I Have Only My Eyes
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Robin Gale Odam
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Robin Gale Odam
TODAY THE GULLS
—Joyce Odam
swarmed the cold winter sky;
the sun rimmed the edges of their wings.
They crossed each other’s sky-paths,
circular and slow.
I watched them from the car, not wanting
to open the door to disturb their dance.
Finally, they flew down onto an open space
in the parking lot.
I have only my eyes to tell you this.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Winter 2019)
_________________
AUTUMN PROMISES
—Joyce Odam
Soon autumn will find us trembling with joy,
its cool relief—its heady promise,
and thus, believed.
Time is not wasting away,
it is only lingering the longer
for the sweet nostalgia of every autumn,
all the leaves are hurrying
and the sky retracing old patterns,
oh the softly urgent winds . . .
oh the sunsets . . .
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/27/15;
also in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/29/19; also in
Song of the San Joaquin, Fall 2021)
—Joyce Odam
swarmed the cold winter sky;
the sun rimmed the edges of their wings.
They crossed each other’s sky-paths,
circular and slow.
I watched them from the car, not wanting
to open the door to disturb their dance.
Finally, they flew down onto an open space
in the parking lot.
I have only my eyes to tell you this.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Winter 2019)
_________________
AUTUMN PROMISES
—Joyce Odam
Soon autumn will find us trembling with joy,
its cool relief—its heady promise,
and thus, believed.
Time is not wasting away,
it is only lingering the longer
for the sweet nostalgia of every autumn,
all the leaves are hurrying
and the sky retracing old patterns,
oh the softly urgent winds . . .
oh the sunsets . . .
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/27/15;
also in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/29/19; also in
Song of the San Joaquin, Fall 2021)
And Thus, Believed
THE SCRATCH OF A DRAFT
—Robin Gale Odam
Outside in the garden, only the
morning—the sheet of plain paper, the
birds in blue feathers.
The hum of the laundry, the comfort of
dishes piled up in the kitchen—the short list
of something to do before nighttime.
The plain sheet of paper. Eight birds
in blue feathers.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2019)
—Robin Gale Odam
Outside in the garden, only the
morning—the sheet of plain paper, the
birds in blue feathers.
The hum of the laundry, the comfort of
dishes piled up in the kitchen—the short list
of something to do before nighttime.
The plain sheet of paper. Eight birds
in blue feathers.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2019)
We Are The Falling Leaves
THE LURE OF AUTUMN
—Joyce Odam
This is the autumn we’ve waited for all year;
—Joyce Odam
This is the autumn we’ve waited for all year;
we are the falling leaves—the fierce red light
that turns the air to copper—the brimming night
that echoes this for hours, like a smear
of ancient blood upon the sky—minds clear
and open to the season—to the sight
and feel of all that hurry with hearts that might
turn rhythmic to this churning atmosphere.
We are the ache and joy of all that change—
transfigured into something newly strange—
an older blood-flow urgent to belong—
happy to follow some age-old desire:
We, who are an old, nomadic pair,
We, who are an old, nomadic pair,
becoming now another autumn song.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/27/15;
also in Song of the San Joaquin, Fall 2021)
___________________
DARKEN IT
—Robin Gale Odam
It started with high, sweet notes
and rich amber harmony, for contrast.
As I composed, the song told me
I was mistaken, told me how it
breathed in sorrow, how it was
a keeper of burdens, how its voice
was dark, how sweetness was a bane
to conceal or transpose or forget and,
although I begged it to reconsider,
it bade me to darken it.
(prev. pub. in Brevities, May 2011; also in
Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/13/14; also in
Song of the San Joaquin, Fall 2016)
___________________
THE CONNECTION
After Cover Image: Pegasus by Dick Schmidt,
photographed on Kauai after Hurricane Iniki, 1992
—Joyce Odam
The horse races along with a white bird
as companion.
They follow the urge of the free spirit
that flows between them.
The green trees
blur past.
The brown horse stretches out his lean length
into the rhythm.
They are in a race for existence,
they do not care who wins.
The free spirit urges them on—
the trees blur—and the horse reaches—
and the white bird is wing-close—
they share the same distance.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Summer 2019;
also in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/20/21)
_________________
DEADLINE
—Robin Gale Odam
Sorry I’m late.
