skies that waver
apart like double exposure—having
to choose the real or unreal to exist in.
Two horizons emerge from the blurriness,
become an apparition of fear and wonder
if not the old blindness of the unresolved
truth or question—when all is not stable,
uncertain of the wonderment.
How else explain the duplicated vision
that appears to the truthful imagination
of the mind—the self-deceiving
mind—that relies on the rationale of
complex desire : two skies that waver
apart like double exposure—having
to choose the real or unreal to exist in.
To Fetch a Smile
TO WAKEN AN OLD MEMORY
Old love is
sheltered in the
brimming mind—
the long
ago
and the tempered now.
Rose-colored by time
how loyal it stays
to all that it
recalls.
It makes its own
conditions of give
and take—
old love that still belongs
to love—
the comfort of time
that endures
and knows no failure.
____________________
INSIGHT
After “Silence” by William Carlos Williams
Something as silent as a whir of thought
in its passing—
as bird shadow, peripheral,
and slow—
as the moment is slow
in its impression—
what else is there to note
and lose before the loss is realized?
Old love is
sheltered in the
brimming mind—
the long
ago
and the tempered now.
Rose-colored by time
how loyal it stays
to all that it
recalls.
It makes its own
conditions of give
and take—
old love that still belongs
to love—
the comfort of time
that endures
and knows no failure.
____________________
INSIGHT
After “Silence” by William Carlos Williams
Something as silent as a whir of thought
in its passing—
as bird shadow, peripheral,
and slow—
as the moment is slow
in its impression—
what else is there to note
and lose before the loss is realized?
Because
OLD TRUTHS
Is this the source of relevance,
this neutral place of somewhere
never been,
but want to stay
in its formality of difference—
as though we might relate to this—
the way beginnings can begin?
Is this how we give reason
for our chosen
anonymity—
so precious to our commitment
with guilt—with its forsaking?
How does one stay secret in a new place
any different
than in the old?
Oh, Place—that is the reason for
our failing courage : how to love
outside of love, and take it for our own
—oh purely love as never before
and never again—we swear.
Is this the source of relevance,
this neutral place of somewhere
never been,
but want to stay
in its formality of difference—
as though we might relate to this—
the way beginnings can begin?
Is this how we give reason
for our chosen
anonymity—
so precious to our commitment
with guilt—with its forsaking?
How does one stay secret in a new place
any different
than in the old?
Oh, Place—that is the reason for
our failing courage : how to love
outside of love, and take it for our own
—oh purely love as never before
and never again—we swear.
Turn of Fate
RATIONALE
Time is a wedge in the air. What does
that mean? It has no meaning. It is there.
Oh, such complaining, such
blaming, such shaming. Curse it all …..!
You are in a straight-jacket—tight as a
desperate breath—an attempt at breathing
A metaphor…..!
Sorry now…….
surrender without meaning
without purpose but for the yielding
religious torment forbidding
aloof with suffocation veiled
commanding closed against your (its)
openness my hand aches with writing
with following impulse of mind
hurrying losing most of it……….!
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
A VERY HAPPY PERSON
—Joyce Odam
“You’re a very happy person,” you said,
so I laughed to show how happy I was
and went around smiling to prove
how lastingly I was happy
and was so grateful later that night
to chop onions for the excuse of crying.
______________________
Our thanks to Joyce Odam, who sends us beautiful poems and beautiful flowers today, spreading thoughts of spring and the mixed emotions that come with every new season.
This weekend (Sat. & Sun.), the 2021 Sierra Poetry Festival takes place online at www.sierrapoetryfestival.org. If you register, they’ll provide you a link. Content will also be live-streamed on their Facebook page: www.facebook.com/sierrapoetryfestival/.
Our new Seed of the Week is an ekphrastic one (notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry):
Time is a wedge in the air. What does
that mean? It has no meaning. It is there.
Oh, such complaining, such
blaming, such shaming. Curse it all …..!
You are in a straight-jacket—tight as a
desperate breath—an attempt at breathing
A metaphor…..!
Sorry now…….
surrender without meaning
without purpose but for the yielding
religious torment forbidding
aloof with suffocation veiled
commanding closed against your (its)
openness my hand aches with writing
with following impulse of mind
hurrying losing most of it……….!
______________________
Today’s LittleNip:
A VERY HAPPY PERSON
—Joyce Odam
“You’re a very happy person,” you said,
so I laughed to show how happy I was
and went around smiling to prove
how lastingly I was happy
and was so grateful later that night
to chop onions for the excuse of crying.
______________________
Our thanks to Joyce Odam, who sends us beautiful poems and beautiful flowers today, spreading thoughts of spring and the mixed emotions that come with every new season.
This weekend (Sat. & Sun.), the 2021 Sierra Poetry Festival takes place online at www.sierrapoetryfestival.org. If you register, they’ll provide you a link. Content will also be live-streamed on their Facebook page: www.facebook.com/sierrapoetryfestival/.
Our new Seed of the Week is an ekphrastic one (notesofoak.com/discover-literature/ekphrastic-poetry):
See what images/memories/etc. this photo stirs up in you, and 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.
For the poem, "Silence", by William Carlos Williams, go to m.facebook.com/thealiporepost/posts/2714300275470675/.
______________________
—Medusa
______________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Photo
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