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Tuesday, July 26, 2022

Only Loves Knows...

 

 
An Old Refrain
—Poetry and Original Art by Joyce Odam, 
Sacramento, CA



KITCHEN DAY-DREAM

wrapped in music she goes deep—
goes deep

into her own
composing heart

how long ago is love—
how far away is time—

her eyes glaze
to a distant stare

someone is there,
evolving

into a familiar sadness
they embrace, the music dies away 
 
 
 
Old Secrets
 
 
LINK

It was never for loss, we flurried.
It was love, only contradiction.
It was only this—and the other.

What was never, was ever,
and the only face
that knew what it was to disappear.

Even the vanities that appear as wonder
can lead into and into the mirror—
even the vanities.

Only the center is the where and when.
Sometimes we can pick up the trace again
of clue and direction.
 
 
 
Facing You
 
 
THE LONG QUARREL

No morning kiss. Each wants the other different. He 
is verbal; she is mute—Jack Spratt and wife, at odds
—both wanting lean; both wanting fat. No com-
promise. Love is a word on a sampler—her old 
needlework. Their habits hold them together for the 
sake of the mirror, streaked with tears. No morning 
kiss. They manage to cough apart. Lukewarm cups 
of coffee warm each sullen mouth. In little scraps 
around them : the morning paper, the unfinished 
poetry, news and clues—both reading different
meanings into each, inter-merging into different 
rooms.

__________________

THE NEWLYWEDS

when they were deep in kiss
when we were invited guests

who sat awhile
and sipped some wine

while they kissed
two in one chair

so deep of love— so free of us
while they were kissing . . .
 
 
 
From Whence the Illusion

 
SKIT  

love is the fool
I am its audience
it does what makes me laugh
cry
applaud

it postures about on the stage
in mimicry

it believes in itself
it tells me I am its tender fool
its terrible person
the reason it suffers

__________________

TO LOVE

one kiss upon the brow,
a token of love,

to interrupt
the sigh

the kiss
is wine enough

this is too much
to bear

eyes close
to word or touch

a token of love—
one kiss upon the brow.
 
 
 
Notions
 
 
NOTIONS OF LOVE

She’s made of image. Glass can shatter that.
The window of love is open to regret. Why
suffer transformation in the dark. Why part
the shadows with a blade of light, become
the one who leaves you—lose your heart.

The map is hard to follow. You are lost.
Her hand is like a shadow on your face,
glass can shatter—drawing you toward
the phantom kiss. Prepare to dream.
She’s not more real than this.
 
Her eyes surrender, but you cannot claim,
she’s in the echo of your cry—she’s in a
distance—bending to a face—her own,
as if she conjures her own life—she’s
made of image—create a mirror of
yourself. Glass can shatter that.
 
 
 
 Thought Shadows
 

 
REFRAIN

Her kiss was soft against my face—
dancer-kiss,
elegant as a turn toward the next piece of music.

Her arms around me pressed and pulled away.
Mine did the same.
Our faces moved apart.

Our greeting was quick, but tender.
There was joy in our hello. Our embrace
was brief, but dancer-slow.

Our few words got scattered
in the choreography-talk of others—
that smooth camaraderie—that soft din—

that coming together of friends
on some occasion in honor of itself.
We worked the room. All evening

we would be here—mutual and warm—
part of the performance. And when
the evening ended, we would embrace again.

_____________________

TOMORROW, WITH ITS MOON TO BE

after
today’s night
long past its sunrise and hours

that will be the morrow
ever just beyond
the now

with what is curious or restless
or in need of what tomorrow
might not relive—

so many though
have passed the days that
never will become the morrow
 
 
 
Singularity
 


EACH VEILED KISS
After The Lovers by René Magritte

Veiled and forgiven, even now,
through dreams and deep imaginations,

from loves that never were—
veiled eyes and each veiled kiss.

What still vies between you
like veils of disbelief and loss?

What is the blessing—what the curse?
What is memory—what is love?


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 5/17/11)

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

SIGHINGS
—Joyce Odam

Song becomes song, which becomes
whisper, which becomes lament.

All has been told, and told again in silences.
There is a rage that has been tamed.

Something in the eyes commands light.
Darkness cowers.

Only love knows love,
which becomes honest. This is true.

_____________________

Joyce Odam sends us “A Kiss on the Cheek” (our recent Seed of the Week) with poems full of sighs and losses and hopes for tomorrow, “with its moon to be.” Our thanks to Joyce for her weekly submissions these many, many years—whatever the moon!

Our new Seed of the Week is “Windsong”. 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.

_____________________

—Medusa  
 
 
 
The Lovers 
—Painting by René Magritte, 1928



 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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