Overdressed, As Usual

 We Talk Of Dark
—Poetry by Joyce Odam and Robin Gale Odam,
Sacramento, CA
—Photos and Original Art by Joyce Odam

 

 

GIRLS' NIGHT OUT
—Robin Gale Odam
        After "Silent Partner" by Ray Caesar

We had our hair done today.
We're all dressing up—maybe a touch of
that scent at the nape of my neck—and red
for my lips—my silk handbag, and that long
dress that falls just above my feet—I glance
into the mirror and . . . no, it's all wrong.  

I comb out my hair, blot my red lips—a quick
shower, my soft sneakers, my faded jeans
and tee-shirt . . . yes that's it.  

The girls arrive—as usual, they are all
overdressed.

                                
(prev. pub. in  Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/11/23)

 

 

 

 What Pends

AT NIGHT, THE ICE CREAM TRUCK
—Joyce Odam

At night, the ice cream truck—monotonous and
slow—rolls down the street, its tiresome song
grown sad and tinny—like hope too poor to give
away what little chance is left. The driver looks
and looks into the shadowings toward the houses—
drawn back now to uninvite their cautious win-
dows. Emptiness pulls itself inside. The grind of
music clings about him till he doesn’t hear the
way it feels against the dimming night—displaced
and eerie—winding everywhere in hopes the
fading day may yet relent with ice cream custom-
ers, rushing out before he turns the corner like
some lost prayer in contact with another dissonance
of time and chance.

                                            
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 8/25/20)

 

 

 Where The Dream Ends

COINS IN BRIGHT DISTORTION
—Joyce Odam

Time after time I pass the Pond of Wishes and
throw no coin, though I draw a Curious Fingertip
across the water and watch as children try to reach
the pennies, dimes, and nickels through water that

is deeper than it looks, and wishes are cheap, and
never come true, or if they do, are incomplete
and I throw no coins, since I do not believe
in wishes, though I tend to steal a wish

or two when I am up against the wall of life,  
when the test of life shines with wealth
in the circle of hope, and the ease
of hope’s temptation.

                                                     
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/21/22)

 

 

 

 Variant

FROM PURSE TO PURSE
—Joyce Odam

She takes this old purse to empty it. Oh, what it
holds : years of wrinkle and crumple—notes
and reminders all clipped together or wrapped
up tightly in rubber bands. All that business,
stuffed-in against the darkening leather that
sours and molds, everything kept together for
the handiness. She has so many errands, so
many appointments, so many lists and tele-
phone numbers—the coins that slip down
among the receipts—the keys that fit the
guarded locks of necessity—too important
to lose.

                                                                 
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 6/9/20)

 

 

 

 Want

VARIATIONS ON A THEME BY H.D.
—Joyce Odam
     After “Chance” by H.D. (Hilda Doolittle)

Chance—whatever Chance is—says,
Come here,

and if I hear right, asks me,
Can you bear…?

And I can bear much,
and enough.

And Chance says, Sweetheart….
and I blush at the endearment

and take it for my own.
And Chance goes on about

love and loneliness,
and I commiserate,

and Chance confesses
all its fears and longings :

wind, bird, sea, wave, low places and the high air,
and I regret repeating so much of this,

but Chance forgives if only I will
promise…,   promise…,  

but there is such worriment
and so much peril in the world,

and Chance calls me Dear,
and says : I’m here,

and don’t you want me
anymore?

And I consider all the verities
of Chance—and no chance—and how often

Chance has guided me,
and I turn, and answer, Of course I want you.

                                                       
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 2/19/15; 2/16/21;

10/29/24) 

 

 

 World Games

REAL BUTTER
—Joyce Odam

She puts the cube of butter on the table.
The room grows warm and glows
a different yellow.

The kitchen light catches at its skin
and turns to flecks of jewel       
as in a commercial

possessing the center of the dish,
holding our eyes
praise-centered and symmetrical.

We touch our table knives
and butter our bread
with special grace and celebration.

Only seldom
does our thrift allow
so rich a symbol.

 

 

 

 Wound

Today’s LittleNip:

ART PIECE IN THE CITY
—Robin Gale Odam

heavy and cast of iron,
sturdy on a concrete base and
reflected in the window panes of a
high-rise balanced on a full city block
of concrete, rebar, and tension rods

                            
(prev. pub. in Medusa’s Kitchen, 7/30/24)

____________________

Our thanks for today’s fine poems from the Odam poets, and for Joyce’s fine photos, and to Robin Gale Odam for putting together work for this post. The Seed of the Week was “An Embarrassment of Riches”, and that’s what we have, today!

Our new Seed of the Week is “Magicians I have Known”. 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

 

 

 

 Yakity-Yak Yakity-Yak
—Original Artwork by Joyce Odam

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A reminder that
Twin Lotus Thai presents
Escritores Del Nuevo Sol
tonight, 6pm in Sacramento;
and Sacramento Poetry Week
continues—
see SacPoetryWeek.com/.
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!

 

 LittleSnake says, 

“I’m a wizzzzzzard!”