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.

Excuse our late entry, but we wished to feature Deta Galloway, who will be entertaining the Stone Soup audience tonight.


Vision Sun

Under the arch of the risen sun
view these canyons
of your once beginnings
from the deed of ash
you have cooled
from her making
of her blue horizon
gift of your beginnings

before water
you are known
then you became forests from the sprout of seeds
the resin of submission
is the quadruped body
from limb
to grass
your eyes
green trees
from last seasons ripening fruits
droppings grows into breathing

from the long seasons of storms
and thunder
from the dark dell
of congealed water and burn debris
you left a mark
a carbon sexteth
forth bringing
tingling the wind
particles of sun and ice
iridescent amidst stars
of your memory’s opalescence

your body in reconstitution
like blown bits of
scattered terracotta
when softened by the heat
and murk of sweat
is flesh
molded inside hands
inside womb
and earth is the wider corpuscular rim
that spins you from the canyon ridge
over the bridge
of stone
of paradise
not seen
until time reveals your embeddedness
in the sand stone rock
you lie fossilized
among the mammoth
blood remains for centuries grooved in the
starched Orisha beds of Ocher

time moves
so does the wind
heated melting ice
the gravel pit
pushed up a face
and a broken sandal
and evidence of what is your wound
cutting thru my livened illusory season
death it seems
always come calling
like a ringing bell
or the band
that encircles my
wedded expectations
my hand

I become a woman hushed in the nights
sometimes of ecstasy
or from the patient songs
of echoes
that climb up over the old wall
further in
into the forest
where the old birds still live and dance
it is the mating call
that lines the chorus of the cities Orchestra
before the lingering strangers
before the romancers who arrives in the
delicate chiffon of rag
weighted by time
I dance too with a stranger
who will be my lover
and a pallbearer in death

come to me from sunlight
come to me arched like rainbows
and wash my naked breasts
my skin is a wondrous debris
gather me
for I am your loam
in wonders of the natural world
I grow, then bloom
and in autumns
I am the blazoned leaf
just falling
over the wide crevice
of the rain
misting my climb
like my fall
I am again rising
like a carousel in the golden dream
and stand with me
until the waves draw me into the Cobalt blue of the sea
where the wave runneth, my veins becomes
the great rivers
of the tide