The poem wasn’t finished.
There were still five dishes in the sink.
My hair lay the wrong way.
I finally found my brush,
in the cabinet next to the coffee.
Just one more cup, hot.
I couldn’t remember if I was
forgetting something.
I couldn’t leave without my heart.
It was somewhere in the house,
or maybe in the garden.
The key turned three times in the lock.
It took the whole morning to reach the car.
Then there were red lights and a slow train.
I wrapped myself in music
loud enough to fill all my empty places.
I am here.
My heart is beating in the garden.
I am yours for this long day.
(prev. pub. in Brevities, May 2011; also in
Sacramento Voices Anthology 2017; also in
Song of the San Joaquin, Summer 2019)
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/27/15;
also in Song of the San Joaquin, Fall 2021)
___________________
DARKEN IT
—Robin Gale Odam
It started with high, sweet notes
and rich amber harmony, for contrast.
As I composed, the song told me
I was mistaken, told me how it
breathed in sorrow, how it was
a keeper of burdens, how its voice
was dark, how sweetness was a bane
to conceal or transpose or forget and,
although I begged it to reconsider,
it bade me to darken it.
(prev. pub. in Brevities, May 2011; also in
Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/13/14; also in
Song of the San Joaquin, Fall 2016)
___________________
THE CONNECTION
After Cover Image: Pegasus by Dick Schmidt,
photographed on Kauai after Hurricane Iniki, 1992
—Joyce Odam
The horse races along with a white bird
as companion.
They follow the urge of the free spirit
that flows between them.
The green trees
blur past.
The brown horse stretches out his lean length
into the rhythm.
They are in a race for existence,
they do not care who wins.
The free spirit urges them on—
the trees blur—and the horse reaches—
and the white bird is wing-close—
they share the same distance.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Summer 2019;
also in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/20/21)
_________________
DEADLINE
—Robin Gale Odam
Sorry I’m late.
The poem wasn’t finished.
There were still five dishes in the sink.
My hair lay the wrong way.
I finally found my brush,
in the cabinet next to the coffee.
Just one more cup, hot.
I couldn’t remember if I was
forgetting something.
I couldn’t leave without my heart.
It was somewhere in the house,
or maybe in the garden.
The key turned three times in the lock.
It took the whole morning to reach the car.
Then there were red lights and a slow train.
I wrapped myself in music
loud enough to fill all my empty places.
I am here.
My heart is beating in the garden.
I am yours for this long day.
(prev. pub. in Brevities, May 2011; also in
Sacramento Voices Anthology 2017; also in
Song of the San Joaquin, Summer 2019)
This Birdless Hour
SPRING FERVOR
—Joyce Odam
This worried sky, this field of yellow grass,
this birdless hour,
and that lonely man, lonely or not,
taking a simple walk through fields of swollen
light—
oh, here the season changes—maybe not this day
or moment, but soon—
soon as the rustling starts and builds
and the sky overwhelms the shadow-heavy earth
and the man heads home, and may not make it,
this blending man, caught
in the roil of swarming shadows that move in
and out,
this man, at one with everything, storm caught.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2019;
also in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/23/21)
—Joyce Odam
This worried sky, this field of yellow grass,
this birdless hour,
and that lonely man, lonely or not,
taking a simple walk through fields of swollen
light—
oh, here the season changes—maybe not this day
or moment, but soon—
soon as the rustling starts and builds
and the sky overwhelms the shadow-heavy earth
and the man heads home, and may not make it,
this blending man, caught
in the roil of swarming shadows that move in
and out,
this man, at one with everything, storm caught.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2019;
also in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/23/21)
Should I Permit My Heart
SHOULD I BELIEVE IN SPRING
—Joyce Odam
I heard the birds singing today
under my sadness
and I said,
Should I believe in spring?
Permit feeling?
And the birds were oblivious
to my thought
and they sang in the tree
by my house
where I hung clothes
under a cloudy sky
and I said,
Should I believe
in possibility?
This singing is so pleasurable.
And the birds
sang through my reluctance
to permit joy to enter my heart
and I said,
Should I permit my heart to
open to anything again?
