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Runes
—Poetry, Photos and Original Artwork
by Joyce Odam, Sacramento, CA
AS SHE CUTS MY HAIR
I stare
for a long time
at the three buds of roses
then realize they are made
of sea shells I thought
they were satin she
brought them from Guam she said
“from home” where they are
common…
but “here"
such
roses
are as unique as her own exotic
look her hair dyed two colors
facial bones of a dancer
gold bracelets and chains
around her neck and wrists,
and rings on every finger
as
she
dips
and sways
and moves as
if to music
around my chair
as she cuts my hair.
I stare
for a long time
at the three buds of roses
then realize they are made
of sea shells I thought
they were satin she
brought them from Guam she said
“from home” where they are
common…
but “here"
such
roses
are as unique as her own exotic
look her hair dyed two colors
facial bones of a dancer
gold bracelets and chains
around her neck and wrists,
and rings on every finger
as
she
dips
and sways
and moves as
if to music
around my chair
as she cuts my hair.
.jpg)
Isolation of Self
SELF CONTAINMENT
I am the hope of myself.
I am a bowl into which
I pour a sea.
I am a land
surrounding myself.
I am the face which
looks into both reflections
and sees the one.
I am the one.
I am the other.
I stretch out my body
to feel movement.
I am the movement I feel.
In the bowl of my hands
fish swim
and rise to my surfaces
to look at the sky.
I am the sky of myself.
I pull the self-birds
through the wet air
of illusion…
of reality …
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 1/18/11)
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Siren Dance
SEA HAG
She dances her bony siren-dance on the
shrouding shore as you in your shanty
stir your clam-bisque on your small
wood stove, she offers a gull-feather
in return for just one bowl, she offers
to dance all night for you—as memory
as mist—she laughs her awful laugh.
Snuff the candle. Lock the gate. Evoke
some half-forgotten rune that will send
her away—don’t risk your soul for hers,
she lives in the sea and cannot be
appeased. Resist! She cannot be saved.
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Caught in a Dream
THE SKY INVISIBLE
seagulls drift in the white sky
and are not amazed that it is night
and my dream of them
they cry their white cries
and search for themselves
in the translucent dark
all night they make the sky invisible
and my sleep that harbors them
I am held in dreams’ white soaring
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/26/12)
seagulls drift in the white sky
and are not amazed that it is night
and my dream of them
they cry their white cries
and search for themselves
in the translucent dark
all night they make the sky invisible
and my sleep that harbors them
I am held in dreams’ white soaring
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/26/12)
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Invisible Sky
THE SHORELINE AT DUSK
This haunted shore, at dusk,
everything turning blue,
that old spectre here again
in thinning light that shines
through his body—
but I no longer go through ghosts
that appear, and disappear—
the sea behind them,
churning the years away,
sad as time that holds back
some old distance, some recall—
I would walk alone here,
my shore—my hour—
to be alone on this old beach—
all the promises turning to sand,
seaweed catching at my feet.
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Who Cannot Swim
THE SEVERANCE LINE
oh the boat with its endless people
goes forth to drown
goes forth to tip over and spill them
gasping and thrashing down
all the children and fathers and
mothers and friends who cannot swim
look how they dazzle the water
with their startled eyes
and there the boat lies
upside down looking for them
and the water stares quietly back
growing sleepy in the sun
(prev. pub. in The Wormwood Review, 1973)
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At The Peripheral
SEVEN GULLS ON SEVEN STRINGS
Seven gulls on seven strings
hang in white stillness
in the hall doorway, no breeze
disturbs them, much lest
lets them clink, nor lets them cry,
nothing shall break them—
nothing shall take them from me.
They shall never fly.
(prev. pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine, 1997)
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
NIGHTS BY THE SUMMER OCEAN
(Balboa, 1941)
—Joyce Odam
Shallow waders,
wet roar of invisible dark waves,
brushing ourselves with shining hands—
our phosorprescence.
____________________
Our thanks to Joyce Odam this morning for her lovely talk of the sea, triggered by our Seed of the Week: Seashells. She has sent us some forms, too: “Seven Gulls on Seven Strings” is an Imago (eight lines in alternating syllables, 7 5 7 5 7 5 7 5). And “Sea Hag” is based on a Word-Challenge—another word for the Word-Can Poem, except the words to use come from a person and not a can. This poem was based on “bisque, feather, candle, gate, evoke, bony”. Joyce also sent us two other form poems: a Bradford Sonnet, and a mighty Sestina. Those will be posted this coming Friday with the Form Fiddlers. Tune in then for more form festivities!
Our new Seed of the Week is “Secrets”. 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
Seven gulls on seven strings
hang in white stillness
in the hall doorway, no breeze
disturbs them, much lest
lets them clink, nor lets them cry,
nothing shall break them—
nothing shall take them from me.
They shall never fly.
(prev. pub. in Poets’ Forum Magazine, 1997)
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
NIGHTS BY THE SUMMER OCEAN
(Balboa, 1941)
—Joyce Odam
Shallow waders,
wet roar of invisible dark waves,
brushing ourselves with shining hands—
our phosorprescence.
____________________
Our thanks to Joyce Odam this morning for her lovely talk of the sea, triggered by our Seed of the Week: Seashells. She has sent us some forms, too: “Seven Gulls on Seven Strings” is an Imago (eight lines in alternating syllables, 7 5 7 5 7 5 7 5). And “Sea Hag” is based on a Word-Challenge—another word for the Word-Can Poem, except the words to use come from a person and not a can. This poem was based on “bisque, feather, candle, gate, evoke, bony”. Joyce also sent us two other form poems: a Bradford Sonnet, and a mighty Sestina. Those will be posted this coming Friday with the Form Fiddlers. Tune in then for more form festivities!
Our new Seed of the Week is “Secrets”. 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
Surfistas
—Photo Courtesy of
Public Domain
Public Domain
For upcoming poetry happenings in
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
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!
Northern California and otherwheres,
click on
UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS
in the links at the top of this page.
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.
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!
