Be Still~

 

Be Still And Wait
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Joyce Odam

 

 

THE BLUE MIST
—Joyce Odam
After Paradise in Blue by Saud Al Attar

The mirage holds what I desire, not need.
I follow the promise in the shimmer.
    
Blue animals wait quietly
in the shade of small shade trees.

Story-tellers tend the blue animals
and wait for the words of my story.

I am at peace with my travel, though the detail
blurs and the stillness bewilders me.

All has not moved, though I have hurried
and not wavered from my course.

I want to arrive before the shimmering
turns into an unreality.

What stretches between
is not time or distance, but only what it is—

the blue moment lengthening into eternity
—that old, tired word.

The story-tellers wait.
I am the one who arrives. There is no meaning.

                                             
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/8/24) 

 

 

 

 Nightfall

SIMPLY STILL
—Robin Gale Odam

in my yearning i still wait,
who would be here . . . who,
the ghost, the shadow,

the wind . . . now silence
and today the sky feels bare

the shade is deep
at the far reach of who i am . . .
so in my waiting, i wait 

 

 

 

 And These Night Birds

WORD OFFERINGS
—Joyce Odam

How will you find me
if I am a silence, leaning
into an explanation—
a bowl of oranges
glowing on a table—time
turning on the clock,
how will you recognize
me out of the mirror,
my old face made of shadows,
my eyes burning, what will
you say if I turn toward you
and wait for you to speak
after offering you these words . . .
                             

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/31/17, 10/5/21;
4/26/22)

 

 

 

 Vertical

THE WAITING DAY
—Joyce Odam
After Summertime, 1943 by Edward Hopper

What is left for the young woman
of yesterday to do

but go on waiting, poised and ready
to step down from the stair.

But she is held by something :
the sun on her face—

her hand on the white pillar,
perhaps to balance her indecisiveness.

The door-shadow behind her
seems to draw her back,

an open window-curtain
sucks in.

Her white dress
flattens against her.

Wall-shadow stays perfectly still
as soft green sunlight swiftly changes

to the harsh light of the lengthening hours
while she still stands there, as if frozen.

 

 

 

        Owl Against Shadow

                

THE FULLNESS OF LOVE
—Robin Gale Odam

the owl has been silent for
days now, what would he say

the grieving has found me hiding here,
breathing softly—now i will address the

shadow that has covered me—i will
close my eyes over brackish tears,

i will shudder for the emptiness,
and for the fullness of love 

 

 

 

                              What Is He Waiting For?                             

SOMETHING ABOUT DROUGHT
(Deism)
 —Joyce Odam

In the garden, O fated one, I sit with my cup
     extended and empty, waiting for the wine
     of rain to fill it to the brim and overflow.

I wait until nightfall. I wait until dawn. I wait
     through all the promises with my waiting.
     And my hand does not tire, O fated one.

My face is serene, O divine one, waiting for
     the expression of your approval—the
     dark mirror of your face into which I stare.

The twilight shadows creep across the ground,
     and up the hem of my robe,
     and even myself, to conceal the waiting.
   
O, I wait forever, with patience, which is all
     I have, and in which you are timeless.
     Even so, the dawn brings more waiting.

My loyal cup waits for the rain, O fated one,
     empty and thirsty and sure of patience,
     though my hand now trembles as does
     my mind in the concept of waiting.  

What do I see in the shadows that touch so
     lovingly around me, what trembles there
     with confusion and brings no news of rain?

                                                  
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/10/25)

 

 

 

Wait For Me!

Today’s LittleNip:

DARK MORNING
—Joyce Odam

The 6:30 bird
twirping nearby . . .

a late owl
with its mournful voice . . .

all so tentative—
all so brief and lonely . . .

                 
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/5/11)

____________________

The owl from our Seed of the Week waits this week, in the forest and in the city, waiting for—what do you suppose? . . . The Odam Poets, Joyce and Robin Gale, are talking about that owl and her waiting, and we thank them for their wonderful poetry and Joyce’s photos.

Our new Seed of the Week is “An Embarrassment of Riches”. 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

 

 

 

 Am I Too Late?
—Photo by Joyce Odam








 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that

Modesto-Stanislaus Poetry Center

presents Five For Ten tonight, 7pm.

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
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To find previous posts, type the name
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Would you like to be a SnakePal?
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Well, it's not an owl, but . . .