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Jagged Thoughts #8: Sunrise, Sunset

 

1.

From leaked boredom from a boardroom,
To barely audible in an auditorium
To a post mortem in a mortuary,
Marry a mortician for her make-up
Find yourself broke
Like two lovers in a break up
Like your mother on Facebook
Playing candy crush with strangers
Like the left and right politicking politely
Like a left and right fist to the face
Would fit nicely

 

DSC_4547

 

2.

Like a square on a stop sign, right in the middle
Working the angles, like a fisher man
Like a pool player, dropping dimes in a juke box
Playing Stairway to Heaven
Followed by Free Bird, maybe Purple Rain,
Just so that jukebox can deaden the crowd,
Cause silence stolen is golden,
Drinking a potion, that tastes like skittles

 

 

3.

Stuck in the middle, between the antidotes
And the anti-do’s
the drugs you do,
cause you want to feel.
Numb, just a numbered
Cemetery plot.

 

 

4.

You never saw it coming
So high,
the coke mixed with baking soda
your heart started working overtime
like you normally did on a normal basis
to get the rent paid
this time too much base,
Wishing you could sleep with the stars
Instead found in your car
in the garage …
You drowned in vodka
They said your heart gave out and we buried you
In an oversized coffin.
Cause you always said live with no regrets
Loved weed, liked Wutang
I imagined on your epithet.
No regrets, I guess.
Your funeral was family only.
I was an acquaintance at best…
I imagine you resting comfortably by St. Peter’s cathedral,
C.R.E.A.M
I guess It does, but it doesn’t seem to last
Faded at 23, buried at 33
How did it feel, to make it in my poem?
My poem that was playing with words,
Triggered a memory of you,
You were doing so good.
I’ll remember you like that.
Not the suit you were buried in
But kicking it,
In a summer backyard
on those faded nights
smoke in the air,
not sobbing
hoping you were going to wake at
your wake,
but you didn’t
You looked like you were sleeping
off a bad weekend.

 

 

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

James Conant is a Cambridge artist who has recently added photography to his skills, which include clay sculpture, pen and ink, montages, and pencil art. He is always available for work and collaboration.

 

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Power Station by Dennis Daly

Heart Attack by Allie Gold © 2012
broke in black and white courtesy of Shabunawaz Photography ©2010

Governs our world by its generation

Of crackling fire, a variation

On the solvent, power possessing stone

That transmutes a base fuel to the unknown

 

Realm of driven turbines, coiled dragons

And their treacherous ilk. A burst tube bludgeons

Three men to death with steam-pressured burning

On a frantic day, on a worker’s morning.

 

There are other causalities. Those who breathe

For years the trace cadmium that will wreath

Us tomorrow in the grit of fly ash

And tomorrow after that. The mishmash

 

Of raining residue, and broken words

Flutter aside the landscape like black birds

Eying their petulant, bewildered prey.

Conveyed upwards, a diagonal skyway

 

Crosses the stacks: our heaven so infused.

On earth we bow our heads to art, confused

By what’s above, the ruts of power lines

Birthing creations, etching life’s designs.

 

Heart Attack by Allie Gold © 2012
Heart Attack by Allie Gold © 2012
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The lonely boy on christmas

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

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.

Merry Christmas

from Jason

editor

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Alex Duridas’s “The Summer It Rained All Day Long”

The Summer it rained all day long       

like a fraudulent card left at the bottom of a purse.

Pursuant to a dream.

A large catalog of ideas.

A slap. Lipped over a wishful case of stimulus.

Bargain basement bins, beget shoppers looking for

the newest highway, or turnaround.

Bridges and Banter. Damp shirts left lying, spread out on the dirt almost

steaming.

Courtesy of Shabunawaz Photography © 2010

Walking for water.

The summer had rained all day long. Keeping me inside, bored

ignoring TV and myself. I kept a daily wish list, immediately forgettable

by the time I started it all over again. and again.

Courtesy of Shabunawaz Photography © 2010

What a waste of you, but with really no space to rent and an overwrought

dispenser making mesh of what was once less frayed.

Straighten out your sheets, you’ll need them for lying later.

Courtesy of Shabunawaz Photography © 2010
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The Love Letter Tango by Lewis Reginald Morris

In front of an audience of my
Water rippled reflection…
Basking in the thunderous applause
Of your pulse, I listened to your breath
Enunciate your secrets with every exhale
That leaves your lips, and hits my skin.
The lights flicker, and as you walk away,

Rose is Rose Courtesy of Shabunawaz Photography ©2010

All I can see is your silhouette
Shadow-etched into this space,
Halogen light making love
To the relic of your presence.
You waltz… solo… careening through
Brick thick cigarette smoke in
An empty ballroom.
A single spotlight shines down from
A pitch black ceiling, billowing
Down to a solid white floor… bouncing brightness,
Blazing over-exposed effulgence like
A chasm to God’s face.
Courtesy of the Library of Congress

There is no music.
No horns blaring, but…
You dance.
You let the silence wash over
Your bones, your nerves are forming
Their own makeshift rhythms.
Your body is drifting in a river
Of nicotine smoke that is kissing the walls
Of your lungs.
You are vibrant…
Clothed in a shimmering blue dress,
The Third Rose Courtesy of Shabunawaz Photography © 2010

You are wearing an ocean wrapped around
Your hips, your moves are creating rip tides
For my eyes to follow.
And, now… I’m standing in the front
Of this dance floor.
The bartender isn’t letting
Me have any more drinks until I have this
One dance with you.