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Eight Frames Eight

 art and peril

Inca women were honored
as the great weavers,
carders, combers, spinners of wools
flying fingers deftly flicked,
twisted strands faster than
the eye of man could keep track of
wonder at.

While another woman in a far,
quiet secret place wove a blanket
from her wools
cut from sheep's backs and bellies
some from the thick
winter coats of horses,
of dogs, of goats,
even the young long hairs of special men,
loved most specially,

her daughter's long dark hairs
curled inside her great thick blanket,
colors of the all creatures
spun, twined and whirled
within the blanket
like in the meadow
after the thundering spring rain
after the curtain of grey clouds
rushed away opened
revealing the hue bowed rain
beneath the rolling sun lights.

Evilly cold
bitter winds biting into the flesh
someone lost somewhere
beyond all shelter.

Death squats on the path
home is too far to find
to live that long trek
there is no confessional
from the devil snow
white demon swirls prettily
coy alluring to the cold drowsy
sleep forever
ah o rest no do not.

The woman wandered, sought her way
swathed in her blanket
of many colored creatures
reaching the white mountain top
two days and a moonless night distant
from her home fire.

A naked man reared,
came from behind the pines
where he had hid himself
from the wind, the curious same wind
that battled his fire sticks
made it impossible to create the art,
the fire.

Around his waist on a
thick strap hung a heavy
flint knife flecked with dark blood,
hair and beard were white
with frost
he seemed to have the look
of an old, wise man,
he was neither
she could see that at once.

And he saw the great
blanket with the woman
drawn all inside
warm and peering out through
the small open face fold
where her breath left gentle
puffs before her careful steps.

It was as if a meadow full
of bright birds had that moment
appeared from some shaman's
pipe right there on the
horizon to horizon vista
where the tender
snow entombed summits.
He laughed
the sudden waves
of bright sound
causing tiny avalanches
on the pine tree tips,
the beauty the wonder
of the woman with the blanket.

Scroll down to read more poetry excerpts

REVIEW:Eight Frames Eight is presented in five sections designed to move the reader along the cycle of life. Part 1: Primary Colors is a full of life aggregation completed with brilliance and conception telling of the rekindled soul to environment. Wondering eyes are essential to take it all in. Watching Half Dome from Yosemite Valley Cody says, 'in the black night the day is mine,' Consider the Death of Dragons .'O I'm afraid you'd hear me and believe,' After the Growing Time 'A year has returned again.' Part 2: Perspective covers mortal refinement to face the question, 'why do we exist.' This collection evokes reflections of humanity making inroads in the fabric of creation to declare that a creative intellect is an uninterrupted, explorative, developing entity. A Minor Distraction Cody relates 'Even the most minor distraction can disturb,' The Headhunter's Wife 'boring the temple hole is a skill my mother taught me' Women's Year Poem 'Now is the time for women's voices to rouse the world with reason.' Part 3 Lifeblood Cody now presents a variety of peppery, manifold works filled with a sense of being appreciated and needed, Say It Cody says, 'Begin simply say I love you,' Encounter. 'We met for lunch,' The Alison Rainbow Song 'O how helpless we are without bodies to store us' Part 4 Soul Tears Cody now deals with the end of life. The poems offered in this section are intended to show dying is the beginning of the life pilgrimage through infinity. Death is not the closing and is not an anomalous account. Rather Cody's poems reveal death can be viewed as a celebration. Child of the Virgins, Cody says, 'I steal a view of the nun's procession,' Biological War Needles 'Knitting, it surpasses death,' California Drought Makes TV Winter News 'no water no flowers no nectar no bugs' Part 5: Epilogue, the poet now considers some of her thoughts pertaining to particular poems.

On the pages of Eight Frames Eight gifted poet, artist Judith Cody presents a work filled with line drawings to accentuate her poems dealing with subjects from Yosemite to California's Drought to Women's Year Poems.

Writer Cody explains 'Eight frames eight is the velocity of Universe entering ourselves' as she offers a peerless approach to the poetic art. The construction of poems found in Eight Frames Eight is as varied and colorful as the language used by this talented craftsman. Poesy narrative by its very nature presents each reader with their own viewpoint re what is meant in a particular poem.

