—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Joyce Odam
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Joyce Odam
CROW AS OBJECT OF AFFECTION
—Joyce Odam
Crow, you are so eloquent. I love your sweet voice.
I admire the sheen of your feathers—the way
your deliberate gold eye fixes me with
cold appraisal.
I fling bits of food to you from my generous hand,
note how delicately you peck at the sidewalk.
I admire your courage among sparrows.
I love the way you steal light from the harsh wings
of the sun, how fences hold you in wide arms of
patience and how you tolerate my lingering
admiration from a distance.
(prev. pub. in Nanny Fanny, Final Memorial Issue,
Spring 2005; and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/22/09)
____________________
SKY PUDDLE : A PERSPECTIVE
—Joyce Odam
In a puddle of water—the sky—
clouds confined to this small rain lake,
the brief flight of gulls
that do not stir the surface,
that do not seem displaced or strange
though they fly upside down;
and vertigo is not the point of this—
that such a shifting vastness
can be caught—fragmentary—
and deep, if one looks down to see,
and does not break
the image with their own reflected feet.
(In slight revision from publication in
Poets' Forum Magazine, 6/96)
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/16/14;
3/29/16; 6/28/16; 6/22/21; 6/29/21)
—Joyce Odam
Crow, you are so eloquent. I love your sweet voice.
I admire the sheen of your feathers—the way
your deliberate gold eye fixes me with
cold appraisal.
I fling bits of food to you from my generous hand,
note how delicately you peck at the sidewalk.
I admire your courage among sparrows.
I love the way you steal light from the harsh wings
of the sun, how fences hold you in wide arms of
patience and how you tolerate my lingering
admiration from a distance.
(prev. pub. in Nanny Fanny, Final Memorial Issue,
Spring 2005; and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/22/09)
____________________
SKY PUDDLE : A PERSPECTIVE
—Joyce Odam
In a puddle of water—the sky—
clouds confined to this small rain lake,
the brief flight of gulls
that do not stir the surface,
that do not seem displaced or strange
though they fly upside down;
and vertigo is not the point of this—
that such a shifting vastness
can be caught—fragmentary—
and deep, if one looks down to see,
and does not break
the image with their own reflected feet.
(In slight revision from publication in
Poets' Forum Magazine, 6/96)
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/16/14;
3/29/16; 6/28/16; 6/22/21; 6/29/21)
In Harmony
SKY-JUGGLER
—Joyce Odam
After Circus Memories by Michael Parkes
She watches him
from her distance,
her juggler
and the swan
the crescent moon
and no star.
Oh, how he loves to juggle
the golden spheres of
secret after secret.
He knows she’s there.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/16/14)
________________________
THE TOILETTE
—Joyce Odam
what is precious here in this tray
of things :
her rings,
the tray itself,
the old array of bracelets and pins . . .
her face in the mirror,
imprinted by
the same old memory of herself,
the way it appears
and disappears,
like a glance,
the crumpled tissue for daubing
at makeup and tears
as if they burned—
how scented here :
the spilled powder
her favorite colognes—
the thick waft of hairspray
aimed at her hair,
and floating down like virga,
as she leaves the room
to itself in pampered waiting
for when next she enters for repair
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/4/18)
FORBEARANCE
—Joyce Odam
when she lay in the flickering sunshine,
when she lay in the rain,
when she lay in the years
that held her,
motionless—
held her
forgotten,
against her will—
when she lay there
unimportant—
without fame,
and she became
the silent shadow
under the rustle of leaves
of the ancient tree
that sheltered her, all these years . . .
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/3/20)
____________________
INSOMNIA XLIII
—Robin Gale Odam
If I should sleep I would
cry myself awake
I move through the house,
through an artifice of thin light from
window glass, into a darkened room
Incense and books a waver of
candle light the old straight-back
wooden chair the weathered sketch-
pad the vase of colored pencils
I select orange
(prev. pub. in Brevities, June 2020)
when she lay in the flickering sunshine,
when she lay in the rain,
when she lay in the years
that held her,
motionless—
held her
forgotten,
against her will—
when she lay there
unimportant—
without fame,
and she became
the silent shadow
under the rustle of leaves
of the ancient tree
that sheltered her, all these years . . .
