Thursday, July 21, 2016

Tuesday, July 19, 2016

Jason Knows How to Cope

"Less Slaughter. Less Murder," the latest Jagged Thought poem column from Jason Wright, is up now at Oddball Magazine.

Tonight: The Oddball Show with Reece Cotton



This Tuesday the Oddballs welcome stand-up comedian Reece Cotton. We'll talk about the comedy scene here in the Bay State, how it can heal in the wake of tragedy, and maybe even Reece's life as an Uber driver.  It's all right here on the #OddballShow .

Starting the Poetry and Art off With The Same Person

Poet and artist Tybie Meir comes out this Tuesday at Oddball Magazine.

Stone Soup Croutons, 7-18-16, Bruised Godhead


Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, the poem doesn't go up because it's good; it goes up because it's Tuesday morning.

 It was an open mic night, but that doesn't mean we don't have special guests. Special thanks to Dave Beards, who brought his tabla playing all the way from Scotland, as he wrapping up a visit with family to New England. His ten minute set helped set the theme of this piece. Apologies for starting with a William Carlos Williams riff.


Title

Nothing depends upon
a half-eaten hot dog
glazed with old mustard
on plate in frigidaire.
That's just stupid.

Hardly a tribute fitting to Ganesha
not even proper preparation
for a journey as quick as the quick stop.

en route, you crack your head
on the concrete. You attribute
more to luck rather than poor planning.

Did Lincoln mess up
because he didn't take a later show?

Catch your fleeting memories
like wild Pokémon.
Hindsight is the great American pastime.
You dust underneath each thought on the shelf.

Outside, protests make way under your window
in their endless journey to lethargic, uncaring ears.

You beg for release from your bed,
as you suspect some voices
will make their way back here.

Life imitates God
in your half-conscious benevolence.

Outside, children conceived
with the planning afforded
to drunken fireworks

pop by, following action
they're not allowed to follow.

Somewhere stationary,
a Tabla taps your way
to tabula rasa, a circle of peace
at the center of both sides.



Apologies to E.S., whose name is cut off at the end.

Special thanks to Rachael Eisenberg, Dave Beards, Lee Varon, Chris Fitzgerald, Erik Nelson, Matt Army, Jonathan J. Joseph, Chris Robbins, Martha Boss, E.S., and James Van Looy.

Monday, July 18, 2016

Back to The Sweet, Sweet Junkpile

Episode 3 of Junkman Radio is up now at Oddball Magazine. Listen in to his selection of rarities and oddities.

July 18: Back to the Stone Soup Open Mic

Seems like I've been doing a lot of all-open mic nights at Stone Soup this year. This Monday night, there will be another all open mic. I apologize for the lack of features, though they are returning soon and in force. Also, given the events of the summer, there are many things to write and speak about and many people who would like a forum. At the very least, we can offer you that tonight. We hope to see you at the podium tonight.

Me? I Use One of Those Sticks With A Hand on The End

Figure out what the heck that headline means by visiting Bill Harvey's comic "The Odds" up now at Oddball Magazine.

Reeling

The Boston Poetry Marathon happened this weekend, along with other things. I will hopefully post some photos (and maybe a video or two) by tomorrow. Till then, I hope your weekend was just as (or maybe just half) as eventful).

Thursday, July 14, 2016

Wednesday, July 13, 2016

From The Bathroom at Out of The Blue

Resuming a series of random scenes of one of the overlooked but more active creative outlets at Out of The Blue.


Proof that given time (and enough alcohol), we can sexualize anything.

The Skinny Poetry Journal is Accepting Submissions


For more information on the form known as the skinny and how to submit, visit the journal here.

Happy Birthday, Dan Provost

From one Bellingham born poet to another. 



Before You Post That Ad on Craigslist...

Read some intriguing fiction by Stephen V. Ramey with artwork by Su Red. It's what's closing out the day at Oddball Magazine.
 

Light but Bright Day

No 11:00 Piece, but we have a great fiction piece up at 1:00 today which should satisfy all your literary needs today at Oddball Magazine.
 

Stone Soup Croutons, 7-11-16, All Last Straws


Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, the poem doesn't go up because it's good; it goes up because it's Tuesday Wednesday. Clearly I need to rethink the deadline of this series. I may post on Wednesdays or later due to snags in my routine as of late.

Dexter Garcia read to a packed audience Monday night. It was anyone and everyone on the mic. One of those night's I'm too busy and occupied to keep names straight, let alone jot down everything that is said. I hope I captured something from the night, which was the first Stone Soup gathering following a series of tragic killings. The vibe of social justice was prevalent, even if it wasn't the direct theme of everyone's poems.

Usually, I have difficulty capturing and using lines from these highly emotional and personal works focusing on race. The closest I've come so far was a poem written partly in reaction to an audience member challenging DiDi Delgado in the middle of her reading on the open mic. Hopefully I did something better here. At least I'm resolved to document this theme better.

I ended up basing the "You" in the poem on a particularly creepy Uber driver Dexter described in one of her poems. Credit also goes to DiDi who remembered and quoted a line from Angelica Maria Aguilera on her Facebook wall, otherwise I might not have remembered it. I thank everyone on the open mic and list you below whether or not I remembered and/or used your words.


All Last Straws 

After your final staged outburst
your bitch baby thinks you can stand
and hump the empty air forever.

You tell her all deaths matter
just to try and sound clever on Facebook.

She is loud, loud, louder than any statistics
lifted from Donald Trump's Twitter.