Dawn’s Early Light
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Robin Gale Odam
THIS DAY HAS YET TO BE
—Joyce Odam
This day has yet to be. I watch the
clock to see how far away the world
will be. The clock has yet to know.
Oh let the fury stay until I find
the edges of the world taking sides,
changing times, taking me away from
me—always too slow, always too soon.
When I was safe in my same old
comforts—oh the mind that always
used to stay behind my sense of time.
Oh let me be a bit behind, learn
to catch up, learn to find the place
of me : I am always here where I want
to be, knowing myself before it loses me.
I am like an old new car,
that could always stop on a dime—
every time.
—Joyce Odam
This day has yet to be. I watch the
clock to see how far away the world
will be. The clock has yet to know.
Oh let the fury stay until I find
the edges of the world taking sides,
changing times, taking me away from
me—always too slow, always too soon.
When I was safe in my same old
comforts—oh the mind that always
used to stay behind my sense of time.
Oh let me be a bit behind, learn
to catch up, learn to find the place
of me : I am always here where I want
to be, knowing myself before it loses me.
I am like an old new car,
that could always stop on a dime—
every time.
Broken Rhythm
PENDING
—Robin Gale Odam
one generic poem,
whatever comes our way
it’s today again—that keeps
happening
____________________
CIRCULAIRE
—Joyce Odam
The mirror is mine.
It knows just what to see.
It will obey and I will approve.
There is a ring of shadow on the
glass, that I touch when I go there
for beauty or design. How perfectly
I go again : my eyes and my eyes as
ever a bit further, a bit further from
my old promise to stay so young.
I look around for other eyes
to meet my mirrored and
searching eyes.
—Robin Gale Odam
one generic poem,
whatever comes our way
it’s today again—that keeps
happening
____________________
CIRCULAIRE
—Joyce Odam
The mirror is mine.
It knows just what to see.
It will obey and I will approve.
There is a ring of shadow on the
glass, that I touch when I go there
for beauty or design. How perfectly
I go again : my eyes and my eyes as
ever a bit further, a bit further from
my old promise to stay so young.
I look around for other eyes
to meet my mirrored and
searching eyes.
Night is Shadowless
INSOMNIA XLVI
—Robin Gale Odam
I would ascribe a synonym
for this night and the mirror said
look away the sky is gray
wounded by the light of day
what reason now for memory
what promises not made
no counterpoint no melody
no compliment to fade away
mid-day, nimble range of space
night is shadowless
Perilous. The looking glass. I would
ascribe the synonym for the mirror.
Held In Its Rest
THE ALTERNATE WEATHER
—Joyce Odam
the blink of light this cruel day,
the sense of fright to push away
with hands that have no strength,
no say—this is a cruel, cruel day
__________________
CENSURE
—Robin Gale Odam
only in darkness,
the mirror and her secrets
beauty at the surface,
the background worrisome
—Joyce Odam
the blink of light this cruel day,
the sense of fright to push away
with hands that have no strength,
no say—this is a cruel, cruel day
__________________
CENSURE
—Robin Gale Odam
only in darkness,
the mirror and her secrets
beauty at the surface,
the background worrisome
Wandering Moon
POOL WITHOUT IMAGE
—Joyce Odam
Unwhorling to stillness
that water
lies deep
in the terrible heart
of night.
Thin
light
of a wandering moon
mists over my shoulder.
I come to water
with mirror-need.
I am
a broken rhythm
to my eyes.
But the pool
without image of my face
lies held in its rest,
and below
the lost heart-pulse
a gathering sound
coils up to me.
When
I break surface
with my listening hand
I feel the swallowing.
Black
ripples upon black
upon black
upon shoreless black.
—From My Stranger Hands by Joyce Odam, 1967
—Joyce Odam
Unwhorling to stillness
that water
lies deep
in the terrible heart
of night.
Thin
light
of a wandering moon
mists over my shoulder.
I come to water
with mirror-need.
I am
a broken rhythm
to my eyes.
But the pool
without image of my face
lies held in its rest,
and below
the lost heart-pulse
a gathering sound
coils up to me.
When
I break surface
with my listening hand
I feel the swallowing.
Black
ripples upon black
upon black
upon shoreless black.
—From My Stranger Hands by Joyce Odam, 1967
Further and Farther
THE DREAMING
—Robin Gale Odam
1.
the mirror, there personified by her
questioning eyes—further and farther,
and thus and such, every morning the
wind would toss the branches
2.
every morning the wind would toss the
branches for the little birds—and she
would try to weep but the tears were in
the wind and in the pages of her books,
and in the mane of the blue horse
3.
and in the mane of the blue horse, now
stepping with measured steps in the gray
morning, its hooves pressing fine imprints
along the pathway to the waters, and in the
shades of the forest of promises
4.
and in the shades of the forest of promises,
all reflecting back, the dreaming images
of her eyes moistened by the early dew
and the sifting of the evening rains
5.
and the sifting of the evening rains
will be taken up and written into her
stanza of despair, and for the want of tears
More Than Substance
SOME MOOD OF YOU
—Joyce Odam
have I touched you then
in some passing
of you
after the dying,
almost past memory.
has some drift of you
found my sudden anguish
and clung
comforting
for a moment.
sometimes
I seem to find more than
substance
in things I touch;
hair blown to my cheek
or the leaf my foot breaks
are not
hair and leaf,
but some mood of you
like a voice
from the other side of pain.
—From My Stranger Hands by Joyce Odam, 1967
_________________
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)
_________________
Our thanks to the Odam poets for today’s reflective poems! Our Seed of the Week was Mirrors, and I’m sure readers will like what they see.
Our new Seed of the Week is “Sprouts”. 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.
Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
__________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
