Enchantresses

 Promises, Spells And The Like
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Original Art by Joyce Odam

 

 

THOUGHTS FROM THE SEVENTH DAY
OF AUGUST
—Joyce Odam

This I have done :
stared at the sun too long.

Thought the wind in my hair
was mine.

Ached
to be bird.

Welcomed and given the pain
of love.

Looked through the golden eyes
of the summer lion.

Turned into leaves
soon after.

Belonged to nature
as no human should.

Walked through the souls
of the dead.

Worshipped
weeds and flowers.

Practiced the sorcery
of thought.

Knocked
wood.

Destroyed myself
with seven sins.

Danced in the arms
of a shadow.

                  
(prev. pub. in Arx, Nov. 1969;
and in Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/21/18; 1/7/25)

 

 

 

Another Time

VESTIGE
—Joyce Odam

I picked up the lamp and it was empty,
wishes scattered all over the ground,
and no Genie.

The lamp was dented and dull,
tossed away as worthless, and I had
no desire to ask for magic again.

I heard a harsh laugh in the distance
and watched a sinuate figure
vanish like smoke in the air.

What do I care? I muttered,
and kicked
the useless lamp back into the gutter.

                                     
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 5/7/24)

 

 

 

 A Different Place

there is little here
flowers hidden every year
in your tall shadow

    —Robin Gale Odam

After The Prepared Bouquet, 1957, by Rene Magritte

(prev. pub. in Brevities, March 2020) 

 

 

 

 Heart Of A Flower

THE SORCERESS LOVES 

—Joyce Odam

If I say red,
you see red.
Such is the power of my language.

I lean close to you,
let you feel waft of lavender
from my old flowers. You love me.

I read my book of spells,
every night and into the morning.
You never catch on.

I sigh blue at you
and you hold me. I moan
silver . . .   silver . . .   and you weep.

You cling to my gray cliffs of peril
and I create white gulls
to release us into flying.

Look! We are everywhere,
as in
a swirling kaleidoscope of color.

It is your dream, and I have entered it.
A long thin stream of black
cuts under us, and I rescue you.

                                   
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/17/10; 10/29/24)

 

 

 

 Self-Portrait

FRESH WATER AND THE SEA
—Robin Gale Odam
After “Variations on a Theme by H.D.”
by Joyce Odam

One disaster, one bother away,
maybe Chance could save me again.

The ravens would say, rise up to the day.
I write for the Muse to twine the blues
among the hues of gray.

Ace of magic—return of the stranger—
I know the dark hair, the eyes deeper than hurt.

He gives me a clue, a clue, he says, the some-
thing between us—fresh water and the sea—

the something between us, the clue is the clue.
The clue is the vapor, the ravens would say.

And the brackish tears would stain my face,
and as for Chance, the breath of illusion—

the rolling whispers, the eminent span
of the drawn-out quarrel—he’ll do it again. 

 

 

 

 A Touch Of Blues

THE LITTLE SHOP OF MYSTERY
—Joyce Odam

What we sell here is always what you need.
Amulets and calendars; out-dated stones;
jars of rain that still separate into drops.

We have the spool of thread you lost when you
forgot how to sew—in just those colors needed
for the coloring book you never opened.

We have more : pretty little boxes to hold rings,
a perfect leaf that you passed up when you
were looking through a window to find

your old reflection looking back
through you . . . shall I go on?
We have the key for your travel. The map.

The other side of the door. We have
the book you read and lost, the one
with the pages full of truth and photographs.

We have the perfect penmanship of your youth,
a tube of healing for your hands. We always greet you
with recognition—are sad when you must go.

Goodbye. We know you must be off. We have
postcards for this. We have a cat that sleeps
on a chair and dreams prophetic dreams.

The dreams are for sale. The little bell
on the door is made of sunshine.
It tinkles every time someone comes or leaves.

                                                         
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/25/15)

 

 

 

 

 Today’s LittleNip:

I ASK YOU TO TELL MY FORTUNE
—Joyce Odam

Seven, you tell me, being
a seer, and three to round out
to ten should odd or even
rule. You are so serious.
I watch with apprehension
as you turn the cards, even
as I scoff at their power.


(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/17/10)

 

 

 

At Dusk

_____________________

Our thanks to those two enchantresses, Joyce and Robin Gale Odam, for today’s fine poetry, Robin’s curating, and Joyce’s fine photos. Our Seed of the Week was Magicians I Have Known, and these two poets are, indeed, skillful magicians of poetry!

Our new Seed of the Week is “Skittering Through the Woods”. 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.

_____________________

—Medusa

 

 

 

 Touch
—Photo by Joyce Odam

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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