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Odin odin@aflx.com

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Books
· Perceptions

· ECHOSIS

· Prosetry at Work

· Said and Unsaid - Vol 1

· 3 WAY MIRROR


Short Stories
· Patience Waning

· Ladle Lines (A prosetry memory)

· A Gentle Man

· Pacing Love's Journey

· Gratitude

· A Sticky Conversation

· Blazing Now and Then

· Vulnerable Captivity

· The Kite That Would Not Bow

· Time


Articles
· War and Peace

· Desperation Breeds Desperation

· Preference Manifest

· Innocent Guilt

· Barbed Isolation

· A Place...

· Sanity's Loss

· Organs Anonymous

· Fatuous Beyond Absurdity

· Truth is One


Poetry
· The Life-long Pernicious Evil

· Cherishing Sounds of Silence

· Understanding the Unexplainable

· Reality of Another Kind

· Finding Trust Again

· Aromalicious Memories

· A Jungle-rain Pastorale

· Sediment Within the Soul

· Life's Enormous Green Chest

· Roadkill Memoriam

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Soundless Words

by Odin odin@aflx.com — Read all 3,869 poems by Odin odin@aflx.com



For some of us, simple beginnings elude our memory as we attempt to keep our balance in everyday distractions. As writers, such pauses to quietly reflect seem priceless at times. If we’re lucky, unvoiced remembrances can even cultivate some ink for the pen.

Saturday, November 3, 2012

Soundless Words

 

Upright center

she peels potatoes
before windows gray of gray
between outside fences bent
over winter's sequined blight

skitter skitter
snow creatures prance lacework
upon the snows
weaving crystal tapestry
for boredom's mind-time fun

Spread before

plates once whole
chipped ancestry now
wait patiently to serve
our sunshine in gray

Across the room

cast iron boils
color guard to the ready
purple beets
green roots aplenty
ready spud white morsels
slice
slice
plop
plop
dash of this
dash of that 

To the back

the kettle whistles
beckoning near
mason jars of leaves in waiting
the pleading begun
take me
take me
won't you please

Now before me

soldered cup of languid herbal flakes
summer's much maligned gifts
float anxiously
beneath the steam

Coming forward

mother's assuaged warning
recoils tiny hands
tin handle too hot to grasp
smiles fragrant wafts to calm the thirst

To my right 

father eyes smoke-dried meat
beneath more mason jar entombment
their strips remaining tall
forever brave their resolve
knowing hunger waits for naught

Around us all

we pick
we choose
we vanquish for the better
say we

while cowering prayer
silences the air
bib-overalled penitence
foretells quaking quiet

All is ready

folded apron-dried hands
ladles the bounty
while continuing outside
saber winds beget tiny icebound shards
through glass windowed stages
nature's boundless repertoire

And so it went

For this youth
with hidden eyes
and silent echoes
through endless seasons
held fast
by voices within
building choruses
of soundless words



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Reviewed on November 18, 2012
This is excellent there is something about family/friends in a kitchen in the winter. The warmth or familiarity. With Thanksgiving on my mind, I read into it a Holiday feel, but, i think it is really just the warmth to it. I liked your reference to herbal flakes, I think a child would see it that way. The last stanza got me, the silence, a comfort of sorts in the expected or ritual. ~ Morgan

Reviewed by Diana Legun (Reader)
Reviewed on November 5, 2012
I enjoyed the intricate detail in this poem. There is a mural of place-setting, containing a marvelous contrast of interior warmth, sharing, food, family...with the cold exterior of winter creatures, wind and icebound shards, the sunshine and gray. I like your "youth with hidden eyes," and I like "choruses of soundless words." Fresh material, this. ~~ DIana

Reviewed by Kate Burnside
Reviewed on November 4, 2012
For me, words and colour do the same job here, Odin. I can't quite get my head around it, but this is the inner, subliminal voice of the child who is taking all this in almost unconsciously... not so much articulating the scene to himself like a narrator, but hearing and sensing it. Therefore the lack of words - or the inner silence - is echoed in the visual scene by the bland greys and whites being punctuated by the colour of the detail of the scene - the vegetables, for example - in the same way as the unspoken words inside the child's head just pick out the sounds of the scene that he's seeing/hearing. I hope this makes some kind of sense. I like very much how this feels to me, though I am not able to express it adequately! Poetry is to be felt as much as reasoned, I believe. Thank you. xx

Reviewed by James Bourey
Reviewed on November 4, 2012
Hi Odin, Here I am trying out this new site. Thank goodness you're here with your familiar voice and finely tuned poetry to make the experience much nicer. This concocting of a stew of memory with all its savory images is excellent and it touched me in a warm and personal way. Your title belies how good this poem sounds. Loved that "smoked meat" section. Well done. Thank you.

Reviewed by Mr. Ed
Reviewed on November 4, 2012
If we’re lucky, unvoiced remembrances can even cultivate some ink for the pen. Then I'd say that you are extremely lucky.

Reviewed by RWE SAYS BYE (Reader)
Reviewed on November 3, 2012
So many vivid images dished out to savour here, a repast of former glory ladling forth a flurry of memory... the warmth of kitchen's past presenting a pastiche of "soundless words" leaving the ready awash in the afterglow seasoned with hints of recrimination, reveries to relish with a bittersweet taste of a too-long-gone day upon the tongue, bursting with a palate sated with the subtle fine-wine-flavour of a mindset maturing over time... more could be said, but you get the idea of what I got out of this little gem...

I especially liked your mention of "nature's boundless repertoire"... and its sense of endless variation on a rich and radiant theme... nicely done, Odin.

Roger

Reviewed by Budd Nelson
Reviewed on November 3, 2012
well my friend this is an interesting write to be reread later for sure
budd


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