A rare double post

Posting this while it's still fresher in my head so there are two blog posts from me today. Do not worry, this is not a fall back to the olde days of Live Journal.

Last night at Writers' Block there was a Grab Bag Slam, in which poets were assigned a topic and had a week to write a poem with it and perform it in a slam.

Thirteen poets accepted the challenge and read them last night. It was a very impressive display of writing. The topics read about were Dance, Moisturizer, Yogurt, Doo-rag and many others. Colin was the last poet in the slam and ended up winning the night with a brilliant poem. His subject was Kool-Aid. I'm glad he won because there were three poets tied for second and there would have been a Tri-ku to determine the champion.

My topic was Ice and I was happy with how it went. Because it was an assignment I'm going to post it here.


Staff Refrigerator: A Lesson in Fear

Pouring down onto containers of uncertain age
are colors not found in nature

Pooling on glass shelves are liquids of unknown origin -
a waterfall of chemical composition that may or may not be toxic

There was an email sent to the entire staff of the building

Desiccated solids that could have been lunch fluid in their intent
Sump ponds with stagnant moist stuff in tupperware that
may have been a meal containing mammal bones

There is a memo on the window of the staff break room

Behind the freezer door lay chunks of permafrost ice cube trays,
or are they italian ices from ancient Rome, buried deep

There is a piece of paper on the side of the refrigerator

Puddles of who knows what cryogenically ice floe alien in origin frisbees
or U.F.O., unidentified frozen objects that may have been taken
from the locker in hangar 13 of a top secret military installation.

There is a memo taped to the front of the refrigerator door

if this object was not placed in this building in 2009 -
We’d carbon date the contents, but they did set off a geiger counter
and no one in the Technical Services department has a Haz-Mat suit

If I were to brave the stench and look inside of the refrigerator
I’d bet five dollars there is a copy of the clean up your damn mess memo
hanging from one of the shelves.
But neither I, nor the bomb squad, are looking.


So there was that poem. But I also wrote another, a bit more serious.

Terra Nova Pantoum

I am just going outside and may be some time
the last words of an Antarctic explorer
He walked to his death in 1912
Their tent now buried by an ice shelf

The last words of an Antarctic explorer
We took risks, we knew we took them; things have come out against us
Their tent now buried by an ice shelf
A tomb hidden by a century of climate

We took risks, we knew we took them; things have come out against us
and therefore we have no cause for complaint
A tomb hidden by a century of climate
Becomes a heroic trophy for placing the South Pole discovery to Amundsen

and therefore we have no cause for complaint
Robert Scott’s final diary entry
Becomes a heroic trophy for placing the South Pole discovery to Amundsen
They found the pole, saw a Norwegian flag, died on the journey back

Robert Scott’s final diary entry
He walked to his death in 1912
They found the pole, saw a Norwegian flag, died on the journey back
I am just going outside and may be some time


Ever since I was a kid I had an odd interest in the doomed Scott expedition. The explorers of the Arctic had to endured some incredibly hostile conditions and some did not make it back. Brave men.

Hard to slam with a pantoum though, and I was not that confident!

So that was two poems written in a week, something that does not happen to me much these days.

I have ambitions, research is being done. Comfort zones are being tested.

My new twitter account will be named Sal F. Steam

Last night Writers Block had a Grand Slam with the winner going to the Individual World Poetry Slam in Spokane in October. I did not compete to defend my title, there was too much other stuff going on to get involved in slam this year.

Was very pleased to see my friend Gina Blaurock win the title. It was close, she beat Aaron Alsop by only .4. Five people slammed and all of them, including Bryant, Brad and Hayden brought their A-Games to the stage.

Gina also received The Uni.



That was one of the last pictures of The Uni before it met with another unfortunate accident. The less said about it the better.

Rachel McKibbons also did an excellent feature, which included a heartbreaking series of poems to honor her very young niece, who died of cancer last year.

Tonight I did a feature for Paging Columbus with two fine poets, Jonterri Gadson, and F. Daniel Rzicznek. A nicely attended event. Thanks to Hannah Stephenson for inviting me to perform at the Urban Arts Space.

For record keeping, here's my set.

Pantoum for a Child With Insomnia
David's Rock
Epson Projection: A Meeting in Three Acts
1) Mumble Jumbo
2) Settling in, Badly
3) No Hope for Parole
With Kryptonite as Prop
After Birth
The Real In-Flight Announcement

It was another fine night downtown. On the way to the venue, I walked through Columbus Commons and saw fellow poet Ethan Rivera fiddling around.



And on the way to The Jury Room for a libation, I noticed this building artwork.



