Just Before the Memory

 

It Was Early or Late

—Poetry and Photos by Robin Gale Odam, 

Sacramento, CA

 

 

FOR MY DIARY

i woke to the edits of morning,
removed the lid from his bottle of

aftershave, moistened my fingers
and drew them through the air,
ran them through my hair—

took up my cup of last night’s
coffee—cold and black—wandered
out here, to the backyard—

one delicious, bitter sip—i thought
about writing a poem but some days
are better left for my diary


(prev. pub. in Brevities, 2021)

____________________

DEADLINE

Sorry I’m late.
The poem wasn’t finished.
There were still five dishes in the sink.
My hair lay the wrong way.
I finally found my brush,
in the cabinet next to the coffee.
Just one more cup, hot.
I couldn’t remember if I was
forgetting something.
I couldn’t leave without my heart.
It was somewhere in the house,
or maybe in the garden.
The key turned three times in the lock.
It took the whole morning to reach the car.
Then there were red lights and a slow train.
I wrapped myself in music
loud enough to fill all my empty places.
I am here.
My heart is beating in the garden.
I am yours for this long day.


(prev. pub. in Brevities, 2011 and
Sacramento Voices Anthology, 2017)

 

 

 

 It Might Have Been Tuesday

ABOUT THE WEATHER

I didn’t know what to say,
so I told you the morning was
lovely—pale sky, incessant drone
of distant plane, treetop full of
tiny buds threatening to bloom—
although I felt your chill, I could
always say something about
the weather.


(prev. pub. in Brevities, 2014)

___________________

AS THE FABLE GOES

The worry creeps in, the low shudder under the
deep, silent hour, for the ripple of rumors—

and in the garden, the curiosity and the knowing,
and, of course, the even number of pages—
and the rasp of a breath—or the faint flourish
of an author—perhaps a whisper, as of a tight wind
for those on the wing—and the chrysalis, for unfolding—

and gems, lots of gems—the uneven number of
petals, the golden grasses, the crown and the
face of beauty—and the sky the color of dark wine,
and someone to arrive as a cue, as for an ending.

The ripple of an hour should do.

____________________

ASKANCE

The tilt of humor, the mask of
curiosity, the worry of judgment—

the dubiously disapproving suspicion,
disdainfully oblique and skeptically askew—

show it all at once.

 

 

 

 Like Love

BE STILL

love goes alone to the
depth of ground level at the
foot of a mountain, to the depth
of sea in a brine of tears,

then at the gatherings, among
the tombs, wailing in a confusion
of biblical reference, then simply
weeping in its right mind


(prev. pub. in Brevities, 2020)

____________________

EMPEROR SONG

flick the tongue, sew the lie
—sheerest cloth, thread of metaphor


(prev. pub. in Brevities, 2015)

____________________

BOOKS ON THE SILL

Promising titles, like love—momentarily
set aside and somehow left behind.


(prev. pub. in Brevities, 2015)

____________________

BUCKET LIST

He started his bucket list:
stop smoking . . .
he lit a cigarette,
drew a deep one, pondered the moment

 

 

 

Just Before The Memory

 

 

LINES FOR AN EMPTY PAGE

I came quickly to tell you

The opaque shine of a new thought—
flutter of wings at the window, it’s
gone

Gone darkly, in haste, for the horizon—
was it evening or morning

Touch of crimson, pale shadow—
low on the ground, low on the page

Abstract of virtue, a role to play—
theory of doctrine, arrangement of light
or the ruffle of wings before sunrise


(prev. pub. in Brevities, 2020)     

_____________________

Today’s LittleNip:

AFTERMATH
—Robin Gale Odam

aberration of fragile heart
troubled relationships
my father was in a war


(prev. pub. in Poems-for-All:
Scattered Like Seeds, Issue #1222)

_____________________

Good news on two accounts! Tuesday Poet Joyce Odam is recovering and rehabbing from her fractured hip, and (2) her poet-daughter, Robin Gale Odam, has set us poems and photos today as (they called it) placeholders. Robin says her mother is a hard act to follow, and I’ll grant you that, but Robin is a fine poet and photographer in her own right, and we’re honored and grateful for her work today, which includes one from the Poems-For-All that was done for her by Robert (Richard) Hansen, our publisher pal who passed away last week. If only she would send us her poetry and pix more often!

Our new Seed of the Week is “Faith”—whatever you think that means, however it shows up in our lives and in Mother Nature. 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

 

 

 

 “My heart is beating in the garden…”

—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain






 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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