Spider Circles

Exit Winter

* * *

—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Original Artwork by Joyce Odam

 

 

RECLUSE AND KNOCKER AT THE DOOR 

—Joyce Odam

I must not leave the house today. The sky is wild.
The tardy birds are worried. Grass is clawing in a
yellow clutch of wind, (…what is that sound…?)

It’s only Tom. He skitters beneath the bodiless
dresses that hang like other selves so limply in
my closet. (Here, Tom. Here, Kitty Kitty…)

The nervous windows of the house rattle to one
another. The dusty curtains quiver in that conver-
sation. My ghosts make movement. Tethered
darkness holds them, but I will not have the light
lest they be seen by anyone but me.

There is a touch of cobweb on my skin. The
spiders put it on me while I sat day-dreaming,
waiting for the clock to finish out the hour. I hold
a broken handle and look for me in something half-
remembered. (Just the dream.)

The childrens’ voices tell me, coming thin and
crying from their flaw of time. I silence them. (No,
little curious hands. No. Don’t let the knocker in.
The faithful door insists we are not home.) We
cannot find ourselves. Once, when I was frightened,
I broke every mirror. The image still splinters when
I turn my head. And now I search for my whole face
in slivered glass.

(…Sh-h…Hush, Kitty Tom.) Hush, children in my
mind. The wolf is knocking at our door. He’s going
to huff, and puff, and blow our house down. I told
you this would happen.
                                                  

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/6/15) 

 

 

 

 Year By Year

HOUSE OF WEB AND DUST
—Joyce Odam

Cobweb Lady
lives in her large house
of web and dust.  Her windows are filmy.
Her cats groom themselves endlessly.
                 .
She sits in her gown of velvet,
reading diaries.
Everything is written there.
                 .
All day she recreates memories.
All night she suffers their transformations.
She has no energy for the spiders
or their works of art.
                 .
The spiders work around her,
patiently busy,
making the dark house corners elegant.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/16/10; 6/8/21;
2/1/22)

 

 

 

In Shade

MY ABHORRENT FASCINATION 

—Joyce Odam

Handsome spider
       swift as shadow
             dark as thought
                   makes its way
                          across the wall
                                seems to notice
                                      my attention
                                             hides behind
                                                   Picasso now.

(prev. pub. in BOGG, 1998)

 

 

 

 Until

FEAR OF SPIDERS
—Joyce Odam

I’m sure there are spiders enough
to go around.

They shine in the eyes of birds
and crawl in the dark of sleep.

They are poisonous, every one, with a
tiny bite so you will learn them slowly.

They own the night of things,
all its dark corners, all its deep.

You are only the center for them to find.
Be patient, they will come:

When you close your eyes; when you are
fastened down between webbed levels of sleep.

 

 

 

 Another Flower

THE GLISTENING
—Robin Gale Odam

After “Spiderweb” by Kay Ryan

we couldn’t know how frail she is,
she toils at daybreak, gathers dew,
a glistening

her web extends from thorn-to-thorn,
it glistens with the morning dew,
a suffering

the sweat of dew, the sip of blood,
the daily bread, the rigid thorn,
the toiling

we sweep it all away each day,
she toils at daybreak, gathers dew,
the glistening

                           
(prev. pub. in Brevities, November 2017)

 

 

 

 To Be Written

WOMAN CAUGHT IN A BLUE DREAM
—Joyce Odam

After a photo by Gjon Mili, 1944  

 

Caught in moonlight’s floating web,
in breeze of silver—shred by shred,

of dream sensation, yielding deep
into the curtain of her sleep,

enveloped by the closing room
wrapped and wrapped in sleep’s cocoon.
                                           

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/22/11; 10/10/17;
12/18/18; 1/9/24)

_________________

HE TAKES THE SPIDER
OUT TO THE YARD
—Joyce Odam

A huge black spider
in the bathtub—she will not
turn on the water—
but she wants a bath;

he gathers it onto
a piece of cardboard—
gentle as it takes—
and leaves the tub to her;

she pours the musk-lotion in—
turns the water on—full force,
and bends to froth it deeply
with her hand.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 3/16/21; 11/14/23)

 

 

 

 Another Time

ALONE AT THE LABYRINTH
—Joyce Odam

Again I misread the signs I must construe
to get through this haunted land.

How many ghosts have gone before?
I see their footprints everywhere,

that not even rain has washed away,
nor wind with its ragged broom.

I hear the howlings in the maze
and pray to some god of entanglement

for release from this confusion.
My maps are useless here . . .

the way-back is closed . . .
the way-in has four directions.

The high walls glint with mirrorings
that seem to quarrel with each decision.

                                       
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/10/17) 

 

 

 

 Spacial

CIRCLES
—Joyce Odam

The circles of rowing :
oar patterns every
three lengths
of the boat,
leaving little oar-dips
that make circles that widen
until they match the rest of the water.
            ~
The circles of rain :
little
droplets
that bounce into rain-circles—
over-lap and
blend
with the raindrops to come—
oh, making mirrors.
            ~
Circles of knowledge :
tree circles of growth—
you can see the circles
when the tree is cut down.
            ~
Spider circles :
circular and circular and circular
strands
of creation,
of simple intention—
an apparent lure for trespassing

 

 

 

 Thinking

LABYRINTH 

—Joyce Odam

Web
is mental,
not unlike
the will of
righteousness—

do not test it
as test is wont to do,
nor argue with it,
there is no frame of thought
it cannot override—

don’t tempt fate
as innocence
will tempt—
let it be,
unless you
are a labyrinthine spider, too.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 4/21/20)

 

 

 

As Day One

THAT ONE ROAD
—Robin Gale Odam

there might have been another breath
of time—the sigh of the greater day would
ripple the grasses near the edge of the
road, then veer inward through the
brackish prayers of souls

far ahead the muse would approach the
shore of the mirage, motion for us to depart,
disappear into the illusion of water beneath
the haze of night, at the bend where shadows
turn—that one road we all must go

 

 

 

 As It Was

THINGS THAT REMAIN
—Robin Gale Odam

the perfume of sage, the dust on your old
watch, the handful of marbles dug out of the
dirt and the gauzy web in the corner, near the
feather duster.

cold black coffee. two chairs in the back yard.
                                                              
___________________

Today’s LittleNip:

THE USEFULNESS OF ART
—Joyce Odam

A tantrum wind—
a window rattles in the dark,
and something wild
breaks the glass and leaves its mark:

a broken web
by only tantrum threads now held,
its art destroyed,
where once a fussy spider dwelled.
                                

(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 10/10/17)

___________________

Our Seed of the Week was—can you tell?—Spiders, and the Odam poets have risen to the occasion, as always. Most spiders spin webs, and the possibilities of a metaphor there are endless, as Joyce and Robin Gale Odam demonstrated.

Our new Seed of the Week is “Highway Robbery”. Had something stolen lately? Your wallet, your heart, your government, maybe? 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.

And be sure to check each Tuesday for our latest Seed of the Week.

___________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 —Photo Courtesy of Public Domain

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For 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.

Poets’ bios appear on their first MK visit.
To find previous posts, type the name
of the poet (or poem) into the little
beige box at the top left-hand side
of this column. See also
Medusa’s Rapsheet at the bottom
of the blue column at the right
side of this column to find
any date you want.

Miss a post?
You can find our most recent ones  by
scrolling down under this daily one.
Or there's an "Older Posts" button
at the bottom of this column.
(Please excuse typos in older posts!
Blogspot has been through a lot of
incarnations in 20 years!)

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!