In Eight Frames Eight Cody will challenge readers to reflect on the way we look at the things around us. be enjoyed and returned to time and time again...”

--Molly Martin, author



REVIEW: “New book from poet Judith Cody guaranteed to enlighten your spirit.

This book of poems will uplift a wilting soul. Full of enthusiasm, color and vibrancy it opens the way to the universe. A must read for all who seek a fresh approach.

Eight Frames Eight: In today’s world there is little room for joy. Each day brings news of some new tragedy. There are very few lights that brighten our existence. One such light exists in the form of Judith Cody’s book of poems, Eight Frames Eight. It is more than just a collection of words arranged to sound pretty. Each poem takes the reader on a journey into the realm of the human mind. The book consists of five parts that move through the life cycle. Part One Primary Colors: This section’s collection is full of life, color and the creation of beings, be they man, woman or beast. It tells of the awakening of the soul to surroundings. Realizing that there is a meaning why it exists, one just needs wide eyes to see it. Part Two: Perspective deals with the human cultural environment, what does life mean, why do we exist. The poems bring forth images of people making blocks in the forge of creation, to discover whom they are. They reaffirm that a creative mind is a continual, probing, evolving thing. Part Three Life Blood: I found this section to be the most searching and complex. So many facets of life are tackled in this part. A sense of being, belonging, being loved, wanted, is God real all this and more is examined. Part Four Soul Tears: This part deals with that time in the life cycle that we all must face, death. It is not a morbid account of what is to be, but rather a celebration. Death is just the beginning of a journey through eternity. Part Five Epilogue: Here the author discusses some notes on a few of the poems. It is interesting to see her thoughts and compare them to what her poems evoked in you. Eight Frames Eight is a unique approach to the poetic art. The construction of the poems is as varied and colorful as the language. Poetry by its very nature will leave people with different perspectives of what the poet meant. Judith Cody’s book will challenge the way you look at things. But I am sure it is a challenge that many readers will enjoy. I would highly recommend to all who enjoy creative writing, to read this excellent book of poems.”

--Warren Thurston, Australian author


“...surprises...suspense, in general with the pain and problems we all have. Really well written with gorgeous drawings by the writer."

--an online customer, (5 star review)



Excerpts, poems from the book


The cat's belly sand,
foot scratched, fish scarred,
stretches, waiting
for the sea's mating call
singing octaves
above the range
of human comprehension.

The sea arches, caught
in convulsive
at this meeting
arranged before
fishes sought the land,
before I heard
my section of the song.

© copyright 2007, Judith Cody, all rights reserved

(Note: the alternating stanzas were inspired by instructions from army survival manuals and a business manager skills manual. – JC)


Starting each topic with a common truth
will command the respect of your audience.

In the dark, with your flashlight and your gun
find their startled eyes and then shoot quickly.

Standing enhances prestige forcing the other's
gaze upward; stay seated if you are short.

The Fer-de-Lance will attack without warning;
The cure for its venom may kill you.

A certain distinction in dress sets you apart
from inferiors and furthers prestige.

Going unshod where barefooted natives
drive pigs will give you hookworm.

Use your secretary to advantage
to block unwelcome callers and distractions.

With heavy training you can survive
the jungle with only a machete.

©2007 copyright Judith Cody


He shouldn't have brought it home,
it's a foul trophy and on the shady
side of ethics to capture
an enemy's spirit. Yet
it is an ancient custom.

I'll pierce it with a stick and hold
the odor away with a few spice leaves
pushed in my nostrils.
I may as well not gamble with
an enemy spirit.

It's a painstaking chore to pick
it clean down to the browbone
and make the thing gleam correctly.
Boring the temple hole is a skill
my mother taught me.

This is the part that makes me back away,
I'd refuse to do it if it wasn't fresh,
flushing the gray soup out from the hole,
cautiously, it easily spills,
I've ruined it often.

He's a bit haughty, too impatient,
holding his dish that way, while
I heat it in the skullpan over a
slow fire, but I'll have it out of the
house when he eats it.

©Copyright 2007 Judith Cody