Beautiful Bird
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Robin Gale Odam
THESE IDLE DAYS
—Joyce Odam
between the years,
these times
that use their memories
as we use tears,
remembering beyond the
real with all its difference—
maybe the rain was only
sound, the sway of time
that lost its way
back into now
—Joyce Odam
between the years,
these times
that use their memories
as we use tears,
remembering beyond the
real with all its difference—
maybe the rain was only
sound, the sway of time
that lost its way
back into now
The Present Moment
THE DIFFICULTY OF THE DANCE
—Joyce Odam
Once upon a trance I learned to dance
Once upon a dance I learned to cry
Once I learned to cry I learned to stare
I stared into the heavens of the sky
I stared into the heavens of the sky
Heaven sent a burning to my eye
Crying was so sad I learned to care
Once upon a care I learned to stare
I fell into a trance . . . it held me there
And I was in the afterward of me
A Truth To Know
I AM THE LEAST MEMORY OF MY MIND
—Joyce Odam
what a truth to know,
what a way to go,
to know what a trick
to play upon
the useful mind,
alas! And so,
I used to have
to let it go—and so I have
a few direc-
tions left to bul-
ly me, it's true—I'm
sitting inside myself against the me I used to be
____________________
LINES FOR AN EMPTY PAGE
—Robin Gale Odam
I came quickly to tell you
The opaque shine of a new thought—
flutter of wings at the window, it’s
gone
Gone darkly, in haste, for the horizon—
was it evening or morning
Touch of crimson, pale shadow—
low on the ground, low on the page
Abstract of virtue, a role to play—
theory of doctrine, arrangement of light
or the ruffle of wings before sunrise
(prev. pub. in Brevities, July 2020)
—Joyce Odam
what a truth to know,
what a way to go,
to know what a trick
to play upon
the useful mind,
alas! And so,
I used to have
to let it go—and so I have
a few direc-
tions left to bul-
ly me, it's true—I'm
sitting inside myself against the me I used to be
____________________
LINES FOR AN EMPTY PAGE
—Robin Gale Odam
I came quickly to tell you
The opaque shine of a new thought—
flutter of wings at the window, it’s
gone
Gone darkly, in haste, for the horizon—
was it evening or morning
Touch of crimson, pale shadow—
low on the ground, low on the page
Abstract of virtue, a role to play—
theory of doctrine, arrangement of light
or the ruffle of wings before sunrise
(prev. pub. in Brevities, July 2020)
Arrangement of Light
FOR NAUGHT
—Robin Gale Odam
from the present moment
going back in time or into the
shock of that to come—morning
cold and colorless
and in the middle holding one
shred of the web—broken loose,
from end to end, the sterling thread
of promise—spider in the branches
gathering droplets, tears of blessings
for the one who mourns
Lull
FREE TO DREAM
—Robin Gale Odam
out of the scrapbox
the daymare followed—
tangled ribbons of
fading colors, signature
practiced in cursive on fine
note-papers, dried-up felt pens
with ten colors including clear,
the dimestore sewing set missing
the smaller needles and the tiny
thimble, and the jar of paste with
no lid . . . in the fridge two cans of
triple-shot iced mocha—free to dream
The Reach Of Night
INTO THE NIGHT
—Robin Gale Odam
Why are you here?
Is this a joke?
Or a lie?
You look into the ivy
and answer carefully.
I add the missing words
and believe you.
I move closer.
We breathe into the night.
Tomorrow
I will ask you again.
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
MUSE WHISPERS
—Robin Gale Odam
with a warning told
not to linger in the night
of the shortest day
but it seems she wrote him there
as she stroked her graying hair
(prev. pub. in Brevities, September 2015)
____________________
Our thanks to these two songbirds today as we celebrate our Seed of the Week, “Free”. Our new Seed of the Week is “Home Sweet Home”. Send your poems, photos & artwork about this (or any other) subject to kathykieth@hotmail.com. No deadline on SOWs, though, and for a peek at our past ones, click on “Calliope’s Closet”, the link at the top of this column, for plenty of others to choose from. And see every Form Fiddlers’ Friday for poetry form challenges, including those of the Ekphrastic type.
____________________
—Medusa
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
Photos in this column can be enlarged by
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
Would you like to be a SnakePal?
All you have to do is send poetry and/or
photos and artwork to
kathykieth@hotmail.com. We post
work from all over the world—including
that which was previously published—
and collaborations are welcome.
Just remember:
the snakes of Medusa are always hungry—
for poetry, of course!