It's one of those times you feel like you're settling into something, even though you're not one to watch.

This is the post where I talk about Arts Fest

If I leave you out do not be offended. This was such an amazing whirlwind of a weekend that it's impossible to thank or give mention and praise to everyone. This is going to be quite the random entry.

First off. I want to thank Gina Blaurock for being a great member of the Word is Art Committee. She went to more meetings that me for heaven's sake! She made herself available. Her insight, taking hits for the team and being a friend shows what an asset she is to the Columbus poetry community.

Speaking of community. Columbus, you stepped up. It was so great to see such a diverse section of the city come to the Arts Festival. Not only as poets, but as spectators and supporters. The crowds were great all weekend long, even on Friday night when I froze my ass off the last two hours because I forgot a sweatshirt. That was one of the two mistakes I made this weekend, the other buying a corn dog that cost six bucks.

Friday got off to a shaky start when the theater people did not show up. Then one of the member's of the Writers Guild could not make it. I have to say the kids from Flip the Page turned things around, brought a great crowd and youthful energy to the stage.

Secrets of Oshun was great. From the group piece opening they had the crowd, but when Izetta Thomas did her first solo piece, the area froze. Even the vendors stopped to pay attention. They had to, Izetta was on this weekend. All weekend long.



Then Kim Brazwell came on, told her tales of intestinal woe, killed the crowd and dropped the mic. She's incredible.

I was physically miserable during Page Meets Stage but Louise Robertson moderated a very cool poetry session between Jennifer Hambrick and Scott Woods.

Day two, Saturday, started out with more promise. The weather held up. The riverfront looked amazing. The place was packed. The beverage booths ran out of wine and margaritas. Art and food was being sold. Poetry was again heard.



Amy Dalyrmple of the Writers Guild did a reading about her special needs daughter that was quite moving and real.

There was a terrific early set by Michael Stout as I think he read all of his short poems!

If I had to pick a favorite set this weekend it was by John Gibson. I always like the man's work and as he was shuffling through his papers I suggested he read one of his nostalgia poems about Columbus, which he did, and it went over very well. A person came over to me and asked me who his name was. Yes, he was that good.

As I said at the start on Saturday. All of the poets who appeared on stage earned that spot during the auditions, and they proved their worth during their sets. Some poets have different energy levels than others. Some poems have different reactions when read to a small group of people in an enclosed room versus an open space of people strolling by while gnawing on a turkey leg.

Here is where I thank Wali Crowder for representing and hosting the show for a couple of hours in the afternoon. His energy was great and much appreciated.

T.M. Gottl gave the day a strong sense of justice and humanity with her work, which I do not get to hear enough of as she from the northeast part of Ohio.

Fred Kirchner left the mic, went to the front of the stage and brought out his yo-yo, shouting his poem the whole time. Beautiful.



Will Evans did an absolutely hilarious poem about doing repair work around the house when his infant daughter is in motion around him. Fatherhood has helped with his sense of humor and it's great to see it unfold on and off stage.

Hayden Brown brought his entire class over, it seemed, and delivered a set that had people paying attention. All weekend long it was great to watch the crowd, and see the people stop in their track to listen. Some even ended up grabbing a seat.

James Aaron Techumseh Sinclair has what may be the longest name of any poet to appear at the Columbus Arts Festival. He wore a skirt, was very secure in his delivery. He was also the second runner up. It may have been a bit cerebral for such an open space and stage, but his methods and words were quite precise. It was his first set in at least twenty years. Wonder how he was back in the grunge era?

Meg Freado is a joy to listen to. The first runner up. I'm not to familiar with her work, but her energy and words are quite moving. A poem she wrote for her father's wedding was quite impressive.

And our Champion, Izetta Nicole Thomas, was so wonderful and on point. Delivering a set of schoolyard sentimentality with the wisdom of a talented teacher. This was her weekend.

To close Saturday, Scott Woods hosted a slam that was as every bit hilarious as it was entertaining. I cannot say how engaging Scott was with the audience. He put together an hour that was as every bit perfect as it was irrelevant. Ethan Rivera danced, Izetta had things thrown at her, Rocky Horror style, and I got a four.



Sunday, today, was another gorgeous day on the riverfront. It got hot. But our first poet, from The (OSU) Journal was a cat who never read his poetry in public before, and he did an amazing job.

Hanif Abdurraquib took over emceeing at this point and did a great job interacting with Gumby and name checking the music that was played during breaks. We also had a great sound man all weekend. Joe was there when he had to be and did his best to keep good levels despite shouting poets and one or two vendors complaining about the noise. Sometimes poets shout, especially when they're in a wide open space, it can't be helped.

