Maybe Another Day
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Robin Gale Odam
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Robin Gale Odam
GETTING UP TOO EARLY
—Joyce Odam
about to wind me down
the cluttered
sounds of day
beginning
I who
owned the night
and all the silence in it
learn to say:
forgive my selfishness
I am not the world I live in
I am a partner to the crow
and the pattern
he exists in
I shall not quarrel now
but yield my space of mind
to the larger sounds
that build and swallow
nothing echoes me
I am the far pure scream
I have no time to make
that moth upon the floor
knows what to be…
his soft and fluttery dance
against the rug…
his sounds of suicide…
as if the cat will find him
in her sleep
_________________
EARLY MORNING TRAIN
—Joyce Odam
train
of loud size
morning rumble
too quiet for train-sound
too early for far-away to come here
too soon for here to be leaving this way
picked up on the way to hum-drum
what if I just
left my kitchen
followed that shaking of the floor
answered the whistle with its far
echo in
the ear of my stomach
what if I
innocent and brave at last
should swing my way across the clacking air
one hand on the rung of the black ladder
my body lifting free of the day behind it. . .
should I leave a note?
—Joyce Odam
about to wind me down
the cluttered
sounds of day
beginning
I who
owned the night
and all the silence in it
learn to say:
forgive my selfishness
I am not the world I live in
I am a partner to the crow
and the pattern
he exists in
I shall not quarrel now
but yield my space of mind
to the larger sounds
that build and swallow
nothing echoes me
I am the far pure scream
I have no time to make
that moth upon the floor
knows what to be…
his soft and fluttery dance
against the rug…
his sounds of suicide…
as if the cat will find him
in her sleep
_________________
EARLY MORNING TRAIN
—Joyce Odam
train
of loud size
morning rumble
too quiet for train-sound
too early for far-away to come here
too soon for here to be leaving this way
picked up on the way to hum-drum
what if I just
left my kitchen
followed that shaking of the floor
answered the whistle with its far
echo in
the ear of my stomach
what if I
innocent and brave at last
should swing my way across the clacking air
one hand on the rung of the black ladder
my body lifting free of the day behind it. . .
should I leave a note?
The Curiosity
WHERE DO WE GET ALL THESE BURDENS?
—Joyce Odam
Well, you go to the House of Burdens
and you say
I’ll take that one, and that one,
and that one, because they all
look good to you;
and then the Burden Salesman says,
Okay. . .they’re yours. . .
and you have to put them
all on your shoulders and try
to carry them all in one load
because you were greedy
and they are unreturnable.
___________________
THE UNCUT STONE OF EACH OTHER
—Joyce Odam
let us begin
they said
admiring the uncut
stone of each other
and they began the
chisel and shape
of their designs
cutting too deeply and
endlessly to free
the other’s perfection
when they were almost through
they cringed from
the damage love had done
and vowing at least
some restoration
raised their artist tools
again
—Joyce Odam
Well, you go to the House of Burdens
and you say
I’ll take that one, and that one,
and that one, because they all
look good to you;
and then the Burden Salesman says,
Okay. . .they’re yours. . .
and you have to put them
all on your shoulders and try
to carry them all in one load
because you were greedy
and they are unreturnable.
___________________
THE UNCUT STONE OF EACH OTHER
—Joyce Odam
let us begin
they said
admiring the uncut
stone of each other
and they began the
chisel and shape
of their designs
cutting too deeply and
endlessly to free
the other’s perfection
when they were almost through
they cringed from
the damage love had done
and vowing at least
some restoration
raised their artist tools
again
It Was Blue
origami heart
now a wad of blue paper
someone else’s trash
—Robin Gale Odam
Space of Mind
FLIGHTS
—Joyce Odam
Which wings
shall we wear for love.
Shall we fly into the white places.
What shall we wear
against all eyes
that try to make us fall.
I have a wish to make.
Kill me a hen
with a
magic wishing-bone beneath
her quilled breast-feathers.
How can I cry
when you are telling
such green stories.
Can we fly like this forever.
How does the cricket know
we are listening;
how can he rub his wings so loud,
so lonely.
Where is the door we cannot enter.
Tell me about the emptiness
of the unloved.
What are you holding in your hands.
Is it me.
Hold me! Hold me!
The sea is rolling.
____________________
LAST WARNINGS
—Joyce Odam
I am wicked! I tell you.
I am not a woman of conscience.
I will find where you are weak
and let my strength go there.
I am not good to love.
I have a hunger all my own.
You cannot feed it.
My eyes are hungriest of all.
They will lead you into my
unchartable angers.
I am not possessable.
If I decide to love you
you are in danger.
Honesty is a weapon I use.
It will prepare you
for nothing you can believe.
You think I am harmless because
I am softer than your wooing.
I can destroy you
any time I choose.
Any Time I Choose
WINTER HELD MY SOUL
—Robin Gale Odam
they danced into summer,
my sweet liar
and the clever thief
________________
PASSION FLOWER
—Joyce Odam
and here sits god
looking at his little flower
turning it in his hand
a glass of wine on the table
some crackers
and some cheese
beautiful! he says
just beautiful!
and he turns it and turns it
under the light of his eye
examining it for perfection
and not even thinking
about the soonness
of its dying
The Inaccessible Places
WILD BERRIES
—Joyce Odam
Let us go pick berries.
Let us be stained
with their wild taste.
Let us part leaves
and dare the further reaching;
purple our lips,
our hands—deep to the wrists.
Let us find where
the subtle danger is.
We are city people,
but we bring
our wilderness
of remembering.
We remember where
the berries live:
In the inaccessible places,
dusty-dry, locked in the tangles
of the berry vine
with its cobweb hair;
we remember the prices
we have to pay—
the torn clothes,
the ruined arms and legs,
the indelible taste.
Come with me now.
I am hungry.
Let us go find
the lost, wild berries.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
WATERMARK
—Robin Gale Odam
Pressed into the morning,
visible in a slant of light, trace
of your exit—crisp as parchment.
—Joyce Odam
Let us go pick berries.
Let us be stained
with their wild taste.
Let us part leaves
and dare the further reaching;
purple our lips,
our hands—deep to the wrists.
Let us find where
the subtle danger is.
We are city people,
but we bring
our wilderness
of remembering.
We remember where
the berries live:
In the inaccessible places,
dusty-dry, locked in the tangles
of the berry vine
with its cobweb hair;
we remember the prices
we have to pay—
the torn clothes,
the ruined arms and legs,
the indelible taste.
Come with me now.
I am hungry.
Let us go find
the lost, wild berries.
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
WATERMARK
—Robin Gale Odam
Pressed into the morning,
visible in a slant of light, trace
of your exit—crisp as parchment.
(prev. pub. in Brevities, May 2016)
____________________
Good morning and thanks to Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam for today’s fine fare! Joyce’s poems today are from her 1975 book, Lemon Center for Hot Buttered Roll.
Our new Seed of the Week is “As Summer Slips Away”. 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
"Let us go pick berries."
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy
of Joe Nolan, Stockton, CA
A reminder that Twin Lotus Thai will
feature Allegra Silberstein, Jan Haag
and Patrick Grizzell (plus open mic)
tonight in Sacramento, 6pm.
(Reservation strongly suggested.)
For info about this 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.
feature Allegra Silberstein, Jan Haag
and Patrick Grizzell (plus open mic)
tonight in Sacramento, 6pm.
(Reservation strongly suggested.)
For info about this 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.
a surprise of rain
in muggy mid-August:
relief splattered
on rosebuds~
