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—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Original Art by Joyce Odam
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Original Art by Joyce Odam
To where it all begins,
at some edge
of some dreamed sea—
some cove of blue that draws me there
to sit enclosed, to hide in the blue shadow
of the blue air and listen to the white cries of
gulls—watch the patient crawling of the waves
—the solitude of loneliness one learns to love . . .
or was it real—
only some composite of time spent
beyond the measured memory that thrills and fails.
I’m here—I’m there—walking toward this moment,
—who I am—under the wide imperfect sky that
fills with its vast moodiness, moving so darkly,
laying swift blue shadow everywhere—and
the white gulls that sound so anguished,
though beautiful and low—and I keep
them with me to become at least their
curiosity—never having left—no
matter how many cities later . . .
I knew this place
—as well as my life—it’s long
unreachable distance—this shore beside this sea.
—Joyce Odam
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/22/16)
at some edge
of some dreamed sea—
some cove of blue that draws me there
to sit enclosed, to hide in the blue shadow
of the blue air and listen to the white cries of
gulls—watch the patient crawling of the waves
—the solitude of loneliness one learns to love . . .
or was it real—
only some composite of time spent
beyond the measured memory that thrills and fails.
I’m here—I’m there—walking toward this moment,
—who I am—under the wide imperfect sky that
fills with its vast moodiness, moving so darkly,
laying swift blue shadow everywhere—and
the white gulls that sound so anguished,
though beautiful and low—and I keep
them with me to become at least their
curiosity—never having left—no
matter how many cities later . . .
I knew this place
—as well as my life—it’s long
unreachable distance—this shore beside this sea.
—Joyce Odam
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/22/16)
.jpg)
Untitled
PROMISES
—Joyce Odam
Mother, I will put you
in a poem
with long corridors
and years
and you will have
anything you want and need
and I will be there with you
forever, if you want me there
and we will be halfway
between young
and never old
and we will laugh
at funny things discovered
and you will have good eyes
and many books to read
and crossword puzzles
and I will never
argue with you
or try to have my way
and, Mother,
I will let you have
my calendar to mark upon,
the way you do
first thing each morning,
marking off the day arrived
and what it holds for you.
(prev. pub. in Passager, Winter 1991;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 5/14/24)
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The Darkness Opens
THE MESSENGER
—Robin Gale Odam
After Van Gogh. The Postman. April 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 . . .
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/14/23)
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Theatre
FORGOTTEN SOUVENIRS
—Joyce Odam
long
after,
opening the
book,
dried leaves
fell out
and broke
like old
whispers
they were
stiff and brown
she could not
remember
why she
saved them
from
what moment
of what season
next time
she vowed
instead of tears,
for instance,
or some moment
meant to keep
forever in its joy,
she’d press
snowflakes
in her winter book
and leave no trace
to haunt
(prev. pub. in Acorn, Winter 1997
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/1/11; 8/4/15)
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Through The Meaning
TEARDROPS FALL FROM TREES
—Robin Gale Odam
i didn’t know this in my life but now
here they are—in the groves, in titles
and in the landscape of chapters and
footnotes—how a visual phrase, such
as fingers pressed over silver frets in
rosewood, could simply let them fall
(prev. pub. in Medusa's Kitchen 4/25/23)
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Prayer Bird
TO WRITE YOU A LOVE POEM
—Joyce Odam
Now do I speak to you from my art of silence,
my mind mute with longing,
words pouring out of my pen in new exertion—
oh, where
is the right one! You are fading from me,
even as my mind creates you.
Wait, Love—wait for me.
I have a thing to say to you—
something about want—something about need.
But language fails. I try a red pen, a blue one,
a dull pencil—to force the words—I stab
my mind for them—shake the gray thoughts
loose. You become vague—impatient—
turn toward the vast important window,
begin to hum.
I look at you from my broken pages,
scattered all around me, my serious shadow
crumpled in a pose of yearning.
I beg you . . . I beg you . . .
here is my little written song, so unfinished . . .
so sorrowful . . .
you stand at the window, a radiant sheet
of white paper in your hands, an opening look
on your face—unreadable.
.JPG)
The Breath of Night Air
PLANTING CORN
—Joyce Odam
I want to write about the corn
but these hard kernels of dull gold
fail to remind me of
all I know about the corn…
the way it listens in the summer for
the wind that always finds it . . .
the way it speaks
and moves from speaking . . .
rustle bend rustle rattle bend.
This wrinkled corn in my earth hand
cannot pretend to be
the finished product of my eye,
cannot acclaim itself that far . . .
this dried up
secret thing . . .
with all its miracle inside itself
in my cupped hand . . .
waiting to begin.
(prev. pub. in In a Nutshell, Summer, 1979;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/30/14)
_____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
SHADE
—Robin Gale Odam
counterpoint of light
no one knows that she is gone
into dark of day
searching for a memory
searching for a memory
(prev. pub. in Brevities, December 2017;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/8/25)
____________________
The First Acorn: Our Seed of the Week, harbinger of the season to come. Many thanks to Joyce and Robin Gale Odam for these fine poems and pix today. “Shade” is a nod to those among us whose loved ones’ memories are slowly slipping into the shade.
Our new Seed of the Week is “Moving Day”. 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
“. . . at some edge of some dreamed sea . . .”
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
—Public Domain Photo Courtesy of Medusa
A reminder that the
Community of Writers workshop
on Langston Hughes begins
ttoday online, 4pm.
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!
Community of Writers workshop
on Langston Hughes begins
ttoday online, 4pm.
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!