Hannah Stephenson and her poets from Paging Columbus did a fine job keeping the energy going.

I love what the Storytellers of Central Ohio do. There were six of them and they really are quite entertaining, with good humor. One of them recited Casey at the Bat, off paper. Yes, awesome!

The Docents at Thurber House were brief, but did some good work. One of the youth told a short story about war that was quite emotional and he even did some singing. Brave when your voice is wavering. It was great to have The Thurber House involved in this year's festival. I really wanted to get some kids involved in the weekend and Meg Brown has been very accommodating in getting her charges to the stage after school has let out for the summer.

The people at Wild Goose Creative finished off the year with a gentle goose. Fun stories in a speak easy session. I can't thank Andy Anderson and his crew enough for being involved again.

A few more shout outs before I close this rambling thing out.

Louise Robertson did a great job helping vet the initial entries. Her insight has been an asset to the whole committee this year and I'd be in very bad shape if she did not provide sunscreen yesterday.

Alex Fabrizio also helped with the vetting of the initial entries. She's been busy with a major move but her presence was very welcome and she did a fine job organizing her poets from The Journal.

Steph Killen lent us her music stand for the weekend. Thank you!

Beverly Wilkinson hung out with us for most of the first two days. She's dedicated and delivered a fine set of work Saturday afternoon.

My wife, Emma, has taken in a lot of venting and my stress about this for many months. She watched my son while I was out attending meetings and more. None of this could have happened without her help. And she delivered me lemon shake-ups all weekend long!

Finally I doubt I would even be in this position without Scott Woods. He was the one who recommended I join the committee last year and it spring boarded into me being committee chair this year. His expertise, advise and consult has been a great help to me this year during this process. I've never been in charge of shepherding anything like this before. So thank you, Scott.

Again, we did this.

You can learn a lot from an Albanian

Last night I was invited to take part in a performance workshop led by poet and performer Gypsee Yo. I was really looking forward to this because while I had only seen her perform three poems at The Women of the World Slam here a few years back, what I saw really impressed me.

The discussion was great, her abilities as a performer and teacher really came through during the workshop. Definitely learned a few things to enhance my performance on stage with or without being in a slam.

Later, she did a feature at Writers' Block and the audience was blown away. She has a story to tell, an amazing human one. It's a great gift she possesses, and one that she is more than willing to share. If you ever get a chance to see her perform, do not miss. I've seen some great features at Writers' Block over the past seven years, if I were to rank this is one of the top two - the other being Jack McCarthy.

Whirlwind of overwhelming

All of the busy, and the sleep deprivation caught up with me at a workshop this morning when a cluster headache decided to throw a party behind my right eye. Ouch. Left work early and slept a couple of hours. I do feel better.

Friday evening I will be a guest of Vernell Bristow on the internet radio show Speaking of Poetry. I'll be talking about all the great things that will be happening on the Word is Art Stage at the Columbus Arts Festival on June 7-9. You can listen live here.

Saturday afternoon I will be doing a half hour feature to raise money for the Writers' Block Poetry Slam team to head to Nationals in Boston this August. It's going to be at Kafe Kerouac form 1:30-2. There will be readings starting on Friday night at 8PM and going all night. You can see the schedule and other information here.

All this and it's not even June yet. More to come.

Defending the Cause

Once in awhile I have to become an ambassador for spoken word, whether or not it's calling out someone calling participants in the Women of the World Poetry Slam "Fake Feminists" or someone saying that watching videos on youtube of people popping zits was preferable to watching spoken word videos.

The latter happened last night, I asked the person what videos he was watching. He replied bad ones, but asked if I could recommend good ones. I mean, he could have been watching some bad spoken word on youtube, it's certainly out there. But, I had to see what I can do to try and change his outlook.

I sent him links to two. Jamilla Woods' "Pigeon Man."



And Jack McCarthy's "Careful What You Ask For."



Got a replay this morning that these examples were "much better."

I still wonder what he was watching.

This week I got everyone's name right

There were nineteen poets on the open mic list at Writers' Block last night. My job was to get them all on stage and keep the audience engaged. There was also a slam. That's a lot of poetry to introduce. I've hosted three open mic/slams now and have to say it's been quite the education.

As emcee you give and receive a lot of energy from the activity around you and I've been on an adrenaline rush combined with complete exhaustion at the end of the night each time. My admiration for those who do host open mic nights week in and week out at venues not just in Columbus, but all over the country has increased greatly over the past month. It's hard work!

