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And The Trees Dance On
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Joyce Odam
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos by Joyce Odam
MAD-MOON DANCE
—Joyce Odam
First I dance with you.
And then I dance alone.
Then I dance with the man
and then
another man.
Then I dance with the woman.
And then I dance
with the other two women together
as we whirl the child.
Then I dance alone again;
I dance
with the dying moon;
I dance
with the whirling ground
and with the spinning trees.
Then I dance with
the men, and the men, and the men
who dance me again until I fall.
And the moon falls with me.
And the trees
dance on with the shadows.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 1/24/11)
—Joyce Odam
First I dance with you.
And then I dance alone.
Then I dance with the man
and then
another man.
Then I dance with the woman.
And then I dance
with the other two women together
as we whirl the child.
Then I dance alone again;
I dance
with the dying moon;
I dance
with the whirling ground
and with the spinning trees.
Then I dance with
the men, and the men, and the men
who dance me again until I fall.
And the moon falls with me.
And the trees
dance on with the shadows.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 1/24/11)
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ISLAND
—Joyce Odam
On my island are places I won’t go :
the hole in the middle, the edge that fits the bay.
Another long night wears away.
Another full moon wanes.
The world seems made of broken window panes.
Life cannot swim . . . death cannot float;
how can I leave . . . there is no boat.
It’s the only land I know.
—Joyce Odam
On my island are places I won’t go :
the hole in the middle, the edge that fits the bay.
Another long night wears away.
Another full moon wanes.
The world seems made of broken window panes.
Life cannot swim . . . death cannot float;
how can I leave . . . there is no boat.
It’s the only land I know.
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The Day Is Ending
FULL MOON IN DARK WATER
—Joyce Odam
this full moon—low enough
to pluck from the reeds
of this small stream
that settles
into
evening—
the heavy day
dragging itself down—
down—through the rising reflection
__________________
THE FULL MOON HANGS SO LOW
THE DARKNESS OPENS
—Joyce Odam
trees of white bend and make their motion
in the surrealistic whiteness
of their dance
old women move in memory—
their tethered forms soul-caught against
the shadowy landscape quiverings—
and they dance together—the women and
the trees—interchanging in the light
which startles them
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/28/11)
trees of white bend and make their motion
in the surrealistic whiteness
of their dance
old women move in memory—
their tethered forms soul-caught against
the shadowy landscape quiverings—
and they dance together—the women and
the trees—interchanging in the light
which startles them
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/28/11)
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INSOMNIA IX
—Robin Gale Odam
It was all about sleep—the light supper,
the comfort of chamomile. But here I lie,
contemplating tea leaves—how they swirl
and settle in divination. The leaves of the
day fall behind me in revelation—and the
leaves of night stir within me as confession.
(prev. pub. in Brevities, August 2016)
__________________
OF THE MOON
—Joyce Odam
The gold water drowns into the night,
the light of the moon…
Save me, says the full moon,
orange and low.
I hold out my hands
to catch the moon…
The moon drifts into the water.
I am too far.
I follow the moon-path of the water.
My eyes do the catching.
My eyes
are full of the moon.
I close my eyes
and lose the moon.
I sleep and the moon escapes
into the sky on the water.
The light illuminates my wonder.
I am in my dream now—
the drifting dream,
the falling moon—
the moon-filled pond that is now
a shallow drowning river.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/5/16)
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Night's Heavy Clouds
pale starlight, the nightingale
now the aging mirror
the old moon . . . the ragged clouds
glass is liquid, rust is fire
songbird and the tattered prayer
—Robin Gale Odam
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Dark Moon Night
OLD MOON
—Joyce Odam
The moon comes up each night and floats
across the sky,
I am that sleepless one who stares
and marvels why.
Full moons leave me wandering
the mind’s abyss
where I explore my restless thoughts—
that endless list.
Alas, for all those dark-moon nights
when life enshrouds—
those nights that let no moonlight through
night’s heavy clouds
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
PARANOIA
—Robin Gale Odam
She faced the mannequin—
stop mocking me, she whispered.
(prev. pub. in Brevities, June 2014)
___________________
I’ve been mooning after some fine poetry from Joyce and Robin Odam, and here it is, celebrating our Seed of the Week, Full Moon! A time of Thanksgiving this is, for these poets and for all those adepts who keep the Kitchen cooking, week after week.
Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week. Our new SOW is “Bountiful”. 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
I am that sleepless one who stares
and marvels why.
Full moons leave me wandering
the mind’s abyss
where I explore my restless thoughts—
that endless list.
Alas, for all those dark-moon nights
when life enshrouds—
those nights that let no moonlight through
night’s heavy clouds
___________________
Today’s LittleNip:
PARANOIA
—Robin Gale Odam
She faced the mannequin—
stop mocking me, she whispered.
(prev. pub. in Brevities, June 2014)
___________________
I’ve been mooning after some fine poetry from Joyce and Robin Odam, and here it is, celebrating our Seed of the Week, Full Moon! A time of Thanksgiving this is, for these poets and for all those adepts who keep the Kitchen cooking, week after week.
Be sure to check each Tuesday for the latest Seed of the Week. Our new SOW is “Bountiful”. 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
—Photo Courtesy of Public Domain
For upcoming 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.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
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
(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.
Find previous four-or-so posts by scrolling down
under today; or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column; or find previous poets
by typing the name of the poet or poem
into the little beige box at the top
left-hand side of today’s post; or go to
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom of
the blue column at the right
to find the date you want.
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!
(A cookie from the Kitchen for today):
an arbor of stars
lights up the meadow,
gives away all
its secrets…