So how should this poem go?
Fast or slow?
Should I write about tragedy
Or should I rejoice.

Should I pray for my mom, cause god
Knows she needs it
Should I pray for the burners and the storms
And the schemers?
Should I pray for the drug dealers
And the car chasers cheating
Should I leave my note on the doorstep
of your demons?

Should I write about the spastic tendencies
Of mental illness?
The ones that you can’t see that affects the brilliant?
Should I write about the lions and the witches?
Should I write about Effie, my friend and needles?
Should I write about the world as how I see it?

I’m a speechless public speaker.
Because my tendencies to gravitate towards rhyme
In trying to understand this world,
Has kept me breathing.

And the seasons are changing
The world is getting stranger
Friends are becoming strangers
And silence is for no-brainers
And no-brainers are dangerous

So I speak on and hope
to keep on seeing daffodils
And waiting for clouds to break
To jump into literature
And flow like Picasso’s painting
To try and show that I am not confused, obtuse
Or shying away, that no, in no way am I abstaining.

No, this is the 100th Jagged Thought,
Jagged pieces of fast poems and slow flows
Started a dream in my notebook
So long ago
And I won’t let this go.
Or it won’t let me,
So here, here
Raise my glass to 100 JT’s
Pat myself on the back
And that’s that

And I’ll get back to the pen and the pad.

I’ll Keep filling the loose leaf
Cause I am a poet.
And it’s my only positive habit
Its what I was born to be
Its my science and its my math

I’ll keep speaking
To the dream,
To the clean and obscene
To the unfortunate and
The medicine and the manic steam
The heart and the heartbreak
The stains and the silence
I’ll never stop talking about
Putting down the guns
Ending the violence
Making the issues of drugs and addiction
And mental illness and poverty,
A priority
And also celebrating the wins and losses
Having a place to talk and never
follow no ones shadow
To sit back and reminisce

why my life’s
a side show

And so goes the holy,
And so goes the roses,
And I can’t see the end
Even if the deadline approaches
I’ll talk economy, hip-hop
And keep my words spoken
Even if I am silent
I am still golden.
And I stay floating
And as long as the heart is beating
And the synapses keep off balance
Then I will be the king of the kingdom
The prince of the palace
Underestimated like portfolio
Overlooked steamed and drained
Underexposed like photos
Welll worn like an overcoat
and vintage like Vinyl
Well versed like Hallelujah
And remembered like Buckley

And keep reminding myself
In times of trial and triumph
That God Loves Ugly,
And maybe one day, you’ll know me
Slug, or Brother Ali,
But till then I’ll keep on
Writing like Sunday times.

Expressionless like Mona
obsessed over Cohen
Versed like a canon, and
Thorny like roses.

Cause I have a job to do
And its to be a poet.

So I hit one hundred,
Well here’s to one hundred more
Milestone met

Keep going.
Never stop writing
Never be silenced

Remember the pain
Remember the sunshine.

Stay afloat, and awake
And hold on to this moment,
Pause for a second
In quiet reflection

Put the pen to the pad and keep going.


Jason Wright is the founder and Editor of Oddball Magazine. His column appears weekly. This week marks his hundredth Jagged Thought column since starting in 2013.