Emceeing was an experience I was hesitant to do, it's the fear of completely screwing up, having nothing to say that kept me away. Introducing seven hours of poets at Arts Fest last year chipped a good part of that wall down and when opportunity presented itself at Writers' Block this year, I asked Scott Woods and he said yes. I even hosted during two of the four weeks of Black History Month, thanks Scott.

Writers' Block has also had some amazing audiences recently. We're seating people on stage, the room is packed. None of this could be done without them, and Kafe Kerouac. The poetry has been great too. Cheers to all the poets and the Writers' Block crew who also make the night one of the best open mics in the city.

For me, it's back to being a happy groundling.

Poetry 2012, what I remembered

I doubt that I'm going to write anything close to Howl in the next week so here's a recap of 2012, from the poetic view.

Not sure how much original work of any quality I wrote. Work was done, most of it average at best. I did finish my first sestina, not saying it's decent but I completed one.

I was published a couple of times. Once online by New Verse News about the wedding of Kim Jong Un and in Night Ballet Press' - Buzzkill: Apocalypse - An End of the World Anthology. This was good news and showed some growth. More hard work is needed though.

The film Street Poet was so horrible we gathered and took the piss out of it one afternoon at the library. It inspired my poem, Kabuki Condom, that helped me win only my second poetry slam.

A more memorable gathering of poets occurred in March on the steps of the Main Library as we celebrated a Great Day in Columbus as the snow smacked us all in the face.

I made three appearances on the show Speaking of Poetry this year talking about autism, IWPS and phoning in to give Izetta a goodbye Haiku.

Writers' Block brought on the usual shenanigans and coy racism along with new regular Erik the Viking, his height, his Mormonism and wind sex. It was also awesome to see Aaron appear in his first Grand Slam.

One of the big surprises for me was winning my second IWPS title and representing Writers Block in Fayetteville. I was a bit nervous and not as pumped as I could have been but being in the coolness of Fayetteville rejuvenated my enthusiasm. That and I was 28th after the first night! Ended up falling into 45th out of 67 but I had an absolute blast. So happy to have this experience under my belt.

The other big surprise was getting involved with the Columbus Arts Festival as a volunteer. Working with such a great group of people was inspiring. Then I was asked to be the Chair of the Poetry Committee for 2013. I'm humbled Scott Huntley and Shana Scott have so much trust in me. A good group of people are on the committee and I'm excited to be working with them. And hey poets you can apply to appear on stage right here!

Been a heck of a year, looking forward to Arts Fest and what the rest will bring.

In closing I urge you to give a listen to this. Jack McCarthy on IndieFeed.

A Stand Up Man

Jack McCarthy is one of the best American voices out there. He's been in the public eye since he started reading in Boston twenty years ago, when he was in his mid fifties.

Since then Jack has been a part of the Poetry Slam community on two coasts and has published books and cds. All of them to nothing but positive acclaim.

He came to Writers' Block in 2007 and his tone and demeanor switched a light on in me, one that blinked that a poem does not have to be shouted to have impact and power. Since then I've lost sight of that light more than a few times but Jack's work has resonated in my head ever since.

I've posted this poem before, but it deserves another view.



Jack's website, gives you plenty of information about him, and includes some of his poems and videos.

Jack's health has been fading, but he's still able to attend an occasional reading. Susan Dobbe Chase recently conducted a bittersweet interview with him by phone that you can listen to here.

I'm glad I got to see him once, but sad that the opportunity will most likely not happen again.

IWPS - Final verse

The alarm woke me on Saturday morning and I felt horrible. I wish I could say I was hungover, but I did not have any booze the night before.

Took a quick shower and got soaked on the way to Little Bread. Got a bagel with cream cheese, coffee, and a chocolate croissant then headed back to the room to follow the morning's soccer action.

Happily, I found a great audio link via talksport.com to get a live audio stream of all of the matches. Free!

But this is not about Everton getting a draw at Wigan.

The food did not make me feel better, it was not staying in its place for the right amount of time. Lied down and tried to sleep some before J.W. Bazillo's workshop. It was not going to happen.

Ended up watching Arkansas beat Auburn, hey Auburn are really terrible!

Began to feel a little better, possibly able to leave the room without need for a restroom every fifteen minutes so I went to Rogue to check out the comedy open mic.

It was hosted by The Klute, a wickedly funny guy sporting a fez. I signed up, ended up going first and read Spam Folder of Love.

I have no idea how it went over. There were not many people there at first. By the time I was to read again there were more people. I got called up and read An Obscene Phone Call From Mr. Potato Head. This was better received, I think.

There was some wit with a bite, as a work poem by a guy named Toaster demonstrated. Ethan did Toast and river danced on the stage. The second half was much improved on the first.

