One of our pals from
Retiredice Alpacas, El Dorado County
Photo by Katy Brown
THE SORCERESS LOVES
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento
If I say red,
you see red. Such is
the power of my language.
I lean close to you,
leaving a waft of lavender
from old flowers. You love me.
I read my book of spells,
every night and into the morning.
You never catch on.
I sigh blue at you
and you hold me. I moan
silver . . . silver . . . and you weep.
You cling to my cliffs of peril
and I create white gulls to
release us into flying.
Look! We are
everywhere—as in
a swirling kaleidoscope of color.
It is your dream, and I have entered it.
A long thing stream of black
cuts under us, and I rescue you.
_________________
TO THE MADDENING MUSE
—Joyce Odam
What are these words you give me
on such thin paper—
useful to no one,
just a list
you conspire
to inveigle a response?
I crumple it and toss it to the cat
who bats it once,
indifferently.
Then I reclaim it—
smooth it out—
and write a poem of list-like words.
You shadow me about
making casual observation—
wanting me to write poem after
poem—inspired by you.
I and my cat have other things to do.
I send you this.
__________________
OF POETRY DENIED
—Joyce Odam
(after “Sleeping Muse”, Constantin Brancusi
French (b. Rumania), 1876-1957, Bronze 1910)
gold mask of muse
suspended
in echo
shadow of light
upon
its countenance
eyes closed
brow smooth
mouth wordless
now
oh, gold sleep,
protect your muse
from waking
__________________
I ASK YOU TO TELL MY FORTUNE
—Joyce Odam
Seven, you tell me, being
a seer, and three to round out
to ten should odd or even
rule. You are so serious.
I watch with apprehension
as you turn the cards, even
as I scoff at their power.
__________________
BETWEEN
—Joyce Odam
Yes, it will be dark.
A great train will be passing through.
The night will part itself.
You will be asleep in the mirror.
A train will be passing through.
Your dreams will not remember you.
You will be asleep in the mirror.
You will wonder what to do with sadness.
Your dreams will not remember you.
You will not be able to stop crying.
You will wonder what to do with sadness.
Someone will kiss you while you are asleep.
You will not be able to stop crying.
The poem will never be written.
Someone will kiss you but you will stay asleep.
The train whistle will cry all night.
The great poem will never be written.
The night will part itself.
The train whistle will cry all night.
Yes, it will be dark.
___________________
Today's LittleNip:
SLEEP WITHIN SLEEP
—Joyce Odam
Do not pull the night around so tightly—
it is full of stones, weighted as dreams;
it is full of drowning—winding into
one continuous, deep spiral
that becomes a sound.
Do not listen.
__________________
—Medusa
P.S. Your choice of great poetry tonight; see b-board for details on Six Ft. Swells' release party, or international offerings at I-House in Davis!
—Joyce Odam, Sacramento
If I say red,
you see red. Such is
the power of my language.
I lean close to you,
leaving a waft of lavender
from old flowers. You love me.
I read my book of spells,
every night and into the morning.
You never catch on.
I sigh blue at you
and you hold me. I moan
silver . . . silver . . . and you weep.
You cling to my cliffs of peril
and I create white gulls to
release us into flying.
Look! We are
everywhere—as in
a swirling kaleidoscope of color.
It is your dream, and I have entered it.
A long thing stream of black
cuts under us, and I rescue you.
_________________
TO THE MADDENING MUSE
—Joyce Odam
What are these words you give me
on such thin paper—
useful to no one,
just a list
you conspire
to inveigle a response?
I crumple it and toss it to the cat
who bats it once,
indifferently.
Then I reclaim it—
smooth it out—
and write a poem of list-like words.
You shadow me about
making casual observation—
wanting me to write poem after
poem—inspired by you.
I and my cat have other things to do.
I send you this.
__________________
OF POETRY DENIED
—Joyce Odam
(after “Sleeping Muse”, Constantin Brancusi
French (b. Rumania), 1876-1957, Bronze 1910)
gold mask of muse
suspended
in echo
shadow of light
upon
its countenance
eyes closed
brow smooth
mouth wordless
now
oh, gold sleep,
protect your muse
from waking
__________________
I ASK YOU TO TELL MY FORTUNE
—Joyce Odam
Seven, you tell me, being
a seer, and three to round out
to ten should odd or even
rule. You are so serious.
I watch with apprehension
as you turn the cards, even
as I scoff at their power.
__________________
BETWEEN
—Joyce Odam
Yes, it will be dark.
A great train will be passing through.
The night will part itself.
You will be asleep in the mirror.
A train will be passing through.
Your dreams will not remember you.
You will be asleep in the mirror.
You will wonder what to do with sadness.
Your dreams will not remember you.
You will not be able to stop crying.
You will wonder what to do with sadness.
Someone will kiss you while you are asleep.
You will not be able to stop crying.
The poem will never be written.
Someone will kiss you but you will stay asleep.
The train whistle will cry all night.
The great poem will never be written.
The night will part itself.
The train whistle will cry all night.
Yes, it will be dark.
___________________
Today's LittleNip:
SLEEP WITHIN SLEEP
—Joyce Odam
Do not pull the night around so tightly—
it is full of stones, weighted as dreams;
it is full of drowning—winding into
one continuous, deep spiral
that becomes a sound.
Do not listen.
__________________
—Medusa
P.S. Your choice of great poetry tonight; see b-board for details on Six Ft. Swells' release party, or international offerings at I-House in Davis!
Kathy Kieth and friend
—Photo by Katy Brown
