Carving Poem by Fred Odom

My meditations led me to a pool of water
So still and clear it mirrored the clouds and sky
And surrounding trees in perfect form.
At its edge I carved my name in its water with my finger
And with ‘Namaste' as its greeting.
The ripples went out and out from the carving
Beyond the limits of my sight
And then returned from a distant shore
That warmed my heart and soul.
Its depth so deep and surface so still
I could not perceive its depth full measure
Regardless of whether that within its depths
Beyond the penetrating light above
Would deign take notice of such impertinence.

But depth can forget the momentary carvings of
Its surface scratchings by passersby.
Like freight cars rolling past
With graffitied names in rainbowed colors
Blotting names of others in layers upon layers upon layers
Their names forgotten without significance attached
By impatient drivers at the crossing
Whose thoughts solely focused on
Their own name in business elsewhere planned
And soon forgotten, replaced by other plans and plans
Without signature scrawled to remember them
In future times.

And not by blood I carved my name,
Whose impatient rush with every beat refuses memory
Unless stilled by outpourings onto streets
Already named at crossroad signs
Forgetting those fallen within their borders
Despite the momentary outline in their last and lasting rest
Upon the concrete pillows at their edge.

And neither in my earth
Nor on the cobblestones that I have tread
Receive the carving of my name.
They cannot hold the measure of
My journeys past and future steps that I will take
For so in time they all become the mortar and brick
Of walls and steps enclosing other lives,
Forgetting mine

Nor in the air is carved my name
For in its after moments turbulence
Like air behind a landing jet
Makes memory jumbled- tumbled upside down
And all my ownings and yearnings misappropriated
In scrambled order of time and place.

And not by fire could I carve my name.
For in fire all is transformed by its energy
And my life though ever changing
In my loves and people held so dear
And accomplishments small or large
Or steps taken or held aback in word or deed
Must have a stable past beyond its ash of former self
Which others can recognize, even in its evolution
As a start, a process, or finish
In their own identity evolving still.
And by and by, the watery depths
That I'll become, may well forget
The name I carved upon its surface
In times and times before
Without the full appreciation of the depths that I'd become.

In the fullness of my time, at last
I'll be drawn in and at one with it
And as one as well, with the light above its surface
And beyond
And beyond.