Writing

Touch of Fire

/ Pam Goode / 5 Comments

Sam has a touch of fire.
When we got to be almost friends he would put his hand
on my shoulder
when it was time to leaves the parties we both went to
and he said goodbye.

He would come up behind me
and there would be the hand,
and I would know it was Sam without even turning
because his touch was fire.

One night I went to a party and I wore a sundress
with no back.
When it was time I thought
he won’t touch me now.
not tonight.

But then we were leaving and there was the hand again,
On my bare shoulder this time
and it was fire.

Night after night always the same,
and when the hand came without stopping
I was hard pressed
to look him full-on when I said goodnight,
knowing the eyes would be there,
And I couldn’t tell yet what they were saying.

So I mumbled low at the floor,
not wanting to leave until I knew,
but needing the cool night air and the dark ride home
to keep his touch from showing plain.

Excerpt from Touch of Fire by Pam Goode

Paramour:

/ Pam Goode / 12 Comments


When he called to say he’d be home early, an hour away at most,
she hurriedly grabbed the signs of her weekend with passion:
the voluptuously hot-colored glass,
(a spontaneous deviation from her usual blues),
the achingly sharp tools …
the milky white adhesives,
the markers (you are MINE!),
the ubiquitous remnants of joy
left strewn across the table,
the chairs,
the floors,
her clothes…
the Tears for Fears,
the Prince,
the Elton.

Closet closed now,
the sweep of the vacuum,
the stash of memories
now buttoned up,
but only a wisp away
from tomorrow’s
studio time.

It Was A Dark and Stormy Night

/ Pam Goode / 21 Comments

Last night, and in fact smack in the middle of what’s often called Premium Sleep Time, a tree fell on our house.

First of all, yes, we’re okay. Secondly, while my husband leapt out of bed and examined every iota of the house inside and out until he knew we were safe for the night — I slept through it. While the occasional deep sleep is understandable if you’re, say, missing breakfast, but it’s more than disconcerting if your house has been ravaged by tree limbs during your slumber. It’s just not something we tend to prepare for, and the concept of sleeping through a major episode makes all my wires short out.

And yes, it was indeed a dark and stormy night. Lots of wind and lots of rain, but not so different from most nights … until the crash. And it’s probably no surprise that 1) it rattled me big time, and two, I can’t shake it.

Once we’d enlisted chainsaw and climbing help via my husband’s (seriously) knowledge of everything on the planet, I slipped away to the studio to work on a project. I calmed down a (tiny) bit after 20 minutes or so, and then there was a knock on the door of my studio/sanctuary.

“I just wanted to let you know that there’s a large gas leak and they’ve asked everyone to leave the building.” Okay, I’m sure there’s a silver lining in there somewhere, but it wasn’t meant for today.

All in all, the tree was about 60 feet tall, and we were lucky (really, really lucky) that it snapped instead of falling full force in all its glory across several backyards. We think it was one of those “surprise” miniature tornadoes. I hope it’s my last.

The Irony of Life, or Why I Hate Throwing Things Away

/ Pam Goode / 2 Comments


A few weeks ago, I decided to take a leap — a big one for me. But after years of “NO, I Might Need That!” I felt in the depths of my soul that it was time to purge, to let go and live happily ever after with what I already have — mostly, to feel lighter myself.

Ohhhhh how very wrong I was. Or right. Or something in between. The truth is that I just don’t know, because purging is not in my wheelhouse. But a week or so ago, something in me changed, and I hit the LEAP button. Had I done a positive thing that would make life easier, or had I just wildly tossed all the supplies that I’ll certainly need on Monday?

And in truth I wasn’t even quite sure what my end goal was, but I was definitely certain that some sort of action needed to happen. How did I know? Honestly, that part remains a bit fuzzy, but I forged ahead anyway, enlisting the help of a friend and going at it Big Time.

So we put on old clothes and sat on the floor for hours and climbed through years of well-stashed “but I might need this!” mosaic supplies, eyeing each piece relentlessly. And then, after filling boxes upon boxes upon boxes of glass and china that I reluctantly deemed “will never be used” … I tossed it. Okay not all of it, but so many boxes that my back still hurts, AND I’ve lightened half of my supplies. What was I thinking?

It’s a funny thing. One day life seems perfect, and the next day you realize you’re only using half of what you’ve collected over the years and maybe you DON’T need it all. And maybe you don’t even know exactly why, but you see the path and it’s calling you. And then I shed my very-long-time way of seeing, and suddenly now it’s hard to remember what I gave away.

And even more surprising, I found myself joyously making art again and planning classes.

So very often it’s the journey that finds us.

Strapped for Time?