And the birds
continued singing
in the tree by my house
and I said,
Should I linger at this chore
and enjoy the singing?
And the birds continued,
oh, continued, singing.
(prev. pub. in Acorn, 1996;
also in Senior Magazine, 2002;
also in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/25/14;
also in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2019)
—Joyce Odam
I heard the birds singing today
under my sadness
and I said,
Should I believe in spring?
Permit feeling?
And the birds were oblivious
to my thought
and they sang in the tree
by my house
where I hung clothes
under a cloudy sky
and I said,
Should I believe
in possibility?
This singing is so pleasurable.
And the birds
sang through my reluctance
to permit joy to enter my heart
and I said,
Should I permit my heart to
open to anything again?
And the birds
continued singing
in the tree by my house
and I said,
Should I linger at this chore
and enjoy the singing?
And the birds continued,
oh, continued, singing.
(prev. pub. in Acorn, 1996;
also in Senior Magazine, 2002;
also in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/25/14;
also in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2019)
This Broken Night
AS I GO
(After Fredederick Childe Hassam, July Night)
—Robin Gale Odam
I will take this with me, this
broken night, as much as I can
gather as I go—
there are so many remnants,
feigning to be mine.
And yet that song I cannot hold—
it is anchored to the hour.
I will take my black bag and my
wrap, these petals from the table,
one last sip, a final glance,
and yet that song I cannot hold—
it was always yours.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Summer 2019)
__________________
Today’s LittleNip:
the pendulum swings,
forth and back—swishing the air
its silent path
—Joyce Odam
(prev. pub. in Brevities, September 2018)
__________________
Good autumn morning to readers far and near! Today the Odam girls have sent all previously published work, which is fine with me. I always say, if it’s worth publishing once, it’s worth… Well, it’s worth having eyes on again. And again and again, yes? Medusa does welcome previously published work, so take advantage of that yourself.
Anyway, our thanks to Joyce and Robin Gale for today’s poetry, and to Robin for her photos—poems and pix which are titillating indeed (our Seed of the Week).
Our new Seed of the Week is “Frustration”. 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. And be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
(After Fredederick Childe Hassam, July Night)
—Robin Gale Odam
I will take this with me, this
broken night, as much as I can
gather as I go—
there are so many remnants,
feigning to be mine.
And yet that song I cannot hold—
it is anchored to the hour.
I will take my black bag and my
wrap, these petals from the table,
one last sip, a final glance,
and yet that song I cannot hold—
it was always yours.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Summer 2019)
__________________
Today’s LittleNip:
the pendulum swings,
forth and back—swishing the air
its silent path
—Joyce Odam
(prev. pub. in Brevities, September 2018)
__________________
Good autumn morning to readers far and near! Today the Odam girls have sent all previously published work, which is fine with me. I always say, if it’s worth publishing once, it’s worth… Well, it’s worth having eyes on again. And again and again, yes? Medusa does welcome previously published work, so take advantage of that yourself.
Anyway, our thanks to Joyce and Robin Gale for today’s poetry, and to Robin for her photos—poems and pix which are titillating indeed (our Seed of the Week).
Our new Seed of the Week is “Frustration”. 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. And be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
The Autumn Equinox issue of the environmental poetry journla, Canary, can be seen at https://canarylitmag.org/. Canary Editor Gail Entrekin read at Sac. Poetry Center last night.
__________________
—Medusa
__________________
—Medusa
July Night
—Painting by Fredederick Childe Hassam, 1898
A reminder that
Twin Lotus Thai Fourth Tuesdays
takes place tonight—
reservations strongly recommended!
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.
Find previous four posts by scrolling down
under today’s post; or find previous poets by
typing the name into the little beige box
at the top left-hand side of today’s post; or
go to Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
and find the date you want.
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!
reservations strongly recommended!
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.
Find previous four posts by scrolling down
under today’s post; or find previous poets by
typing the name into the little beige box
at the top left-hand side of today’s post; or
go to Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
and find the date you want.
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!
(A cookie from the Kitchen for today):
hawk and his mate:
morning calls bounce
off the creek, sparkle
like sunshine