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/3/20)
____________________
INSOMNIA XLIII
—Robin Gale Odam
If I should sleep I would
cry myself awake
I move through the house,
through an artifice of thin light from
window glass, into a darkened room
Incense and books a waver of
candle light the old straight-back
wooden chair the weathered sketch-
pad the vase of colored pencils
I select orange
(prev. pub. in Brevities, June 2020)
The Following
INSOMNIA XV
—Robin Gale Odam
I trace the dimensions of this night,
counting its measures and choosing
its name. Simile is christened after
something in my soul—it calls for me
now as it did a time before—and it
names me Once Again.
(prev. pub. in Brevities, February 2017)
______________________
THE QUIET LOBBY
—Joyce Odam
After Pieces of Map, Pieces of Music
by Robert Bringhurst
(p. 39) NÁNUÁN PUYÜÀN
In the lobby, a few old men sit around and stare
out the sidewalk window, or read old newspapers,
or doze and dream their unsolved dreams. Time is
a carpet between them and the worn distance to
the outside world.
The clerk at the desk is a manikin of boredom and
surly patience, barely noticing what passes by the
window or who wanders in and slips up the stairs.
The hour is unimportant. It stays the same. No one
asks the time. Rain comes and patterns the un-
washed lobby window with streaks of intricate
design.
The old men watch the rain for diversion as the
desk clerk answers the harsh ring of the telephone
that breaks the boredom of the place.
He listens a long time with no expression, then
motions one of the men to the phone who asks
who it is and gives a long shudder of tears, as if
he can’t believe what he hears.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/1/20)
The Rocks
TIME PASSING
—Joyce Odam
Life is an art of patience, like this old man
sitting on a porch chair as frame after frame
of time-film catches his non-movement.
But a closer look will show
how much higher the weed grass is,
in the last frame from the first.
See how faded his clothing has become,
how first he stares in one direction
then another.
Note that he crosses and uncrosses his leg
and how the subtle house in the background
has settled into disrepair around him.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/2/18)
A Broken Sense of Beauty
SCRIBBLE
—Robin Gale Odam
above a thunderous rinse cycle
in the laundry room
over the din of commercials pleading
inside the television
a short distance from breakfast in peril
on the stove
the fracture of poetry
(prev. pub. in Brevities, June 2020)
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
YOUR THOUGHTS AS FAR
—Joyce Odam
day-dreamer of the drab
and dreary world
your day existing
in window glass
where your eyes
stray for images—
your thoughts as far
as nightingales in China
___________________
Our thanks to Joyce and Robin Gale Odam for today’s fine poetry and visuals, as we gallop toward the Summer Solstice headed our way just one month from now. It's nearly Memorial Day already!
Our new Seed of the Week is “Memories Worth Keeping”. 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.
Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
___________________
—Medusa
—Robin Gale Odam
above a thunderous rinse cycle
in the laundry room
over the din of commercials pleading
inside the television
a short distance from breakfast in peril
on the stove
the fracture of poetry
(prev. pub. in Brevities, June 2020)
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
YOUR THOUGHTS AS FAR
—Joyce Odam
day-dreamer of the drab
and dreary world
your day existing
in window glass
where your eyes
stray for images—
your thoughts as far
as nightingales in China
___________________
Our thanks to Joyce and Robin Gale Odam for today’s fine poetry and visuals, as we gallop toward the Summer Solstice headed our way just one month from now. It's nearly Memorial Day already!
Our new Seed of the Week is “Memories Worth Keeping”. 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.
Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week.
___________________
—Medusa
For future 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?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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!
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?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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!