Earth and Sky
—Poetry and Original Artwork by Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
BLUE SONG COLLAGE
After Francis Bacon, Man in Blue
When he sings, he sings blue,
sings to the black piano,
sings to the hushed audience
of his memory.
Soft smoky light swirls through him
and away—
diffuses into
the surrounding darkness.
Beyond the aura of his tragic face
the stale dark listens—
leaning forward with admiration
he braces for the applause.
(prev. pub. in Red Owl, 2006)
After Francis Bacon, Man in Blue
When he sings, he sings blue,
sings to the black piano,
sings to the hushed audience
of his memory.
Soft smoky light swirls through him
and away—
diffuses into
the surrounding darkness.
Beyond the aura of his tragic face
the stale dark listens—
leaning forward with admiration
he braces for the applause.
(prev. pub. in Red Owl, 2006)
Sunset
LISTENING TO BLUE
Blue is a dawn word
and a twilight word; at dawn
it sounds like the moment just before
birdsong; at dusk it sounds like a shadow.
Blue is sometimes an alto saxophone
and sometimes a flute sound in the rain.
Blue moves in slow motion to hear itself
move. Blue is heavy with saturation.
Blue is a kind of prayer spoken
by loves who have lost each other.
Blue can dance to its own blue music
to which reunited lovers are slowly dancing.
(prev. pub. in What Is It About Blue Mini-Chap, 2002
and Medusa's Kitchen, 2011)
Last of the Sunlight
THE LITTLE NIGHT POND
After “Song” by Federico García Lorca
The crying creature
magnifies the night with its cries.
The round moon weeps into
the little pond—
there to hold all the tears
of the inconsolable one
who has lost what it has lost
and feels what it must feel,
for its little heart is broken,
and its eyes are red from
so much weeping,
and it cannot speak for its sadness—
and the round moon knows this and keeps
making little tear-circles in the pond.
_____________________
THE LOST LOVE
is she not the one
in the long wet dress
shivering through life
covering her shoulders with her hands
pressing her forehead
against cold glass
where bright lights, windowed,
do not warm her
nor night’s shadows cover her enough
do not think her only a ghost
wearing the blue glow
of your imagination
threading through the curtains of night
till there is no more left to be torn
her children will never be born
each year she fades a little more
into the sad memory you keep
wisping and wavering
in the least movement
of your thought
she is only your loss
the one you know will love you forever
if you can only hold her
closer than she is real
she is the old shadow now
touching you where you are shivering
covering you like a cloth
Watching the Day Change
LOW WINDOW LIGHT
The window used to hold her there,
standing and watching the day change,
her eyes holding the vague eye of distance.
However far it was, she was patient.
The room darkened behind her, the window
glinted, caught the last of the sunlight.
She grew timeless then. The waiting
never ended. The patience understood.
There was never any end to the story.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2015)
Want
TIME FOR ROSIE
that dark child
lonesome on the
telephone
calling small
calling wild
saying she is
beautiful and old
saying she is
lost and angry
like her mother
like her self
in repetition
mirror child
lonesome Rosie
(prev. pub. in Muse of Fire, 1997)
_______________________
THE LUMINOUS BLUE
After The Mediterranean (1923) by Dufy
For the sake of blue
Dufy would draw
beyond the true
with
simple mystery
and need
to see
poetically—
let go the rules.
When It Rained
WHAT IS IT ABOUT BLUE
After Transformation En El Paraiso, 1987
by Freddy Rodriguez
What is it about blue that lets things float,
as if blue were exempt from gravity :
consider a white vase of levitated roses . . .
a vine of disembodied poppies . . .
a wrapped thought curling inward to itself :
consider how blue can thicken, and absorb,
and deepen, when some daydream wills it :
consider how often things float by that you
do not even notice; for you are a thought—
released and floating—becoming an answer
to something that you want to know.
The Loneliness
THIS LONELINESS
I borrow grief for these old journeys.
Grief is heavy but will sustain me
with experience and advice
for slow cold nights ahead
when there is none to know
or care
that I am going anywhere.
Yes, grief is what I need
to take along
as offering to each new place
where nothing can
assuage this loneliness
for somewhere that is home.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
THE LONESOME CAT
—Joyce Odam
says Me first
and Me only
puts herself underneath your hand
and stares until you touch her
then leans away purring
then leans away and you lean after
for she is purring
and you want to please her
____________________
Good morning, early in December on Pearl Harbor Day, and thanks to Joyce Odam for speaking to our Seed of the Week: Lonesome. She says it’s blue, and yes it is, I guess—a dark, luminous blue that floods the walls and leaves us, well, lonesome.
Our new Seed of the Week is “Frazzled”. 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.
•••Sat. (12/11), 1-3pm: Celebrate International Human Rights Day by heading to Placerville to meet at the Town Hall, 549 Main St., for poetry, art, music, play, speakers, folk dance.
____________________
—Medusa
The Lonesome Cat
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
