Of the Art
—Photos by Robin Gale Odam
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
SONG PIECE
—Joyce Odam
Let me write
the true beginning
of an old forgotten song
filled with old romantic
teariness to set the drama
of the singing out loud—
me and my long-ago style
of sadness
for the song—
the beautiful, the
beautiful song of style
of songs, for the song—
the beautiful song
I would remember always—
would always remember.
—Joyce Odam
Let me write
the true beginning
of an old forgotten song
filled with old romantic
teariness to set the drama
of the singing out loud—
me and my long-ago style
of sadness
for the song—
the beautiful, the
beautiful song of style
of songs, for the song—
the beautiful song
I would remember always—
would always remember.
Violin
THE KNOWING OF THE ART
—Joyce Odam
In my first knowing
of the art I was a novice
with all my thoughts and
heroics of mind—
I didn't know or claim the
arts of my inner soul because
of all the nervous swiftness
of all the time in time—
I sang, I danced, I colored
coloring books and watched
sad movies and dramas so
my heart would suffer
for the drama of my future
imagination, all through my life.
—Joyce Odam
In my first knowing
of the art I was a novice
with all my thoughts and
heroics of mind—
I didn't know or claim the
arts of my inner soul because
of all the nervous swiftness
of all the time in time—
I sang, I danced, I colored
coloring books and watched
sad movies and dramas so
my heart would suffer
for the drama of my future
imagination, all through my life.
Written
EXISTENTIAL
—Robin Gale Odam
Ok we will go to the gallery.
Something from the heart of an artist
will linger in his works, stare out at me
from the wall, choke at my heart
and steal my eyes away from you.
Then you will want me back.
—Robin Gale Odam
Ok we will go to the gallery.
Something from the heart of an artist
will linger in his works, stare out at me
from the wall, choke at my heart
and steal my eyes away from you.
Then you will want me back.
Slow Moon
NOTICING A TOUCH OF NATURE
—Joyce Odam
Stones in the sunshine, stones
in the rain, or just walking along
and a certain stone will catch your
eye, so you pick up the stone to admire—
it's the way it settles in your hand, so
gentle—so that's how you learn to have
a worry stone you keep as a touch of good
fortune, taken in good esprit de corps—
always with a source of memorabilia of the
heart—as love would have it.
—Joyce Odam
Stones in the sunshine, stones
in the rain, or just walking along
and a certain stone will catch your
eye, so you pick up the stone to admire—
it's the way it settles in your hand, so
gentle—so that's how you learn to have
a worry stone you keep as a touch of good
fortune, taken in good esprit de corps—
always with a source of memorabilia of the
heart—as love would have it.
Just the Days
SELF HELP
—Robin Gale Odam
If I could only balance
on a tightrope, or write this
on parchment and burn it to ash,
maybe then.
—Robin Gale Odam
If I could only balance
on a tightrope, or write this
on parchment and burn it to ash,
maybe then.
Sleepwalk
IT WOULD CHANGE ME THEN
—Robin Gale Odam
The book of pages, mostly blank—
the salt, the ghost, the ashes
The picture in the frame, guarded by
promises—the talisman of religion, the
open sky inside the sphere, the tiny
music box in minors
Now the full pink moon, sprigs of
weed stalks, the long twittering song
of the finch—the new evening
___________________
just two diamonds now
now the rain will drown the day
just a thing to say
just the flicker of a ghost
now i try to write you here
now the rain will drown the day
just a thing to say
just the flicker of a ghost
now i try to write you here
—Robin Gale Odam
Your Life Behind You
OF WIND AND TIME
—Robin Gale Odam
And so you would guard the
secret that is posing as your life . . .
in the center of the stage
at the bias of performance,
the casting of the smokescreen—
the method of intent—bravado and
chaos, secrecy of untruth and the fetter
of fear, and the ambrosia—the wine cellar
of the lighthearted, of the connoisseur,
the zealot, the addict, the junkie—the child
in the costume of the savage, of the warrior,
counterfeit for strength and virtue, words
in the place of the shield, words in the
guise of love, so the song is written,
or maybe just a riff—
for love is something done,
burden of the heartbeat and the breath—
progeny in the meadows unfettered
at the play of wind and time.
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
NOTHING MORE
—Robin Gale Odam
Three generations of ghosts
dancing in the dust of the olde
wood floor
The window light, a waft of
breeze—and nothing more
___________________
Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam are talking to us about that which may or may not be etched in stone, our Seed of the Week. And, of course, stones—“Stones in the sunshine, stones in the rain…” Our thanks to them for valiantly carrying through this startling California weather with their outstanding poetry and photos.
Our new Seed of the Week is “Burning Your Candles at Both Ends”. 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.
The new reading series, Twin Lotus Thai/Fourth Tuesday Poetry presents The Seven Poets of PCG tonight, 6pm, plus open mic. Click UPCOMING NORCAL EVENTS at the top of this column for details about this and other future poetry events in the NorCal area—and keep an eye on this link and on the Kitchen for happenings that might pop up during the week.
__________________
—Medusa
—Public Domain Illustration
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.
clicking on them once, then clicking on the x
in the top right corner to come back to Medusa.
