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images may be altered

the view of you


put more in my queue

and i will run with it

give me a mental abyss

and i will still exist

confine me to the parody

of what i should be at thirty

let me see the documents

let me see the type written note.

let me float away, like a scientist

grow like an icicle, and crash

like waves on a beach.

let me see the sun

before night fall

let me waste

my time


i tend to do.

let me waste away




(glucose tablets)

i use to

eat them

when my friend

would let


his  name was


and we

dont speak




let the years



that long road

you forget



when you leave

a town

and grow

or dissolve

its nice






to come back to


is nice to know

you are remembered

not as a lamb

or a liar

or retired

to a




you once meant





all you can do

is remember

(glucose tablets)


that brings




a lower

level then



just another jagged thought by jason

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Retraction: “Memorable Times With Ivan”

This post that was previously published brought about some confusion on who wrote Letter from Provinceton and who wrote New York 1960. This is a loving tribute from  Bridget Galway to Ivan Wendell Hubbard. The first poem was written by Ivan Wendell Hubbard.  His poem which in my mind evokes a feeling of loss and being lost, was written by Ivan Wendell Hubbard and published post-humously with the permission and idea to make a loving tribute to a man who meant so much to so many people.  The second poem New York 1960 was indeed written wonderfully by Bridget Galway. Bridget also painted the portrait of William Burroughs, and is owned souly by her and her estate.   It was used with permission to create a loving memorium for such a loved man, Ivan Wendell Hubbard.

Thank you all for your comments and I understand your confusion. So here I have featured this retraction to finish off the New Year.   Thank you all for being such a loving audience and all a part of Oddball Magazine.   We will see you soon, have a happy safe and wonderful new year with blessings to you all.

And now please enjoy “Memorable Times with Ivan”

Letter  from  Provincetown


the beauty

of this place

is beyond me


reds and blues      of the morning sky

then      how high

white in the sky

the sun stands


you  get grays off the water          later

and   greens

wherever   you go


I can never

do it



all my writing      here         lain

around me   a study

in that failure


having been here    you know

what its   like     where I am

what I’m in              and somehow

without you              how its going


but the beauty

has saved me

taken me back


and     though beyond me

in my own terms

I am never nearly

beyond its


so  I     captive     happily bound

by these    elements

move now      as nature

not your love            sets the pace


Written by

Ivan Wendell  Hubbard


Courtesy of Bridget Galway and their son Blake Galway



Portrait of William Burroughs painted by Bridget Galway ©2010

New York 1960

my crazy drunken aunt

who carried me everywhere

room to room

to street


candy under her bed

(mostly peppermint)

made Mom nuts    screaming

until they drove her to the bin


a ride in the country

like we were normal

looking out the back window

at clouds light speckle

through elm branches    quiet

everything ok



NY 79

he showed me the shooting galleries

the ABC’S of search for a vein

descended staircases

to broken landings

drug warmed

faces masked


everything ok



on street corners

park benches

the sound of funk

uh uhn uh  uh uhn


mostly I loved

the way my head fit into his back

half asleep

waiting for the subway


Written by

Bridget Galway

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The lonely boy on christmas

Follow the Star
Image by Q, A, O, P, Space via Flickr

There once was a town it seemed that was always cold. Even when it was warm it still was always cold.

The people were mean. The people weren’t green. The people weren’t clean. They all forgot their dreams and no one could sleep.

Not even sheep, could make them dream. They all had forgot there meaning, and what it meant to be free.

They lived their lives as shadows. they lived in poor man castles, some were drunk and staggered, and some were slaves in shackles.

They all had forgotten, what once was their motto,— to live in darkness, you could never cast a shadow, and in the darkness, shadows never follow

and when the light shines from the sun in the seasons, whether frost bitten hands, or those wearing mittens, the sun always shined on the ones who asked for wisdom

and one did….the lonely boy on christmas.

and this lonely boy just wanted one thing for christmas, a dog or a kitten, wrapped up with a ribbon, a bright blue ribbon. If he had a dog… he could pet him with his mittens and watch him chase pigeons, and play fetch with the children.

But it never happened, no gifts were given to him on this christmas.

or any christmas.

there he sat in the town of castles and shadows, where the cold seemed to sting, everyone and everything.

and he began to reminisce of his families last christmas, the last time he was given a kiss on his head, and that warm feeling he had, and the last words ever said by his dad.

