.JPG)
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Original Artwork by Joyce Odam
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Original Artwork by Joyce Odam
BE LONGING : BELONGING.
—Joyce Odam
The sky, so wonderful—so close—so far with its
panoramic clouds, its endless-ness, how it sets me
to gazing : Does sky touch earth. If not, where does
sky begin its invisible texture—and the night sky,
with its nomadic moon, wandering the huge sky
until it is almost gone—feeling my eyes follow. Of
course, I know this is not thus, but the mysterious
continuations of sky that compel me so. And I roll
this earth around under my feet with great
—Joyce Odam
The sky, so wonderful—so close—so far with its
panoramic clouds, its endless-ness, how it sets me
to gazing : Does sky touch earth. If not, where does
sky begin its invisible texture—and the night sky,
with its nomadic moon, wandering the huge sky
until it is almost gone—feeling my eyes follow. Of
course, I know this is not thus, but the mysterious
continuations of sky that compel me so. And I roll
this earth around under my feet with great
imaginary skill, feeling it go round, and marveling
why I don’t fall off . . .
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/11/17)
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/11/17)
.JPG)
Little Butterfly
field of olden blooms
perfume sighing over graves
promises to keep
—Robin Gale Odam
(prev. pub. in Brevities, May 2017)
________________________
FISSURE
—Joyce Odam
…if once
I stand in rain
and feel myself
wear away
feel the dark heaviness
of me slip
down feel me
stand like a
mortal flower
in liquid earth
feel me glisten
and brighten
with all the new tone
of myself make a
sound of river
with myself
as the sea
and all that is
swift and urgent
hurrying mysteriously
into me
(prev. pub. in The University Review, June 1968)
.JPG)
Raindrops
IN BLUE REFLECTION
—Joyce Odam
After "Water", Photo enhancement
by D. R. Wagner, in Medusa’s Kitchen
Now water separates against the land.
Now earth has broken away.
Now there is only sky and water,
there is only dream, with its
ancient illusion.
The sky is caught in blue reflection
of nothing there—
where is the gasp of warning—the
change that will change again—
surge back against
the awesome beauty of destruction.
Is this but a held breath—
time’s elasticity
that let's go a cosmic sigh
that settles back into a reflection.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/7/21)
____________________
WEEDING
—Joyce Odam
pulling the roots
out
pulling them right out
straight out and up
through the heart and flesh
of the earth
laying them exposed to the air
which will shrivel them
pulling them right out
of the reluctant earth
which holds them so firmly
which tugs at your fingers
for grip
you and the earth
struggling for
the weeds
(prev. pub. in Poet News, August 1992;
Brevities Mini-Chap, 2002; and
Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/3/20)
—Joyce Odam
After "Water", Photo enhancement
by D. R. Wagner, in Medusa’s Kitchen
Now water separates against the land.
Now earth has broken away.
Now there is only sky and water,
there is only dream, with its
ancient illusion.
The sky is caught in blue reflection
of nothing there—
where is the gasp of warning—the
change that will change again—
surge back against
the awesome beauty of destruction.
Is this but a held breath—
time’s elasticity
that let's go a cosmic sigh
that settles back into a reflection.
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 9/7/21)
____________________
WEEDING
—Joyce Odam
pulling the roots
out
pulling them right out
straight out and up
through the heart and flesh
of the earth
laying them exposed to the air
which will shrivel them
pulling them right out
of the reluctant earth
which holds them so firmly
which tugs at your fingers
for grip
you and the earth
struggling for
the weeds
(prev. pub. in Poet News, August 1992;
Brevities Mini-Chap, 2002; and
Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/3/20)
.JPG)
Gathering
OUT THERE IN THE FOG
—Joyce Odam
Out there in the fog
the farmer is working with his hoe.
I can almost not see him.
The two white geese are
hunched in the wet grass by the pan of water.
Silence is sifting upon everything,
cold and gray.
The farmer is wearing a white wool sweater
and moving in and out of motion
in swirls of energy.
He seems far away.
The sun is icy white above him,
the fog between.
The window I look out of is dark with morning.
I am the farmer’s wife,
his recent lover.
I watch him work
with an awesome pride.
He is stronger than winter.
He is turning and turning the earth that he loves
with a methodical determination.
The dog with the cowbell around her neck
is allowed off the chain
and she lets me know where he is
whenever he drifts out of vision.
(prev. pub. in Interim, 1997; and
Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/20/18)
—Joyce Odam
Out there in the fog
the farmer is working with his hoe.
I can almost not see him.
The two white geese are
hunched in the wet grass by the pan of water.
Silence is sifting upon everything,
cold and gray.
The farmer is wearing a white wool sweater
and moving in and out of motion
in swirls of energy.
He seems far away.
The sun is icy white above him,
the fog between.
The window I look out of is dark with morning.
I am the farmer’s wife,
his recent lover.
I watch him work
with an awesome pride.
He is stronger than winter.
He is turning and turning the earth that he loves
with a methodical determination.
The dog with the cowbell around her neck
is allowed off the chain
and she lets me know where he is
whenever he drifts out of vision.