/ Pam Goode / 19 Comments

Strapped for TimeSo the good news is that it’s 2016 and I’m wandering down an empty lane in Paris on lle St. Louis. I’m thrilled to be here, but a bit anxious. “In Paris?” you ask? Well, yes. My conundrum is worrying how I’m going to meld myself into this fabulous opportunity while simultaneuosly meeting a deadline. Cause, you know — Paris/Work … Paris/Work ….. Yes, time has me by the short hairs, and I don’t like it one bit.

And then I glance up, and in an instant my entire attitude changes and I burst out laughing, my feelings blatantly displayed for all to see. Honestly, how likely is it that someone would have taped up this clock and dropped it onto my path on the very day that I’m (more than) tremblingly overloaded?

Strapped for time — that’s me, and a big THANK YOU to the universe for letting me laugh it out in a big way.

Time is so often a deterrent, isn’t it? We all want more of it, but we’re quick to specify that we want *this* kind of time and not *that* kind of time. More time with those we love, and less time paying bills. More time to learn and create, and less time studying for finals. More time to savor a good meal, and less time standing in supermarket lines. Of course there are a few enlightened souls among us who can make the most of the lines and the numbers and the tests and even find joy there, but mostly we tend to try bargaining. “Dear Time, I will gladly pay you Thursday for a Cheeseburger on Wednesday.” And so it seems we spend our lives racing toward the world we think we want rather than changing the way we experience it.

Is this the way I want to live? Nope. Nope. And Nope.

I want to look at life, live life, and love life in a way that feeds my soul now and forever. Doing so isn’t impossible — the truth is that so much of it is up to us. So change isn’t dependent on time, and time doesn’t always equal change. Look at it this way: If I allot eight hours and fifteen minutes to a flight, I can walk the streets of Paris tomorrow instead of Charlotte. That’s a huge plus, but I wonder — can I *feel* Paris in an instant on any day of any year?

To an extent, yes. But I can also dedicate eight hours to writing a proposal and get absolutely nothing of value accomplished. So the concept of time is pretty wishy washy in my book, and how can I hold myself so accountable to wishy washy?

I can’t, and I won’t, and I don’t have to. I need to step it up. Now.

Let’s say I have ten great years left, fifteen good ones, and five glad-to-be-here years. At 25, I figured I was young enough to feel my way through it, and I did. But forty hit me like a deer in the headlights. And now at 60 (or so), planning my Next Ten Fabulous Years has became high priority, and I’m working it in every direction I can grab. Fortunately I’ve learned along the path that life is pretty much exactly what you make it.

Get going.

And today I plan to look at this giant, banded timepiece a new way: I’m not the one  who’s strapped. I won’t be the one who’s strapped. I think it’s time to breathe, dream, plan, work, and grab my joy. Sometimes You Gotta.

Beach Poetry

/ Pam Goode / 4 Comments

Some days the wind is so merciless
that the few birds venturing out
hasten in their flight,
cursing the rougher movements, the lack of food,
the strain of wings.

Some days the sand blows so briskly that it stings,
minuscule dots of quartz and glass
co-mingling
with the sharper air that
pulls my breath away.

Some days seem ripe for staying in
and lolling here and there on
softer sofas than this.

Yet some days lay splendidly before us,
mingling breath and sea and quartz
into our dreams.

© Pam Goode 2023 (Poem)

Image by Ben Wiid

The Fine Line Between Crazy

/ Pam Goode / 1 Comment

We all have a slightly quirky side, don’t we? For some, it’s counting (steps, minutes, peas), for others it’s repetitive motions (touching door handles or hair, checking and rechecking door locks), or any simple act that calms us. Whatever it is, we do it — some blatantly, some surreptitiously, some in the dark of night while sitting in a rocking chair on the roof of your house. Or someone else’s. (Um….) Sometimes it’s small things that just make us happy (I love to pick up bits of glitter — it’s everywhere!), a sudden memory of glorious times spent with friends, or a hidden pleasure that we don’t want revealed. And mostly, they’re all okay.

Life isn’t always a piece of cake, and sometimes we slip. But what makes us label someone as crazy? Is it the clothes they wear? A 24/7 Jack Nicholson grin? Silence? Staring? Loners?

Some of us are very blunt about our idiosyncrasies. I think bluntness generally helps us all unless there’s ill intent involved. Others are still figuring it out, which is fine, or dealing with psychoses, which is rough. I had an unsettling run-in with a very sweet person lately who changed personalities in a quick minute. Not her fault. Not my fault. Really messy day.

I’m a quiet girl. Always have been. Does that make me crazy? Idiosyncratic? Odd? Surprisingly knowledgeable about others?

