Raven Shadows

 To Know Beyond

—Photo by Joyce Odam

 

* * *

—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Joyce Odam and

Derek Chase Photography

 

 

RAVEN SHADOWS
—Joyce Odam

He loves her
so he sends the ravens to her
over the gray landscape.

He makes their shadows large against the sky
so she can feel them fly toward her,
dreamed or not.
 
He makes them
larger on the ground where they ingrain
without texture . . . without sound . . .

He loves her
with a memory made of pain
so he lets the ravens blur
before her comprehending eyes.

There will be tears tonight.
There will be shadows in the rain.

         
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/21/14)

 

 

 

 Without Sound
—Photo by Joyce Odam

SONG THROUGH MIND (II)
—Joyce Odam

I
Image
These trees, upside-down in a
tremble of water—drowning sky—
what has happened to this world.

II
For Pressing
The stepped-on leaves of autumn
are crushed to sidewalks,
unnoticed,
except for this
one.

III
Can Love Be Otherwise?
I have heard a rare bird sing
as though blind,
though this may not be so.
Its song fell through everywhere
like a blessing made of love. 

 

 

 

 Death of the Machine
—Derek Chase Photography

AUTOMATA—CULTURE AS A TIMEPIECE
—Robin Gale Odam
    After “Death of the Machine"
        —Derek Chase Photography

Space and parameters. The mass of time
in a heap—the nuts and bolts of it. Increments
interspersed, intentions and obligations splayed
in division. Voices at intervals—filtered and
distilled,
thin and low. Future recalled. Culture defined.

    
automata: noun; a device that performs a task;
synonym; machine

____________________

black and white of day
catch of sorrow on a breath
then the shades of blue   

—Robin Gale Odam

 

 

 

 Shadows Folding Back
—Photo by Joyce Odam

I AM SURE
—Joyce Odam

—surely I am
sure about this memory,
or sentimental creation
of mind—
uneasy now
because these moments
pass
and I
let them go
directionless in my
meanderings,
paths
closing up behind me,
shadows folding back
into distances
I have taken
looking for . . .
looking for . . .
this moment—
another light making
—another path before me.


(prev. pub. in Brevities, December 2017)

___________________

I MUST UNDERSTAND THE WORD
—Joyce Odam

Though I know the word
and I cannot reach the word
and I must undertake the word
                        to know beyond
the normal knowing
and my dismay
that I go fancy
when I try to stutter my way
through talk to say whatever
is the pure say instead of some un-
comprehensible reach through language,
that tool of words to define my
question or the simplest thing I try
to say when all my meaning goes awry.                   
                                
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/4/22)

 

 

 

It’s More Like That
—Photo by Joyce Odam

SELF ESTEEM
—Joyce Odam
    After Self Love by Winslow Homer

It’s not the curious self-deep mirror now,
or this wide field that’s yours for the scything,
it’s more the vast expression on your face,
the way you pause and seem to listen—

knee-deep in daisies—wearing the sky
like an inner movement
as you lean from your shadow—
it’s more like that : you, absorbed

in a moment of self-admiration,
proud of your thoughts, of your grasp
upon the infinite, and the power you think
you have—it‘s more like that.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/13/18;
6/18/22)

 

 

 A Later And An Earlier Time
—Photo by Joyce Odam

THE THOUGHT OF SNOW
—Joyce Odam
      After “March Snow” by Wendell Berry

For you, Mother,
this thought of snow—
snow in your honor, imprinted

with joyous boot steps,
danced in the bluish white
under the streetlight—only

it was a later and an earlier time,
merged into now—
part yours,     part mine,

stomping together in the
early snow,     under your window,
where you watched,

and it was with my daughter
that I was snow-dancing.

 

 

 

 In a Book of Poems
—Photo by Joyce Odam

Today’s LittleNip:

SARAH AND JOHN
—Joyce Odam
    After The Collected Poems of Weldon Kees,
    Poems 1947-1954

Who was Sarah—who was John,
that they were dedicated
in a book of poems,
the poet dead now—
missing from his life,
a mystery to solve—
and leaving us to wonder :
Who was Sarah? Who was John?


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/2/15;
7/28/20; 6/28/22)

_____________________

Our thanks to Joyce and Robin Odam for their poetry and photos today. Raven continues to visit us for our Seed of the Week, “What the Raven Sees”. Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.

Our new Seed of the Week celebrates Valentine’s Day with “Loves of My Life”. 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

 

 

 

 “… he sends the ravens to her…”
—Artwork Courtesy of Public Domain




 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For upcoming poetry happenings in
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