Let Us Love Dragons Forever

 

—Poetry and Photos by Joyce Odam, 

Sacramento, CA

THE RED DRAGON

Why were the children in this dream?
           
There is a wilderness to the domestic silence.
The last thing we drew was a dragon with no eyes.     

Poor dragon. It flew into a mirror and died.
Your ship finally came in. You were still poor.
               
Little boys like to color boats dark blue
in generic coloring books.
       
Our fingers were heavy with red crayon. Yours
were the same as mine—little red finger points.
           
Next time, let’s trade, I said.
But your crayon-blue eyes were refusing.
           
Little girls are very particular about which colors
they want to use.
           
The dragon stared toward us in the mirror.

Let us love dragons forever, you said.
We drew pity for a flag.
           
We painted it bright red. Ships sink every day.
           
Little toy sailboats
wobble safely in gentle ponds and streams.
           
Some days the dragon dreams back to our ruined page.
We draw it again, this time with eyes.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/22/15)

 

 

 

Yours Truly

 

TINCTURE

The wings of light
linger on the dark branch silhouette
to be seen in contrast.

                             ◇

For lack of pigment, the white wings rest
on the edge of the
blue weed-flower—the color of the sky.

                             ◇
 
At mid-day, the sheer wings
seek the road-way poppies to reflect against,
as if they yearn to be golden.

                             ◇

The frayed wings learn to become gray
when twilight softens
their wounds with camouflage.

                             ◇

At night, the black wings
will touch at anything for substance—feeling
for their opposite dimension.

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/8/14)  

 

 

 

Unresolved

 

 

DOUBLE EXPOSURE

Two horizons emerge from the blurriness,
become an apparition of fear and wonder

if not the old blindness of the unresolved—
truth or question—when all is not stable,

uncertain of the wonderment,
how else explain the duplicated vision

that appears to the truthful imagination
of the mind—the self-deceiving

mind—that relies on the rationale of
complex desire : two skies that waver

apart like double exposure—having
to choose the real or unreal to exist in.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/6/21)

 

 

 

How Long The Night

 

DREAD

Here comes the beast.
One foot down in the dust.
One hand upon the door.
Sniffing. Hungry.
Slow enough for dread.
A figment realized.
Conjured or born
It is said . . .

_______________________

DREAM STATE

Often I
flow upward into
a dream. Panels of walls
and knobs of windows try to
hinder me. I float through, glance
past intercepting shapes. I am their
goodbye and am not noticed by the
sleepers who do not dream like this.

_______________________

HEDGEHOG POEM
Brazenly based on Hedgehog in the Fog
—Short Film by Yuri Norstein, 1975

When I was out walking in the fog one day, I met a
materializing old horse with sad brown eyes. He
was an old dim photograph of a horse. We surprised
each other, each having no destination—he cau-

tioned me about the semi-darknesses in life, I con-

curred to his wisdom. He was such a beautiful old 

brown and gray horse. ‘Kinda like us’ I said, and 

laughed. He snorted and stomped and stirred the 

air into silver particles that whirled awhile then 

settled, we were talking about the word ‘Beautiful’ 

and agreed that it was a beautiful word and should 

be allowed—with that solved, we talked some more 

about the fog, how thick and long-lasting it was.  

‘Like sadness’ he said and I shivered and felt the 

sadness of the fog and the beautiful leaves started 

falling—falling silverly around us—like tears—

beautiful, old, silver tears from an invisible tree. We 

empathized a bit longer, having taken each other at 

face-value and appreciating this brief intimacy of 

strangers. An evening breeze came up—scattering 

the leaves and the old horse stomped his hooves, 

and I stomped my boots, and the fog did a fog-

dance around us and thickened even more. And I 

felt a sad loss—such a sad loss. 

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 12/20/18)

___________________

I MUST UNDERSTAND THE WORD

Though I know the word
and I cannot reach the word
and I must undertake the word
to know beyond
the normal knowing
and my dismay
that I go fancy
when I try to stutter my way
through talk to say whatever
is the pure say instead of some un-
comprehensible reach through language,
that tool of words to define my
question or the simplest thing I try
to say when all my meaning goes awry.  

 

 

 

 Tincture of Irony

 

THE KEY HOLE
After Dragon Amulet by Antonzis Kalaktzis

I had an amulet I used to wear, a fetish
to my half-believing spells against
the harms and dangers to be feared.

It had a leather thong that knotted
at the neck where hung

a tiny key-hole made of brass
that fit an actual key,
although I had no key for that.

The key was clue and risk,
a double play against permission

and reluctance to let in.
For years I wore it—lightly joked—
how it protected me from

something that I could not know
but might be true.

I let myself believe
what I could use to let imagination
have its errant way of wit.

My talisman finally disappeared
and I was left to my own rule.

There’s no comparison for this—
but I wonder what was really lost.
It’s not like it was

a gold or silver cross
on a furtive chain.

Perhaps it found and followed some old
key that fit—that it was lonely for.
I guess one does outgrow

such habit-need—and besides,  
I think I do as well with worry stones.

                                           
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/16/15)

 

 

 

 Listening

DEATH’S LAST WORD

And now I face an ending not my own :
Today I saw a brown field full of crows
And yesterday the sky was full of gulls
I feel a contradictive undertone.

How can I be the one slow death abhors ;
The crows were stark as sadness, huddled there
The gulls just bright opinions of the air
As life is full of never-ending doors.

I turn away from all but death’s own room
You turn to say the crows are just a curse—
The gulls for all their whiteness are much worse
—that all will end that ever was begun.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 11/29/11)

 

 

 

 Secretive

Today’s LittleNip:

NOW THAT THE CAT
—Joyce Odam

Now that the cat
has come to
live with us
in our tame house,

from my red rug
I vacuum
all such things
as

moths
wren feathers
and dragonfly
wings

and the red
felt nose
from the catnip
mouse.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/22/15)    

_____________________

No fog around here yet, but the image of a hedgehog in the fog is appealing. For more about this short, animated Russian film, see en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hedgehog_in_the_Fog/. To watch the 9-minute film itself, go to www.bing.com/videos/search?q=hedgehog+in+the+fog+by+yuri+norstein&qpvt=hedgehog+in+the+fog+by+yuri+norstein&view=detail&mid=D8F69D7A2D2E7122EC75D8F69D7A2D2E7122EC75&&FORM=VRDGAR/.

Hedgehogs aside, Joyce Odam has faced the dragon this week in our Seed of the Week (Here Be Dragons) with her usual aplomb and poetic skill, and we thank her for that and for her fine photos.
    
Our new Seed of the Week is “Confusion”. 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

 

 

 

 Hedgehog in the Fog

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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.

 

LittleSnake Unleashes

His Inner Dragon