I can’t say that I’m any smarter than most, but I can say that, generally speaking, I’m more aware than many, and that’s pretty much a good thing. But what would it take to move from awareness to stalking? Hiding? Fear? It gives me pause.

I pick up glitter because it was dropped by someone who revels in happy moments, and it delights me to carry that torch. Happy moments I can carry in my pocket, or spread across a new spot.

Life isn’t always a piece of cake. Keep the people and moments that make you happy.

Image: Pablo Picasso, one of my very favorite artists!

Clouds

/ Pam Goode / 9 Comments


I love clouds.

In fact I love them like crazy and I don’t even bother wondering why — I just look up in awe every day, gasp a little, and snap. Honestly, there’s not a day that I arrive home without some new cloud photo stashed in my computer.

This one was snapped at dusk near my daughter’s house, and I can’t help wondering when the fire will capture her too.

And it’s an interesting thing about clouds — I almost always miss the grand finale. I suppose it’s because I tend to come home at 5 or 6 and stay there. And even though the clouds are everywhere around me, my house is secluded, the trees abundant and tall, and to be honest, I forget.

Yes, I forget what isn’t in front of my eyes at a given moment. We’re all like that to some extent, but you know what? It’s a huge flaw in our day to day. Too often, the magic is exactly where we don’t look.

But then … on the days that I have a bit more leeway, I might walk out of the grocery store or bookstore or starbucks and BAM — I’m gobsmacked by the pulsing light that streaks the sky with gusto, almost as if the sky accidentally broke and, in the time it took to fit the pieces back together, we’ve almost, almost, forgotten that moment of magic.

Because we humans — we really need to learn to SEE.

Love to All

Busy Bee

/ Pam Goode / 4 Comments


It’s been a busy, busy week! Our show opens in six days, and we’re fine-tuning, re-tuning, extra-tuning, and then the ubiquitous “starting over.” Today I’m hoping to get a few things “glued down”, and I mean that not only figuratively, but quite literally.

It started with an order of lovely fabriano paper, which of course made the rounds of a few countries before getting to Listowel, even though it was listed as “in stock” just a few counties up the road, so supposedly already in Ireland. But it finally arrived and it’s gorgeous. When you’re displaying poetry, it’s nice to have great paper, right?

And then came play time — which poems to choose, shall I add backgrounds, is my handwriting good enough? I took a valiant stab at a saucy alternative, but couldn’t find any locally or even semi-locally (this is why they say “plan ahead — WAY ahead”), so I moved to Plan 54 and finally made it work.

Then of course there’s the sizing. I want it big. I want it big, thick, deckle-edged and able to hold thousands of thoughts and considerations and magical ideas and sleepless nights and heartbreaks and memories and centuries past and future.

Now I just need … … … … maybe a tiny little nap.


Inspired by a month-long artist residency graciously provided by Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, Ireland, Day 22

Gotta Write

/ Pam Goode / 1 Comment



Dear Self: I started this blog in 2007.

Sixteen years ago.

Is that long? Not so long, considering that I’ve taken plenty of breaks. I don’t remember why, but I doubt it was for a lack of words. More likely it was simply business — family, jobs, travel, the basic what-we-do that seems to determine every morsel of our daily dailies.

But even from the start, there was such a beauty to the practice of writing. I wrote much, much more than I blogged, keeping most of it private until I found my comfort zone, which primarily means that I simply stopped worrying about what other people thought.

Boring? Often, no doubt. Redundant? Oh yeah. We all have our passions, and they’re not a one-and-done deal. Self-centered? Sure, but … as writers, we pull from within ourselves. That’s not a bad thing — we all need to pay more attention to what we have to offer instead of just sitting on it for no good reason.

My major focus has always been watching, listening, and working to understand life — the joys, generosity, foibles, kindness, hatred, simplicity, and so much more. I’m drawn again and again to grasp the tiny moments — the ones we often don’t notice or think we’re too busy to for.

And that’s not true. So not true.

The image at the top of my blog is me — my mind, my joy — grabbing moments and jotting them down as quickly and legibly as I can, particularly on walks — a phone in one hand and a scrappy piece of paper full of scribbles in the other. Like everyone else on the planet, I usually think I’m “too busy” with this or that, which sometimes includes staring into space and letting my mind follow its will without judgment.

What I’ve learned:

Listen more than you talk.

Be free with support for others.

Share when asked.

Write without worrying if it’s good or bad. The more you write, the better it gets.

Say Yes when it’s a healthy response.

And most importantly, Let That Shit Go.

Really.

Inspired by a month-long artist residency graciously provided by Olive Stack Gallery, Listowel, Ireland, Day 14