(prev. pub. in Interim, 1997; and
Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/20/18)
.JPG)
Visionary
SPRING FERVOR
—Joyce Odam
This worried sky, this field of yellow grass,
this birdless hour,
and that lonely man, lonely or not,
taking a simple walk through fields of swollen light—
oh, here the season changes—maybe not this day
or moment, but soon—
soon as the rustling starts and builds
and the sky overwhelms the shadow-heavy earth
and the man heads home, and may not make it,
this blending man, caught
in the roil of swarming shadows that move in and
out,
this man, at one with everything, storm caught.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2019
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/23/21; 09/26/23)
—Joyce Odam
This worried sky, this field of yellow grass,
this birdless hour,
and that lonely man, lonely or not,
taking a simple walk through fields of swollen light—
oh, here the season changes—maybe not this day
or moment, but soon—
soon as the rustling starts and builds
and the sky overwhelms the shadow-heavy earth
and the man heads home, and may not make it,
this blending man, caught
in the roil of swarming shadows that move in and
out,
this man, at one with everything, storm caught.
(prev. pub. in Song of the San Joaquin, Spring 2019
and Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/23/21; 09/26/23)
____________________
AT THE SHORELINE
—Robin Gale Odam
He wears dark as a tribute in the
sorrow of the mountainside, at the
shoreline where salty waves gather
memories, lay rings of salt at his feet,
offer pearly shells for his grief—for his
deep and grave pockets to keep.
(prev. pub. in Brevities, July 2017)
.jpg)
Tapestry
WE ARE
—Joyce Odam
all particle—of the earth—of the air—
of every whispering voice and every
tear fallen from grief, or joy, and every
tear for the silk fabric of fog, mist over
water, sound of crying, the harsh notes
of rage, the emptied stare,
looking at everything—brooding,
crying—the very act of this—the
very rhyming in every windowed
reflection made of glass, the sensation
of touch, the rush of pleasure, the feel
of darkness to the grope, the sunrise,
the sunset, the blur of hope in the frazzled
—Joyce Odam
all particle—of the earth—of the air—
of every whispering voice and every
tear fallen from grief, or joy, and every
tear for the silk fabric of fog, mist over
water, sound of crying, the harsh notes
of rage, the emptied stare,
looking at everything—brooding,
crying—the very act of this—the
very rhyming in every windowed
reflection made of glass, the sensation
of touch, the rush of pleasure, the feel
of darkness to the grope, the sunrise,
the sunset, the blur of hope in the frazzled
mind, the very hope of existence in the doubt,
the distance and the near—the everything,
and everywhere—in this moment, here.
(prev. pub. in CFCP)
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
at the seventh hour
when the artist takes his rest
then creation stirs
from the ether and the dust
into ether into dust
—Robin Gale Odam
(prev. pub. in Brevities, March 2020)
______________________
Our Seed of the Week was Mother Earth, in honor of yesterday's Earth Day 2024, and Joyce and Robin Odam are celebrating the earth with their fine poetry and photos today. We send them thanks and good wishes!
Our new Seed of the Week is for Arbor Day (last Friday): “Trees”. Tell us about the trees in your life. Trees I Have Known. Trees I Have Loved/Hated. I remember a huge, HUGE fig tree that I played under in my aunt’s yard. Then there are trees that I have lost because someone thought they should be cut down, like my uncle’s peach orchard in Modesto—the whole orchard was removed to build more suburbia (the fig tree went, too). But part of the income from that sale sent me to college.
Anyway, 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 from which to choose. 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, wishing a Happy Passover to our friends of the Jewish faith~
the distance and the near—the everything,
and everywhere—in this moment, here.
(prev. pub. in CFCP)
____________________
Today’s LittleNip:
at the seventh hour
when the artist takes his rest
then creation stirs
from the ether and the dust
into ether into dust
—Robin Gale Odam
(prev. pub. in Brevities, March 2020)
______________________
Our Seed of the Week was Mother Earth, in honor of yesterday's Earth Day 2024, and Joyce and Robin Odam are celebrating the earth with their fine poetry and photos today. We send them thanks and good wishes!
Our new Seed of the Week is for Arbor Day (last Friday): “Trees”. Tell us about the trees in your life. Trees I Have Known. Trees I Have Loved/Hated. I remember a huge, HUGE fig tree that I played under in my aunt’s yard. Then there are trees that I have lost because someone thought they should be cut down, like my uncle’s peach orchard in Modesto—the whole orchard was removed to build more suburbia (the fig tree went, too). But part of the income from that sale sent me to college.
Anyway, 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 from which to choose. 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, wishing a Happy Passover to our friends of the Jewish faith~
—Public Domain Photo
A reminder that
there will be an Open Mic at the
Sacramento Native American
Health Center today, 6pm; and
Twin Lotus Thai Fourth Tuesdays
features
Bethanie Humphreys, Heather Judy &
there will be an Open Mic at the
Sacramento Native American
Health Center today, 6pm; and
Twin Lotus Thai Fourth Tuesdays
features
Bethanie Humphreys, Heather Judy &
Autumn Newman plus open mic
in Sacramento tonight, also 6pm.
For info about these and other
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
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?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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!
For info about these and other
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
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?
Guidelines are at the top of this page
at the Placating the Gorgon link;
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!
