Apricot Wood
I built a frame of apricot
wood. This was for you. The clouds float
through it even as I sleep. You wrote
once of wild herbs gathered and brought
to a lovely girl, an offering not
of passion but of some remote
desire to hear a word from the throat
of the Lord Within Clouds. I thought
of this as I chiseled the wood.
Last night it rained. I listened to
it from my bed by the open
window, hoping that the clouds would
not leave. This morning two birds flew
by. It is raining again.
by Robert Okaji, first published in SPSM&H
Editor’s Note: This poem demonstrates what I think of as a “new form” sonnet. The rhyme is embedded within the sentences, leaving the enjambment to function much as it would in a free verse poem. Because of the lack of iambic meter, the form of the poem allows the surreal quality of the narrative to function as it should: dreamlike and scattered.
15 thoughts on “Apricot Wood by Robert Okaji”
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This is very evocative and imagistic and yet ethereal at the same time. I adore “The Lord Within Clouds”.
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Thank you, Risa.
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Fabulous! The two birds are drenched with significance. Deep admiration for how you bring this about Robert.
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Than you, Edwin. Birds seem to fly through quite a few of my poems. 🙂
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I shall drop by more often’
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I’ll set the virtual kettle on. Or pour a pint, whichever you prefer. 🙂
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This is quite special. Autumn is time when I feel most at peace. This is a good poem,
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Sorry I pushed Post inadvertently. Your poem captures a sense of time of waiting after a season of life resurgence. I like the rain. It calms yet will stop.
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I’m so pleased the poem resonated with you. Thank you.
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I’ll play this one straight, Bob. “Straight” and predictably boring!
My Dad, a master carpenter, loved apricot wood and walnut wood and spent hours in his shop making frames as gifts for me and my two sisters. I liked his exquisite domino boxes better, but have you ever tried to frame a grandchild’s photo in a domino box?!
As I read this poem I kept thinking my Dad would have loved you, if for no other reason than the shared love for apricot wood. As for the birds, Dad didn’t have much use for them. What they did to his car from their lofty perches in our old cottonwood tree needs no further exposition here. But they paid for their crimes!
Dad was a master carpenter, yes, but he was a sharpshooter with his Daisy Pellet Rifle, too!
Excellent, Bob!
Ron
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Perhaps a lost haiku lies in the domino box? I can forgive birds for most anything, but must admit that an annoyance of grackles can be, well, annoying.
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And yes … and it is raining here again too. Wow, beautiful, Robert! Who could have thought that as a carpenter your mind moves as a poet too? Lovely! 🙂
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Oh, I’m no carpenter, Sherrie. I can do the rough work – sawing, hammering, – but have no talent for the fine, well finished product. So I try to build with words.
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