Be Careful What You Kiss Today

 

An Old Refrain

—Poetry and Photos by Joyce Odam,

Sacramento, CA

FROM THE LIONS' DEN

 

I’m sorry, but
lions are not tame;
they sleep with guns at their heads
and smile bravely in the dark.

I should have told you this—
I thought you knew—that lions
are not safe for other lions
or for you.  You are too many bones
and flesh and mysterious
beckonings that work magic on lions.

Do not trust all this; none of
the madness is private madness
any more; it grows spaces
to fill—and spaces must be filled.

(If you must cut all the legs off
furniture, remember that this
will bring you closer to the floor.
You know what sleeps in the
shadows there:

old shapes of lions
with incense in their fur,
dark and still, with gold eyes
and songs in their mouths.)  Be
careful what you kiss today.

                                         
(prev. pub. in Plastic Tower, 1996)

 

 

 

 To Hold the Day

PERSPECTIVE
After “Three Men Walking”, 1948, Giacometti

Walking out from the center of the mirror, I face
three directions and am at once at the mercy of
three compulsions, thus am I split into the three

measurements of existence : I am past, present,
and future, but, still, I am of the mirror—that
mothering eye that does not diminish or release,

but only gives me a glimpse of illusion—that
bordering reach—that drift off the fathomless
edge around me. If only I can pull away at the

exact moment, I will escape the unguarded blink
that must occur. Even now, I can feel my three
selves slip the magnetic hold of my own fear

and reluctance—that pull at the weakening
center—if only I am that brave—if only I can
break my own trance, and that of the mirror . . .


(prev. pub. in Tiger's Eye, 2001)

 

 

 

 Of Meaning

         
WHAT THE MIRROR SEES

You turn your face toward the window,
watch the rain,
feel the room shiver.

You become anonymous,
put on a cloak of indifference
to brave the night with its opposite direction.

Someone is getting in the way of your arrival
—someone hooded—without
a face—without a name—without a history.

You move to his arms like a shadow.
You embrace.
The mirror closes its eyes.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/13/17)

 

 

 

Such As Myth

 

THE CYNIC YEARNS FOR LOVE

Sullied love, love that is made
of other loves.

All for experience,
all for sadness, true to desire.

Love that has loved,
and love that has died—love like that.

No flawless love—having waited
for you to need, and never have.

Mundane love for the cynic. Such is
myth—looking for the mythical.

Caution mellowed—memory’s love—
imperfect, un-remembered love.

Why want love—love looking back—
tarnished,   wasted,   stained,   and tainted,

ruined love—made of lies—frivolous
and disbelieved—even for the honest heart.

 

 

 

 For Want

 

WEDDING
After “The Wedding” by June Jordan

They are caught in the long drift down together—
they are caught—trembling like two leaves in
a gold wind—warm in the light. They shine.
They almost love. They are caught in the
long drift down. They flutter softly to
the music—graceful and slow, as if
there was only this sweet falling—
no tree to memorize—no earth
to fall to—no grief to know.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/12/22) 

 

 

 

 The Road

 

POETRY
“What a mighty voice it requires in the poet, to
keep his lines strange, and rolling like waves,
and brave like the sun.”   
                         —John Crowe Ransom

These words that celebrate from me,
these words that grieve,
these words that sing or weep . . .

These words that come from their
own places—of their own volition,
that I take, and call them mine . . .

How they cluster—how they form—
too fast, or too resistant—depending on
their own need or inspiration . . .

Which of us needs the other more—
my reach, or their release. Oh, words,
words—we are the path to one another.
I will write while you speak.


(prev. pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine, 1998)   

 

 

 

To Pray Out Loud

 

                                   

ALLEY POPPIES

I used to see poppies
everywhere—
poppies now are sparse
and rare :
     a few here,
             a few there,

and recently
I caught a glimpse
of Alley Poppies   
bravely bunched
     against a wall
             as I drove past

that glowed with such
a stirring sadness
at their scarcity
it made me wonder
     if poppies
     still grow in
     proud profusion
     in Flanders Fields?

____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

THE SYMPATHETIC MIRROR
—Joyce Odam

Night of pity—tears in the mirror—
what of tomorrow, that impossible time to be?
There is no moment worth forever.

_____________________

Courage! No one has more than Joyce Odam, charging on with her long life and her poetry and other forms of art! Courage was our Seed of the Week, and Joyce has written to us about it, well, courageously…

Our new Seed of the Week is a nod to up-coming Halloween (and courage, too): “Lost in the Woods”. 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

 

 

 

—Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
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