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Odin Roark

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· Perceptions


· Prosetry at Work

· Said and Unsaid - Vol 1


Short Stories
· Pockets

· Poetic Injustice

· Letter To Friends

· Cave Cracks

· Bubble Choices

· Surreal Dummy--Still Here

· IT

· Faux Companion

· Take Me, I'm Free (Flash Fiction)

· Beer Neck Flower

· Kant's Effore To Resolve Hume's Epistemological Skepticism

· Discipline of the artist

· The Dogs of Sochi

· A Crow With Super Smarts

· Targets Be Warned

· Simple Times (an observation)

· Cavemen in Tuxedos (an editorial)

· Ghost Town Ghosts

· Note to Self

· Essay on Poetic Theory

· Strikingly Naked

· Slippery Banana Peel

· Noiseless Thunder

· We Sometimes Weep

· Happiness Is...

· Maybe Tomorrow Night?

· MIrror, Mirror...

· Projectiles In A Cup

· Revisiting Culture Rot

· Enigmas

         More poetry...

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Books by Odin Roark
  Ambition's Taw
by Odin Roark
Wednesday, April 18, 2012
Rated "PG" by the Author.

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Recent poems by Odin Roark
•  Strikingly Naked
•  Slippery Banana Peel
•  Noiseless Thunder
•  We Sometimes Weep
•  Happiness Is...
           >> View all 1,114

People have been playing marbles and marble-like games for thousands of years. It is thought that marbles started with the cave-people playing with small pebbles or balls of natural clay. Clay balls have been found in the tombs of Egypt, they have also been found in Native American burial grounds. They have also been discovered in the ancient Aztec pyramids. In recent history, boys (and tomboys) used to play marbles in the vacant lots of the world. Circles drawn in the dirt around mibs (targeted marbles) in the center became the primary focus of every day’s awakening. Players anxiously awaited their turn to step up to the circle, curl a “taw” (sometimes called the shooter) between their fingers, take aim, and try to take all the marbles. Such has Assad's version of the game been played for the past 41 years.

Ambition's Taw


Skipping worn Keds beneath laughter

yesterday's jettisoned leaves soon to become IED shrapnel

our ingrained images born of

eyes afire with anticipation

peering at the unknown

seeing where horizons fall endlessly

like sunlight chasing the night


Our fist full of marbles

security for the journey

seeking challenging games

in daddy's adult world


Playground lessons

mibs in the circle of growing up

colors changing

translucent some

opaque others

steelies the prize

all for the taking

aim your taw


Rules for the game

from sandlot

to asphalt alleys

to the potholes and trenches of battlefields

remain the same

save the cost of the game


Taws perfected early on

by classroom



and boot camp

Rolling the taw between life's fingers

Sharpening instincts for the game


Sometimes we rest

staring at ceilings

beneath shelters from fear

or gilded maxima of temporary joy




Our eyes

remain unfulfilled like dry beds of earth

awaiting the rain

gazing skyward for answers


the pockets of marbles

now replaced by dusty rocks




ammo clips




green hundreds


or for some


the bent fingers clinched about

their own casket handles


Beware the misguided fingers

poised ready about the stock


The trigger


The taw


Picking mibs

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Reviewed by Jerry Bolton 4/18/2012
Ah, yeah, I remember that ring drawn on the ground and playing the game, taw at the ready. For the life of me I can't remember exactly how the game went, but I know it was life and death when the game was on. Not unlike the graduation from a ringed circle in the ground standing every ready with your taw, to a place far, far from home, the taw has changed somewhat and the game is a bit more serious. Still, it is what we trained for when we fingered our first taw, which was almost as exciting as when we fingered our first . . er ...
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