The coffee will only make me sleepy
False hope arrow night
To convenience caffeine.
Or is it just my luck
Have to walk the imaginary dog.
She’s a numb beast and sacrificial lamb.
My dog, not loquacious
Like Jean Dany’s in the black
Box theatre in a beautiful
Creole bombast.
My dog loves the yellow moon
But is afraid to howl.
My howl is wind crossing
“t’s” on this page.
2.
The last I heard
“Hey darlin’” on a voice mail
Was your blue-eyed bass voice
Saying you was on a train
From San Diego to L.A.
It was that gold Eagle you saw
Stuck my mind with his honor
Obama as Mr. Spock now
After we sat through previews
Of machines killing humans
Obama as the celebrity catalyst
Solidly watching Star Trek
With his kids with whom
He eats dinner every night, almost.
3.
You left me a China Doll plant
And a toy pony with black and white
Apaloosa marks.
You left me voice mail messages
About Santa Fe signs
On trains headed North past
The Pacific. I am alone
On a windy Memorial Day weekend.
The wind is like sand
I cannot see
Building tunnels and bridges
Back to you
Cold-hot sign of
The Vulcan, Captain Jim.
4.
Vanilla CVS candle still burning
Vanilla cupcake cappuccino
Machine drink
Swirls my tongue with sugar
Pixels –
Pops open the opiate receptors –
To shimmy,
I can inhale more poetry past
Midnight. The dog ran away
In the dark.
She didn’t understand
How much I wanted
Her tail-wagging black fur
And loyalty love.
5.
I’m your China doll
Plant; the girlfriend in a pot;
Moonlight and earth smells
Nurture me gently
With a sugary tide of fondness
For you.
Passionate kisses under the moon
Will have to wait til your return
The eagle flies on Sunday.
The blue heron winks at you.
On this planet oxygen rules.
In and out
Like sex
And breath.
Lo Galluccio is a poet, memoirist and vocal artist whose chapbooks include Hot Rain, Terrible Baubles, and the prose poem memoir Sarasota VII, all of which are available at the Grolier Poetry Bookshop in Cambridge and through her website. She has been nominated for three Pushcart awards and is currently serving as the 4th Poet Populist of Cambridge.
Two-time Pushcart Prize and Kentucky Poet Laureate nominee, Sheri L. Wright is the author of six books of poetry, including the most recent, The Feast of Erasure. Wright’s visual work has appeared in numerous journals, including Blood Orange Review and Subliminal Interiors. Her photography has been shown across the Ohio Valley region and abroad. Currently, she is working on her first documentary film, Tracking Fire.
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
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
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.
Today we give you a look at the work of LUCCI (Listening, Understanding, Caring, Considering, Inquiring), a young activist starting to make his mark as an aspiring poet, actor and comedian since moving to Boston a short time ago. The poem below was recently heard on the radio show Point of Entry as as part of his November 10th appearance.
As Long As We Are Happy
Is there a problem with Eugene
gently brushing his hand across Kenya’s face?
Would you say something is askew
if Akeem embraces Molly’s lips with his?
How would you feel if Mrs. O’Reilly
held hands with Mr. Chan?
What would be the big deal
if Dinesh was dating Alice, or Tommy
instead of Pushpa, or even Dhaval?
Where would Giovanni be
if he were without his beloved Ishana?
What kind of a person can fear the connection
between Chief Nataya and his fair lady, Jacquelyn?
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.
PART 2
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.
PART 3
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.
PART 5
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
ice.
PART 6
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.
PART 7
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.
PART 8
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…..me.
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.
her hometown church, her mother,
and the color of the sky. She abandons
today’s green kiss for tomorrow’s gold and
becomes a virtuoso in songs of goodbye.
In winter I find her heart left for dead
by the side of Cambridge Street and cradle it home in a velvet box and feed it
oranges and grape leaves hoping it
will give birth to sisters.
When spring comes that box
does not cry for breath, so I donate it
to a bench in the subway.
At home I wind silk thread around
a pile of her pictures hoping for a pearl
I can carry into the surf until
crashing waves pull it from my grip.
It is fall again so I say chants on the footbridge during full moons and scatter the torn pieces of this poem
into the wakes of rowboats on the river.
Sunday I worked a double, and I made bank, and I was happy. My friend Mackie invited me out for a few drinks at the local dive bar in somerville. Wait, maybe that’s unkind to say. First off, it may be a dive but there are great people over at Sligo, hard working people, and down to earth people. People who enjoy the rolling stones, my kind of people. Anyway, I’m throwing a few back with my friend and time is passing as it tends to do. And as the night progressed I got drunker and drunker. I remember a car bomb, being one of the last drinks I had.
Also that night I learned what a black and tan was. I always thought it was just a delicious drink served in a chilled glass with Guiness and Bass. Little did I know that a Black and Tan was a soldier who infiltrated the Irish brood and gave up their secrets or some shit, (I was wasted). Also I learned that a black and tan substituting Sam Adams for Bass is delicious. I also learned the correct pronunciation of Smithwicks, and that me drinking it made me a pansy, or something like that…(I was drunk).
Mackie comes off like an idiot most of the time, but I learned he could be quite deep, but thats here nor there. I also learned that Perez can’t keep his eyes open long enough to insult you after twelve or so bud lights.
Anyway, it was time to go. I had heard my Rolling Stones songs, and was drunk enough for me to pass out comfortably next to the loving body of my girlfriend Lisa.
That night would not be so easy. So me and Mackie are outside, (and by the way, I realize me and Mackie is grammatically correct, this blog isn’t for grammar nazis) and we get in the cab. Now I had been sitting most of the time, periodically going out to smoke, but mostly sitting. That is when I learned the golden rule of drinking. If your going to drink and drink alot, stand up. Makes sense.
So we get in the cab, and I begin to projectile vomit the soup and salad I had at work that night. The cabbie, didn’t seem too pissed, and asked if I wanted to stop. Not stop puking, nothing would stop that. I say to him, no keep going. The minute he puts his foot on the accelerator, I start puking again. This happened four or five times till I got to my house.
I stumbled up the stairs, and passed out in the shower, Lisa was not happy that day. I imagine after being in the shower for three hours, periodically dry heaving, not only does the water turn cold, but you also piss off your girlfriend.
and that was Sunday.
The next day I went to work early to buy new pants. Self explanatory, yeah, I puked on them. So I get through the day with great ease. I come back at five o’clock after breaking up and making up with Lisa, and everything is cool. She was overtired, I puked in a cab, it all made sense, we didn’t have the best night. So we make up, and I go to work. I borrow her car, think nothing of it. Lock the door, go to work.
Flash Forward about five hours, I walk out of work, feeling tired yet good, because I had a good night, people were cool, made some money. I was happy. I walk out to the car, unlock the door, and put my bag on the passenger side seat. That’s when I noticed the glass.
There was glass everywhere. I walked around the side of the car, and to my dismay, BAM! the window has been smashed in, and there is glass everywhere. I freak out, thinking “shit, what am I going to do now?” I look around the car shell shocked and notice that not only is the GPS gone but also Lisa’s IPOD and other things.
I run back to Bertucci’s get my manager Gio. A stand up guy let me tell you. He stayed with me the whole time till the cops got there. I’m telling you this guy is great. A Cambridge Police officer came to the scene, and he was a pretty nice guy. I was relieved about that. Anyway, that day sucked.
