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* * *
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Artwork by Joyce Odam
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Artwork by Joyce Odam
HURRY
—Robin Gale Odam
Listen to the music—oh no, oh no,
oh no, in the background—can’t you
hear . . . over there, in the background,
in the script . . . it’s in the script! It’s in
his eyes! Why can’t you hear . . . the
credits are beginning to roll, listen!
Hurry!
(pre . pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/11/23)
—Robin Gale Odam
Listen to the music—oh no, oh no,
oh no, in the background—can’t you
hear . . . over there, in the background,
in the script . . . it’s in the script! It’s in
his eyes! Why can’t you hear . . . the
credits are beginning to roll, listen!
Hurry!
(pre . pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/11/23)
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Promise Kept In Black And White
WEDDING
—Joyce Odam
After“The Wedding” by June Jordan
They are caught in the long drift down together—
they are caught—trembling like two leaves in
a gold wind—warm in the light. They shine.
They almost love. They are caught in the
long drift down. They flutter softly to
the music—graceful and slow, as if
there was only this sweet falling—
no tree to memorize—no earth
to fall to—no grief to know.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/12/22; 10/18/22)
—Joyce Odam
After“The Wedding” by June Jordan
They are caught in the long drift down together—
they are caught—trembling like two leaves in
a gold wind—warm in the light. They shine.
They almost love. They are caught in the
long drift down. They flutter softly to
the music—graceful and slow, as if
there was only this sweet falling—
no tree to memorize—no earth
to fall to—no grief to know.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/12/22; 10/18/22)
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The White Jar
THE USE OF THESE SORROWS
—Joyce Odam
What is the use of these sorrows if not to spend
them on
you, my poor dear love—gone crazy at last, your
life spent
on tawdry performances?
Oh, I have accompanied you on the best of these.
The length of love is not long enough to tell of it.
We broke the mirrors more than once with our eyes.
Now you stare beyond me and I look away from
you. How
sad we are, finally—two derelicts devoid of any
true emotion, this we tell each other in our dry
voices.
But I have brought you a poem made of the old
words we
used to say. See how I have fixed it into a particu-
lar eloquence of ruined light and the shadow it
casts for innuendo.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/20/20)
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All At Once
BIPARTISAN
—Robin Gale Odam
should it be told
not a handshake nor a nod
but the faint flicker inside the eye
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Promises
THE POET’S WIFE
—Joyce Odam
She came to the door,
night-eyed, witch-haired,
and whispered,
“My poet is locked in his tower.
No one disturbs his twenty-third hour.”
“How did you meet him?”
we asked her. She smiled.
“He composed me one day
when he was drunk on rhyming.
He liked my sound and metaphor.
I liked his timing.”
“Oh, what are your children doing?”
we shuddered.
She shrugged. “They are cutting out words
from what we say, doing research
for their father.
But he throws their adjectives away—
why do they bother?
“Will you show us your forest-garden,”
we flattered.
But she warned, “Something heavy
is in the air. No one can breathe what’s growing.
The night is sick with molding green.
And I am sick with knowing.”
“Will you tell him we came…” but whirlpools
moved in her moody eyes,
and she
was already climbing her husband’s stair,
taking key-shaped pins
from her struggling hair.
(prev. pub. in Trace, 1965; My Stranger Hands, 1967;
Wagon & Star, 1967; Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/7/18;
4/11/23; 7/23/24)
—Joyce Odam
She came to the door,
night-eyed, witch-haired,
and whispered,
“My poet is locked in his tower.
No one disturbs his twenty-third hour.”
“How did you meet him?”
we asked her. She smiled.
“He composed me one day
when he was drunk on rhyming.
He liked my sound and metaphor.
I liked his timing.”
“Oh, what are your children doing?”
we shuddered.
She shrugged. “They are cutting out words
from what we say, doing research
for their father.
But he throws their adjectives away—
why do they bother?
“Will you show us your forest-garden,”
we flattered.
But she warned, “Something heavy
is in the air. No one can breathe what’s growing.
The night is sick with molding green.
And I am sick with knowing.”
“Will you tell him we came…” but whirlpools
moved in her moody eyes,
and she
was already climbing her husband’s stair,
taking key-shaped pins
from her struggling hair.
(prev. pub. in Trace, 1965; My Stranger Hands, 1967;
Wagon & Star, 1967; Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/7/18;
4/11/23; 7/23/24)
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Songful
ANNA’S SONG
—Joyce Odam
(After Anna Akhmatova)
So what that I write about grief
—grief and melancholy,
when this is what I live with,
those old foes that know me
intimately
—love me even.
How we carouse and commiserate
late into the year,
or night,
feeling sorry for ourselves,
and each other.
How else get through the life
on balance,
on cue, our timing perfect
—perfectly guarded to whatever
assails us
—every ship that sinks
and fills the sea with mourners.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/20/15; 10/20/20)
—Joyce Odam
(After Anna Akhmatova)
So what that I write about grief
—grief and melancholy,
when this is what I live with,
those old foes that know me
intimately
—love me even.