“you must live by yourself we can no longer take care of you”

and he said to them “I’m just a boy…what do you expect me to do?”

but his father and mother, they didn’t love one another, and they didn’t really mean to say what they said, so one day they both got into their cars and left.

But before they left they both kissed him both on the cheek, and said

“I’m sorry son, that we have to leave. Here are the keys this is your very own castle. And never leave, always stay in the shadows. We will always be with you, but we must leave and we hope for your forgiveness

and then they had left the lonely boy on Christmas.


At the same time there was a young widow, who always sat by the window, with a sad glow, waiting for her husband to come home.

He and her, also lived in this world.

The world that was mentioned in part one, a world of no fun, where noone could smile in fear of being stung. because the cold was too cold, and some were too poor to buy coats, and besides,

the castles were hidden by shadows, and moats protected by ghosts, but still there was hope that her love would come home. and every day she wrote from a journal

that was given to her, from her husband who had disappeared, in the cold of the winter, and made her from married and happy, to a way too young widower.

Her name was Rosaline, and she was only eighteen when she found the man of her dreams. But one day he left to go to the store, and was never seen anymore, and

people had said that he had gone missing, in a cold storm, on a frosty Thanksgiving, and they stopped searching after a few weeks, cause noone could survive out in the

cold on those peaks. But Rosaline, never stopped looking out that window, till one day it started to snow. and then it suddenly stopped. And out from they sky an angel just dropped.


Before I tell you how the angel dropped, and why the snow stopped, we must go back to the spot where the boy sat patiently, waiting for the day, when his family

would come back, and how all he wanted was that dog for christmas, a little dog wrapped up with a bright blue ribbon, but really

gifts were not on his wish list, just a little slice of happiness, outside of all that darkness

That day the boy decided to leave, he said to himself, I’m going to get a tree, so he left his castle and stepped out of the shadows, and headed to the forest outside of

the meadow, and began a long walk out of the darkness and into an even darker forest. He could have went left, and went towards the shore, he decided to go

north, and ventured forth towards, the forest and the trees, and the bright north star. He knew little of where he was, but it was better then where he would be, and

besides it was christmas he wanted a tree.

Before he left, he dressed in his warmest clothes, hat and coat, and scarf to protect his nose, and the only possession he had with him, was a backpack of provisions,

and a compass, and a map. And off he went, and took his first step out of the darkness, while in that same town a widower wept.

Part 4

Oh Where did he go, got lost in the snow? She sang to herself, while she sat by the window. Oh where did he go? And when will he return, to give me his love, I so desperately yearn”

She repeated these lines, like she was hypnotized, the saddest moment in a beautiful life. She was only 23 when he said good-bye and went out into that cold november winter, and was never seen alive, but keep faith good reader, a good love never dies.

“Oh where did he go? When will he return? why did you leave me, it wasnt your turn.” She sang this song in morning, she sang it still mourning, and that was when she realized, that her eyes were not blind, and in her heart she believed he was alive.

At the same time she sang by her window in that empty house, the compass was pointing telling the boy to go south.

But the map said that the meadow, was the way to go, but his heart told him to follow the star, and into the dark, he ventured in, to the deep forest, where

the trees lied there in.


Well dear reader, you must be weary of me, so let me tell you how the boy found his tree.

And also a brand new family.

It starts where we left, with the boy’s lonely trek, and ends, well were not quite there yet. So the boy began his climb into that deep forest, while the angels sang to him,

this simple chorus. Follow the star son, follow the star, follow the star son, follow the star. Yes, the boy was lonely and scared, for sure, but in his head and heart he

was strong and secure. People would leave him, for that he was sure, but never his family, that scar was the worst, and his head began to hurt. But before the tears

started to fall, he took a step and all of a sudden he was not by himself, and while he was down and thinking about life, he somehow had wandered onto the thinnest of



Oh reader, Oh me oh my, What did this boy do on that thinnest of ice. He walked oh so carefully, and he could hear the ice creak, and then there was the crack in the

ice he could see. He thought to himself, dang if I wasn’t thinking about all my problems, I might have seen this coming, and i could have done something, instead

of being stuck where I am, and then something happened.

The ice cracked, and splintered

and cracked, and splintered and cracked,

and the ice fell underneath his feet, and the boy was suddenly over his head, and while under the coldest degrees, he began to see,

Christmas wasn’t about getting presents or trees, it was about being happy. He was under the water gasping for air, trying desperately to be freed from a horrible death indeed ,

then at this moment

a hand reached out to him. And now enters the man, Jim, the widowers husband.


