99!

 

My Morning Poem
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Robin Gale Odam

SERIES OF FIVES
—Joyce Odam

MORNING CLOCK TIME

Here—where I sit and write my
morning poem—face the day
again . . .

* * *

A.M.’s

How they come to me, these words,
in isolation of self—of the words—
that bury themselves in me . . .

* * *

REPETITION

Once more I dream you,
famous as a truth of dreaming,
you look at me so sadly . . .

* * *

QUERY

Who are we, once again—each time
different, all solved and learning—
to breathe our lives to such
fullness     reaching . . .

* * *

MY SERIES

Oh, the woe of life, the strange mystery
of it all—given—taken—remembered—
forgotten—one of the repetitions,
reaching and finding . . .

                                         
(prev. pub. in Brevities, May 2020)

__________________

FOR BREAKFAST
—Robin Gale Odam

ten black jellybeans and a
cup of tea—it is getting dark in me,
you are traveling north

                              
(prev. pub. in Brevities, August 2015)

 

 

 

The Mysterious

 

LET ME BE JOYFUL
(On a Day Like This)
—Joyce Odam

When it was summer, I loved the
days, when the days were leaving the
summer, the autumn came to please.

And then the winter, all over again,
and now it is now—and me—back
and forth, so mysterious in my slow

comprehension. How close now—the
world keeps going, and it is me, the
mysterious, in my slow apprehension.

The world keeps going and it is now—
the world going round in time all the
same—me again in my living world. 

 

 

 

 Metallic Sunflower

 

NIGHTTIME SONG
 —Robin Gale Odam

the face of a sunflower
and in the background, the
weeping viola

every day begins just before
sundown

__________________

THE FIERY SUNSET
—Joyce Odam

a horse on fire, streaking across
the horizon, its red mane whipping
behind it, and the dark sand burning
like a mirror under the igniting hooves
                                     

(prev. pub. in Brevities, January 2020)

_________________

SUNDAY’S CHILD
—Robin Gale Odam

I wish I were born on a Wednesday—
to make valid my woe . . . to charge me
where I need to go.

But Sunday’s child is full of grace.

                              
(prev. pub. in Brevities, May 2020)

 

 

 

Famous As A Truth

TRIAD
—Joyce Odam

The Corn Field :

I loved to stand outside the cornfield
in the evening when it rustled and shook
in the wavery breezes in the end of the day,
and it blew my hair and I closed my eyes
to the day’s end.


The Sun Flowers :

I loved when he planted the beautiful sun
flowers inside the whole fence, and they
grew even taller than he was, all because
he wanted to please me.


The Garden :

And when he planted the garden with things
like artichokes and eggplant, and so on and so
on, which had no taste for I didn’t like them—
but I cooked them for him, because he did like
them—a good summer, days and days of love.

__________________

FOR HIMSELF
—Robin Gale Odam

He sings the love song.
He barely hears the words.
He cannot know he is crying.

He closes his eyes, falls into
beautiful love, fills his breath with
every measure—he cannot feel the

wound. He cannot remember the
song is his. It is so sweet—
he sings.
                            

(prev. pub. in Brevities, June 2015)

 

 

 

 Free Of Time

SUNFLOWERS
—Robin Gale Odam

if my husband were alive
i could wear these pajamas
around the house, not to worry if
they are sheer and if my old breasts
just hang where they do. and my
husband would still love them because
of our familiarity. so we are both old
and he is gone now, gone ahead of me.
so I fold the blankets alone and change
into something that will not embarrass
the grown child who now lives with
me. i stand in the kitchen—in the
spot where my husband would
stand, watching me cook.

__________________

IT WAS WHAT YOU SAID
—Robin Gale Odam

The way the years crept past us,
how you laughed and tipped your
glass—and then whispered that
whisper at my ear—it was that.
                     

(prev. pub. in Brevities, May 2020)

 

 

 

 Not To Worry

 

INSOMNIA XVIII
—Robin Gale Odam

Calamity—not to be afraid,
as it was long ago and far away—
the fairy tales promise with their
promises, with their fine endings.
I open the curtain for the night sky.
                       

(prev. pub. in Brevities, May 2017)

_________________

Today’s LittleNip:

GOOD FOR SOMETHING
—Joyce Odam

I have written poems from my pain.

Now I must learn paper art and
turn them into airplanes and flowers.

                                  
(prev. pub. in Brevities, January 2020)

_________________

99! Yesterday, Joyce turned 99 years old—not 100, but still a grand milestone! Congratulations, Joyce! And thanks to Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam for the sunshine flowers that are today’s poems from them. (“Sunflowers” was this week’s Seed of the Week.)

Our new Seed of the Week is “Endurance”. 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

 

 

 

 Joyce Odam

—Photo by Katy Brown, Davis, CA

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A note that there will be a
virtual workshop tonight, 6pm, with
Lily Be from Capital Storytelling;
and Molly Fisk and Ingrid Keriotis
will read online for Modesto-Stanislaus
Poetry Center, 7pm (RSVP for code).
For info about these and other
upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
(http://medusaskitchen.blogspot.com/p/wtf.html)
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. 

LittleSnake's Glimmer of Hope:
My water lily—
white cat who always
floated above
the murk of our days. . .