How we carouse and commiserate
late into the year,
or night,
feeling sorry for ourselves,
and each other.
How else get through the life
on balance,
on cue, our timing perfect
—perfectly guarded to whatever
assails us
—every ship that sinks
and fills the sea with mourners.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/20/15; 10/20/20)
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Secretive
DARKNESS
—Robin Gale Odam
She kept secrets. . .
a sweet ride
parked in the shadow
of a dream,
a fishing line
made of pure
desire,
more words
than she would
ever speak,
a soft heart,
a droplet of
cool venom,
and darkness to match
his own.
(prev. pub .in Brevities, April 2014;
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/6/23)
—Robin Gale Odam
She kept secrets. . .
a sweet ride
parked in the shadow
of a dream,
a fishing line
made of pure
desire,
more words
than she would
ever speak,
a soft heart,
a droplet of
cool venom,
and darkness to match
his own.
(prev. pub .in Brevities, April 2014;
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/6/23)
.JPG)
Through Glass Darkly
LYRIC
—Joyce Odam
When I was the one, the first holy one,
of my other being; when I knew myself,
and the way of myself
and out of longing for myself,
and there was no other,
and even then I sought,
and my own blood was flowing,
and I bled until I was pure of my bleeding,
and this was God in my pleading,
and I answered,
and was ever fated to ask and answer
and still I complained of my prayer
and my conviction,
and I went to the tower of words
and it was a mountain
and it leaned into the falling sky
and even then I signified nothing
for a moment,
for a long, powerful moment,
and was united with my birth
long after I died,
and thus I cried and cried
for myself and others
and nothing came to me
except my ego which was made of words
made of thoughts, and they entangled.
Oh, why do I remember this?
It was all done before it began,
and I was diminished.
My tears drained me and I was a river
pouring down a mountain in the eyes of God.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/31/19; 2/13/24)
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Sleepless
LIGHTHOUSE
—Joyce Odam
If I were the sea
I would use you for a focal point :
your light for my darkness;
I would use you for a boundary
to gauge my edge against;
I would know where I could test
my calm and fury,
let my ships beware,
warn my whales,
and give your shore-gulls praise
for marking stormy skies
with their whiteness.
I would always know where you are
so I could ever surge toward you
with my lonely power.
(prev. pub. in Poetry Now (Sacramento), May 2009;
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 5/29/12; 12/31/19; 11/5/24)
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Timing
A LAST FLOCK OF BIRDS
—Joyce Odam
Behold this sunset—how your eyes love it—
the lowering of light—the lengthening
of shadow—the softening of color,
notice the feel of the air and the sounds
that renew into it, like beginnings
instead of endings,
this was a day you spent without knowing its
cost—but now it has come down to this hour—
and you watch the light go at the horizon,
and you feel the sadness again for each day’s
dying—where are the birds,
you start to ask . . .
and a last dark flock of them flurries up
in silhouette and crosses the sky in the last light
and startles you and you don’t see where they
settle . . .
(prev. pub. in PDQ [Poetry Depth Quarterly], 1998;
and Medusa's Kitchen, 4/9/13; 10/20/20)
(prev. pub. in PDQ [Poetry Depth Quarterly], 1998;
and Medusa's Kitchen, 4/9/13; 10/20/20)
.JPG)
Finer Than That
DID YOU?
—Robin Gale Odam
Did you wait for me?
Listen for my footsteps?
Feel time
move
through the moment?
Wonder?
Did you sink?
Just a little?
Did you?
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/27/23)
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
DEATH SAID
—Joyce Odam
I will be gentle
I will be thin upon your soul
I will not make you sad or harm you
I will love your life like a flower
I will put your life in my mind
and remember it
and you will be where I am
where I have always promised
___________________
Many thanks to the Odam Poets (Joyce and Robin Gale) today for fine poetry and Joyce’s visuals to go with it, as they muse on the Seed of the Week, “Before I Knew Better”.
Our new Seed of the Week is “Winds of Warning”. 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
Did you wait for me?
Listen for my footsteps?
Feel time
move
through the moment?
Wonder?
Did you sink?
Just a little?
Did you?
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/27/23)
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
DEATH SAID
—Joyce Odam
I will be gentle
I will be thin upon your soul
I will not make you sad or harm you
I will love your life like a flower
I will put your life in my mind
and remember it
and you will be where I am
where I have always promised
___________________
Many thanks to the Odam Poets (Joyce and Robin Gale) today for fine poetry and Joyce’s visuals to go with it, as they muse on the Seed of the Week, “Before I Knew Better”.
Our new Seed of the Week is “Winds of Warning”. 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
Keep the candle burning~!
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
A reminder that
tonight in Modesto, 7pm, will be
Meter Maids 35th Anniversary.
For info about this and other
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.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column at the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
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.
Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column at the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.
Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)
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!