Hey Kid!! Hey Kid!! Can you hear me? Grab my hand! Hey Kid!! Hey Kid!! Can you hear me, grab my arm, I’ll pull you in. That was the voice of the widowers husband.

All the boy could hear was a muffled sound, but saw the arm, and tried desperately to get out. He grabbed the strange hand that had come from above, and Jim pulled

him out with the strongest of tugs. Jim pulled the boy off of the ice, and made sure that he was alright. Can you hear me kid?! Can you hear me?!

But the boy was barely breathing, cold and shivering. What could be done to save the lonely boy on Christmas?

Jim started a fire with some sticks around him, and hoped and prayed that something could heal him. But as the fire grew stronger, soon the boy breathed in, and looked into the eyes of the man that saved him.

And at this very moment, the widower was sleeping, and dreaming what seemed to be the same thing. It was about a boy who fell on a dark night of the thinnest of ice,

and her husband was surely alive, and saved this boy’s life.


The widower hadn’t left her house since her husband had disappeared, but she had to leave, her heart was telling her so, that she had to go, out of the darkness and

back into that snow. And as she left, she took a deep breath, and that was when she realized for the first time her self, that the darkness she lived in, this town, of castles

and shadows, there were more places to see, like the place in her dream. She visioned a stream, lit up by a bright star, and there she ventured out into the dark.

And there she sang.. My heart tells me to follow my dreams, and I will sing this song until he hears me. So she began singing. My heart tells me to follow my dreams,

andI will sing till my angel hears me. And just like that, the star lit up the whole place,

and though they were far apart, she could see his face. By the place in her dream, right by the stream, where she would find her Jim, and where she found…

Part 8

Yes I was the lonely boy on Christmas, but now that I have grown, I am no longer alone. My family, Rosaline and my father Jim, we live outside of the darkness, where the shadows live. And though you must find your own way, and sometimes follow that dream, to get the biggest tree, or play station three, all you really want is a good family, and maybe a dog. Like the dog that I have. But really in the end a mom and a dad, and people that love you. And believing that the right star will shine above you.

So there you have it.

Merry Christmas to all of you, and all of yours.May love and light unlock all your doors.

Merry Christmas

from Jason


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i got the pro’s prose thats all I have by jason wright

im gonna write a poem, to show you all I do belong,

in a winter world, where the pace is long,

and  I  keep on writing to keep it strong.

where the world, is empty I am filled,

with every thought you can think of still

and i realize this, and no dollar bills,

but i keep it on still, with style and skill.

yeah, my mind is rampant raging with energy

you can break down the walls around me,

but cant stop me,

feeling like this is the end of mediocrity

soul to the prose, to the flesh and the body.

yeah, i can sink into a feeling like better then dead

but whats that worth? my blood bleeds red

and though  my soul is green and unstoppable,

quitting the dream to me is impossible,

cause i keep it going with the world, i see

got me on the ground, on bended knee,

like a world is a waterfall drowning me,

but see i can breathe under water,

write these rhymes, to remain a martyr

for the reason, is the dream I see and I show it

you might see me in the shadows

but yet i’m still vocal

like a motorolla 20/ 20 vision

got dilated eyes, cause of the words

and the rhythm, and the bass and the movement

cause dudes like slug and Ev, bring me to

the point of losing it, cause i hear each word they spit

and think god damn, they words legit,

and so easy flowing from the pen and the track,

and i got the pro’s prose that all I have.

maybe one day I’ll rhyme, with a microphone

but my mind says to leave it alone,

and make my mind heard, by writing these poems.

cause the world, you might have me in a corner

cause you make me take pills, while the others are stoners

and some are slaves, and others are owners,

and me, im a poet and its never over,

got two angels resting on my shoulders, and two soldiers

both lazy and dilated, I watch the world through them

and just wish i had the meaning and the movement

like slug and Ev.

but it  might be each word, i write down in my notebook,

but still i write down each thought for the sense of

what its worth, been keen since birth, been clean and dirty

writing these rhymes, whats the worth to me,

everything, cause im a poet, and clear like murky

water, but I guess its cool to remain a martyr.

thirty years old, and my skill gets stronger

wave my magic wand and turn wine to water.

just another jagged thought by jason.