Posted on Leave a comment

Poem by randall



You must paint the walls a neutral color
To sell to neutral buyers
To fill empty spaces
With new emptiness

They bought the house,
And painted the walls
Or burnt umber
To match the furniture
Or the woodwork

But if they peeled and scraped the walls
With forensic care
To discover motives and means
They would have discovered
The red of blood
And the black of love

The same color really


Artwork © Ira Joel Haber
Artwork © Ira Joel Haber


randall currently collects his mail in Brooklyn but he has a doppelganger in Wabeno, WI.

Ira Joel Haber was born and lives in Brooklyn. He is a sculptor, painter, writer, book dealer,photographer and teacher. His work has been seen in numerous group shows bothin the USA and Europe and he has had 9 one man shows including several retrospectives of his sculpture. His work is in the collections of The Whitney Museum Of American Art, New York University, The Guggenheim Museum, The Hirshhorn Museum,The Albright-Knox Art Gallery & The Allen Memorial Art Museum. Since 2006 His paintings, drawings, photographs and collages have been published in over 230 on line and print magazines. He has received three National Endowment for the Arts Fellowships, two Pollock-Krasner grants, the Adolph Gottlieb Foundation grant and, in 2010, he received a grant from Artists’ Fellowship Inc. He currently teaches art to retired public school teachers at The United Federation of Teachers program in Brooklyn.

Posted on Leave a comment

Jagged Thought #152: Only Lovers Make It Out Alive


Only lovers make it out alive.
Neither sparks the flint
like Lazarus
You would have said I stayed too late in my cave, got out slow and

Low that is the Tempo
Ode to the old, the Beasties got soul
Vocals and mic control
Even in the sideshow, the

Made rock and roll
King Kong entertained us all
Even Lois Lane made Superman

the movies, immortal.

On the silver screen
Under stars and over skies
The moon landing.

Ali made Frasier fall
Lions roar in bathroom stalls.
Icarus flew too close to the sun.
Vincent Van Gogh couldn’t paint a prettier picture.
Even in darkness, only lovers make it out alive.

And every typewriter may jam.
But there will always be
Dumb fucking
Blatantly counting each stroke.
Assholes forcing you to strive for par.


Jason Wright is the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine.


Posted on Leave a comment

Bamboozled No More! Subway Station Bench Metaphor


For some a bench is just a seat
a convenience
an opportunity to rest, read, catch a breath
the half way mark between specific destinations

For others a bench is the
the safest place,
the warmest place
the only place when half way marks
and specific destinations
are not options
and having no options has become
a sign of the times


Janet Cormier is a painter, writes prose and poetry, and performs comedy. JC prefers different and original over pretty. She loves collecting stuff, but cleaning not so much. Janet also talks to strangers… a lot. Her column now appears weekly on Oddball Magazine.


Posted on Leave a comment

The Underground Garden: Room 231 Fool’s Wealth


From The Other Sides

So that was it
And now we know231
Once times infinity isn’t enough
There’s too much to be done
To be on Our Run
Other things that need to happen
So we can’t make things happen
Like Us

To close the door and turn the lock
To get undressed and just talk
To rub our shoulders to be in love
To allow another to hit the spot
To seek and find what brings you peace
To master my humble giving
To let myself be traveled through
To give myself to receiving you

To have you control my lack of control

To want more and more

Know there’s no reason to walk out the door
The Real World

And what it needs to have done

It’s all in wait while we’re having fun

Being Us
Which is more than we can handle

Our happenings to flickering candles
Discreetly living to avoid the scandal
Of viviendo lo nuestro

We both know how that goes

So good we run from it
It’s distracting
Too deep

Too challenging
Too easy

I’m running honey
And I’m not looking back
I’ll see you after three curves
For we always come back

We are full circle

On different courses

Unable to afford detours
Of that we’re both sure
Of us we’re both sure
Once the last one walking in closes the door
The Real World exists no more

That’s just a cost we can’t afford

Our silent private lovely time together
Cannot be worth more
Than what we give it

How many lives depend on it?

Living our madness is quite selfish
Not living our madness would be quite foolish

It’s a quench
A refresh
A muse
A tune
A so lovely groove

Together as Two, never as One

Living a truth and calling it Fun

Breathing in fears

Disengaging Love

It just isn’t enough yet gives us more than we want.

Poor Us.



Liza Zayas is a lover of writing and dancing and celebrates both as a singer and songwriter performing as Luna del Flor. You can hear her collaborative sounds and experience life through her storytelling. She invites you to dance. Her poetry seeks to initiate dialogue by intentionally expressing consequences of love, lust, ego and self-respect.


Posted on Leave a comment

It’s All One Thing #159: Funny Strange Not Funny Ha Ha


Funny strange not funny ha, ha (sounds like a Native American princess
(Not Funny Ha HA) how! HOW! The broken system keeps assuming (again)
and again an, oh, too human face so as I’m refurbishing my giant End Optic(s)
Illusion Labyrinth up comes this tiny woman in a huge electric wheel chair and
parks herself in the middle of the lines I have to draw next and under her shock
of black hair I can see she is not waiting there to thank me for my efforts that have
me already covered with sweat under my layered clothes but I simply move on to draw
other lines around her until coming up next her chair I ask what’s bothering her and
she says “you don’t have to pray like that” I guess referring to my labyrinth meditations
physically laid out through whole body action and flowing in chalk through my hand and
unto the asphalt where every ever one can see this is my vision holy wholeness The All One
Thing beyond the all one thing we make of the world to which with justice we bend, we bow
down as I bow down like the Islamic bows of Muslim prayer I think but this woman is somehow
sure I’m doing some satanic pagan of ritual and she scoots off in her electric machine as she
realizes I can just draw around her and fill in the place where she sits when she moves
as eventually she must but she leaves only to return once again with another fellow in an
electric chair and as I’m working he attempts to evangelize me to which I respond that I’m busy
with my practice “please, leave me alone” but he still insists that I come up with a verse
from the bible, of course, and thus pushed I quick re-member this poem I wrote Once Now
about the decline of the Holy Roman Empire and the post-Dark Age rise of the nation states
and rise of our Corporate Cathedrals as the Nation States become petty vassals of the Banks
(Bancs) “soft shuffling $money into credit” and from the depths of me and the ancient wisdom
literature I hear and say “Be Still and Know That I am God” but still he has to add addendum
to the Word of “you must read scripture in context”, yes I thought, “context” context of ex-
nihilo emanation where God always was and ever will be and Creation (s)he It Self comes
from nothing a blinding flash long gone never to be seen again you see right there at the epi-
center of everything which is, of course nothing or as Mom always said “perish the thought”.


James Van Looy has been a fixture in Boston’s poetry venues since the 1970s. He is a member of Cosmic Spelunker Theater and has run poetry workshops for Boston area homeless people at Pine Street Inn and St. Francis House since 1992. Van Looy leads the Labyrinth Creative Movement Workshop, which his Labyrinth titled poems are based on. His work appears weekly in Oddball Magazine.