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3TV Presents A Poem by Toni Bee


In Minutes of Twilight

The sun cannot turn the purple clouds to pink yet
I ponder bout my day
Good,bad, perplexed
I can’t bet
This the type of morn’ where thoughts rummage my head
I wonder
Did my girlfriend’s mixed babies go to bed
and think of my chocolate mother, whom is long dead

In twilight minutes I wonder of other’s lives and pray
that my Daddy wears his seatbelt on the bus today
and hope the brothers don’t think
‘Lets Play’ then spray
Daddy ducks…’ ‘
Whoops bus in the way’

That my niece dances an African jiggaBoo
‘I see youuuu’ and hope society never taunts her
as I had to go through

As sunlight hastens its descent
Sun reveals the day’s mode
As I listen to my head fears the future
I forebode


Photography © Allison Goldin
Photography © Allison Goldin


Toni Bee served as the Poet Populist of Cambridge, Massachusetts as well as the position of Artist Fellow at Citi Performing Arts Center in Boston. She currently serves as co-host of the podcast “The Oddball Hour with PB n ‘J” and will be part of the upcoming panel “Stone Soup Presents: Oddball Magazine” at the Massachusetts Poetry Festival this May.

Allison Goldin is an artist living in Cambridge. Her work is a collection of spontaneous drawings from the imagination. The most common link throughout her art are the semi-recognizable creatures scattered amongst and bringing together the surrounding doodles. She is currently studying Illustration at The School of Museum of Fine Arts, Boston.


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The Oddball Hour With PB n’ J, Episode 2: The Sound of Ice Hitting Glass Is Our Toast to 2014

After flailing about from waking up to a new beginning, we continue on. Chad Parenteau, Toni Bee, and Jason Wright return to record their first podcast of the new year. Recorded on January 31st, much ground is covered as we talk the Massachusetts Poetry Festival, the Somerville Scout, the Joe Gouveia fund, the return of Billy Barnum, and so much more.

Also available in YouTube.



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Stone Soup Servings Presents: Toni Bee

Stone Soup Servings is a regular series for Oddball Magazine that features upcoming performers at Stone Soup Poetry, the long-running spoken word venue in the Boston area that has recently partnered with Oddball Magazine. Stone Soup Poetry meets from 8-10 p.m. every Monday at the Out of The Blue Art Gallery at 106 Prospect Street with an open mike sign-up at 7:30 p.m.

On February 10, Stone Soup welcomes back former Poet Populist Toni Bee, who has forged a bond with Oddball Magazine as part of it’s new podcast. She also has work forthcoming in Spoonful and will be on the upcoming Oddball Magazine panel this May at the Massachusetts Poetry Festival. Read her poem below and join us this coming Monday.


God Vibrations…

The beads jiggle under the pot of my arm like boiling water
I hear / it sings it dances / and it sings:
I know the books I know the books I know the books of the books of books

My alarm of baby’s bible versus reminding me there is a God and he alarms us

Matthew mark Luke John acts of apostles roman cori corin Galatians

Always wanted to know it by heart / those souls saved a bit mor’n me – Always wondered how they remembered His books / always knew my concentration was an artist stubbed and born of its own will – refused to commit the salve to memory

Ephisians phillipians collossians thesalonnians thesallonians timiltoy timoty

Purse of beads yells out a word for me to remember for me to know some unseen got the back and front of me as I roll upon this caked river of tar/ as I toddle over graves of those forgotten onna street full of / prospects near a broad way of burning lies

Titan philemeon Hebrews and james peter peter paul john john JuuuuuuuuDe revelation of Johnnnnnn

Backing up to the basics this daughter songs vibrates / the Lord in me reminds e there’s no need to smack whispering wenches who cause destruction / reminds me of the waste of violence remember to keep peace-ing cause…

I know the books I know the books I know the book of the book of books


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The Third Annual Oddball Christmas Story- The Lonely Boy on Christmas by Jason Wright-Editor


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 their 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 9

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


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


Jason Wright is the founder and Editor of Oddball Magazine. His “Jagged Thoughts” column appears weekly.

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Re: Introduction by Jason Wright


In case you haven’t seen me lately, I would like to reintroduce myself. My name is Jason Wright and I am the editor and founder of Oddball Magazine.   I just want to RE: introduce myself.

I write prose and poetry,

most of you don’t know me

or see through me completely

but thats O.K.

cause the world that I see

doesn’t even breathe freely.

I write mostly on trains, trying to retrain my brain

to restrain my eyes, from being strained.

Falling asleep quick

to the sound of the music

that keeps in my head,

and in my headphones.

I might be all alone, on this journey

from poetry,

to University

but I know, I’ll make it.

Trying to reengage my love of rhyme

and free expression.

After the world asks you “yes”?

you say “No” to their questions.

I write because I can

its my only outlet,

and theres so much we haven’t spoke

about yet.

But this world I live in is not so different then yours

so I am opening the doors,

to poets and more.

I am going to keep up

the only way I know how.

A business suit, never meant too much

to me,

just liked writing rhymes in libraries.

Putting up poets

just like me,

who write with the same fire,

same intensity.

College graduate…

to a job in telephone?

Come on man,

thats not me.

So here I am

I am back and going to keep to it.

A different poet

Each week.

Hold me to it.

And if you don’t see me regularly

then let me know.

And I’ll be back with more.

And more.

And more.

One life to live y’all.

Stop staring at the walls.

Just another Jagged Thought

Thanks for your continuing readership.


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To Those Who know You (everyday is a gift) by Jason Wright

Today we celebrate

Today we celebrate you

Your voice
The movement of your words
The happiness that shines in each line
That shows in your eyes

The world can be lonely
But you, you stung me

You showed me that words
Can ignite sparks
Illuminate broken lights
Stop fights
Slow the world down
But keep the movement right

Truly a blessing to hear you
To know you
To feel the positivity of your glow
To believe
That words can change us
That words can make us better

That letters strung together
To make words
Strung together to make sentences

Evokes emotion
Evokes truth
Just like mathematics
Brings together positives and
Negatives and for a minute

While the words flow
We are all equal
No status, just mathematics

Bee, to me you are poetry
Bee, to me you are special
Bee, to me you are loved

the honey will always flow
And your pen will never run out of ink
As long as you keep the love of words in your heart
And keep writing
And giving us the honey

Today is a gift poet
But so is tomorrow
And the next
But to those who know You

Everyday is a gift

Keep shining

Bee Cool Bee
Bee cool
Keep bringing the honey