.JPG)
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Joyce Odam
THE HANDSHAKE
—Joyce Odam
Hold—hold the hand
to the
hand
when greeting or parting.
Hold for fondness
or for love—
for an old or new
sensation.
Let the hand ask
the
question
of the other hand.
Let the eyes ask, too;
this is touch
to learn much
from the other—
secret hands that
release
their
secret feeling.
Such a straightforward way
to say
a beginning or
a farewell.
—Joyce Odam
Hold—hold the hand
to the
hand
when greeting or parting.
Hold for fondness
or for love—
for an old or new
sensation.
Let the hand ask
the
question
of the other hand.
Let the eyes ask, too;
this is touch
to learn much
from the other—
secret hands that
release
their
secret feeling.
Such a straightforward way
to say
a beginning or
a farewell.
.JPG)
Black Beads
HE TAKES THE SPIDER
OUT TO THE YARD
—Joyce Odam
A huge black spider
in the bathtub—she will not
turn on the water—
but she wants a bath;
he gathers it onto
a piece of cardboard—
gentle as it takes—
and leaves the tub to her;
she pours the musk-lotion in—
turns the water on—full force,
and bends to froth it deeply
with her hand.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/16/21)
_____________________
THE MESSENGER
—Robin Gale Odam
After Van Gogh, The Postman, 1889
At home it starts before the day,
the slow and careful rise from bed,
the bitter sip of compromise, the buffing
of the weathered shoes, the smoothing
of the uniform, the head-on scrutiny
at the mirror—
the proper incline of the hat,
the unreadable warmth of disregard,
the straight and steady countenance,
and the one glance at the background wall,
papered with the scatter of mums in puce
on the landscape of the nameless green—
and the closing of the door.
The messenger delivers once again,
a professional portage of the news—
the night was long, the day was short,
the one is departed, the one . . .
.JPG)
Our Memory
DIMINUENDO
—Joyce Odam
After “Hands” by Paula Marston
At night the hands play the piano.
The dark piano-room gathers in to listen.
The walls thin-out so they can breathe the music.
The hands are bewildered that they can do this
and the piano does what the hands want.
The hands are transparent—asleep or
locked in a stillness—and we are
dreaming. The piano dreams
too—and the room—and the
walls clear-out to the trees
that swish with empathy
and feel the night-music
playing through them.
____________________
FOR THE MAN WITH QUIET HANDS
—Joyce Odam
I love your guitar best
because you broke it.
Then fixed it again.
Then played quiet songs upon it.
After Vince Sterba, The Orchard, 1976
.JPG)
Our Distance
HEART OF LOVE
—Joyce Odam
You said, cut my heart out—
gave me the scissors—
red candy-heart on white plate.
To catch the blood on, you said.
You said—
wash the plate, make it pure—
love is un-conditioned—
the scissors, innocent.
The white plate, pure and conditioned
now—held under water with scissors
and red candy-heart—dwelling on the
subtleties : satisfaction with the truth.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/16/21)
_____________________
HAND OF SORROW
—Joyce Odam
In the hand of sorrow
the flower dies,
hand that has touched love’s
face and felt the tears burn,
hand that has fought
the restraint of gesture,
hand that has been ignored
in the hand of another,
hand that flutters and flails
when articulation finds no words,
hand of sorrow holding this dried-up flower,
this yellow rose.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/20/21; 2/15/22)
.JPG)
The Listening
MARIONETTES
—Robin Gale Odam
After John Singer Sargent's Marionettes
the others made us dance
but there was one in the shadows
pleading, listen to this song—heavy
your heart and cry with me—heavy your
heart, the one voice said, and cry with me
(prev. pub. in Brevities, March 2016)
.JPG)
Filled With Time
YOU BRING IT HOME IN YOUR HANDS
—Joyce Odam
There is an hour
known as love.
It flutters about in the heart
like a little lost bird.
You bring it home in your hands
and you buy it a cage.
You buy it seed
and a cuttlebone.
You give it a mirror
and a little swing.
And you hover
around it
and coax it to sing.
And you listen awhile,
and for a sweet while
love is not your prisoner.
(prev. pub in Oregonian Verse, 2/7/71; and
Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/13/11; 1/14/20; 4/19/22)
__________________
Today’s LittleNip:
INSOMNIA IV
—Robin Gale Odam
Distant from the day with its
compression of noise and claim,
the night woke me again—
an uncomplicated sharing of itself
in quiet, undivided comfort of
silence.
(prev. pub. in Brevities, March 2016)
__________________
Joyce Odam and daughter Robin Gale Odam have taken our Seed of the Week, “Hands”, and sent us many fine poems and photos. Our thanks to them for all of these!
Our new Seed of the Week is “Full Moon”. 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
Marionettes
—Painting by John Singer Sargent
—Painting by John Singer Sargent
A reminder that
Bob Stanley will interview
Brad Buchanan at Sacramento's
Twin Lotus Thai today, 2pm;
and Melchor Sahagun and
Tina Marie Curiel-Vega will read
in Modesto this evening, 7pm.
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—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
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-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
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
to 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!
Bob Stanley will interview
Brad Buchanan at Sacramento's
Twin Lotus Thai today, 2pm;
and Melchor Sahagun and
Tina Marie Curiel-Vega will read
in Modesto this evening, 7pm.
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—
and keep an eye on this link and on
the daily Kitchen for happenings
that might pop up
—or get changed!—
during the week.
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-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
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
to 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):
startled awake—
dreams of loss:
satin slipping
through
my fingers…