Felt even better so I went to the Hawg Haus for a burger and some bourbon before headed to finals.

Four of the finalists I had been in bouts with during the tournament. Three of them in my Friday night bout. I thought the quality of the work in these finals was much higher than what I saw in Berkeley. Most of the poets were outstanding. More on that in a bit.

Thuli Zuma's work is heartbreakingly beautiful. Her second poem about feeling guilt for the color of her skin knocked me out. 6 is 9 did a frantic and clever reading about cocaine and why it really became illegal. Franny Choi's Letter from Jessica Alba to Her Father turned the tables on some cliches. Seth Walker's poem from the persona of a tree that tries to prevent a suicide was an amazing example of body use in performance poetry. He also came up to the stage for his third poem, realized he had the wrong paper - ran back to his seat, found the right paper and sprinted back to the stage. Yes, there was a time penalty! It was a pleasure seeing G. Yamazawa on finals stage as he had been in both my bouts.

Ed Mabrey won it all, by just a tenth of a point over Thuli. So close! Ed was one of the first poets I saw in open mic in Columbus in 2006. The man has a voice, a set of pipes that always amaze me. It was so cool to be on the same stage with him on Friday and then to see him win his second IWPS title.

One poet has evoked some controversy. She read a letter to a person who raped her friend. The accused rapist was a poet in the room. I've been thinking a lot about this over the past couple of days. Read more than a few Facebook status updates and a good blog about building a safe poetry scene. Still have not really come to a conclusion. Not sure if that was exactly the right forum for this to be read. Not sure if it was the perfect forum. Wondering what an audience member, who may have been attending their first poetry slam thought about the poem. Would continually seeing poets beefing on other poets bring an increased audience of non poets into slam events or open mics?

There's a lot to digest. A lot of conversation is still necessary concerning safe spaces for women in poetry. It's ugly, but should not and can not be hidden.

But it's not going to be solved on social media sites.

Here's the part where I name drop the cool people I met. It's hard for me to meet people. I'm not an extrovert and rarely engage in deeper talk with people I have just met. Introducing myself to new people, even if we're in the same field, terrifies me.

I'll start with my driver, Josh. Thanks for the ride, and the tour on the way to Fayetteville from the airport. Your volunteering was much appreciated by many.

The people of the Little Bread Company. Your spirit and support of poetry was well respected. The baked goods you make are nothing short of delicious on a level that is not of this world. I have no idea if I ever will return to Fayetteville. But if I do, keep a cream puff for me. And if anyone reading this has to go to Fayetteville, you must go here!

Greg Bee. I met him at the Last Chance Slam, which he won. Such a kind and open man. A poet with a huge heart. He's an older poet and we bonded over being of a certain age, and in slam. Not too many of us out there.

Elizag. Another poet of a certain age. I did not realize she was from my home state. She reads tough. She talks smart. She's just getting started and is eager to learn. Maybe we will start the poets over 45 support group!

Leah Noble Davidson. Another poet just getting started. She has a farm girl's style and the soul of someone very wise. I predict we're going to read big work from her.

Jesse Parent. I wish we talked more. I had no idea he was Sonnets the Clown at Extreme Championship Poetry until he took the wig off. I still have not seen him read. This has to change.

Dogmatic. Saw him read and the comedy open mic and we had a good conversation about funny poems at the after party.

Wish I stayed more at the after party, but it was a smoking bar and I had not been in one in years. My eyes were freaking out on me.

Jenith Charpentier. Another first time poet at a national event. She asked me to take pictures of some good luck charms her daughters made for her. How could I refuse?

Cynthia French. It was good to finally meet her and see her skate around during Extreme Championship Poetry. She also read some good work at the comedy open mic.

Tapesty. Read some of the most gut revealing work I've experienced at a slam. This man has been in war and told stories. Deeply revealing. Then he plays Jack Deadman at Extreme Championship Poetry. Very cool!

Stephen Sargent. Energetic man from Austin. We met during his first bout, which was after mine on Friday. Pleasure to watch him work the stage.

The Klute. Bill Campana suggest I meet him. I think if I saw Klute and Campana together I'd need to wear diapers. These two are extremely dark, funny men. I was honored to be asked to be an audience of one for him rehearsing his one minute piece.

And I again thank Ethan Rivera for making himself available for me to vent my stress at him during my first bout. He did not have to be there, but it was good to have a person I actually knew for assistance.

Thanks to everyone at Writers' Block, especially Louise Robertson and Scott Woods, who dealt with my angst filled emails. And a big thanks again to everyone who assisted me financially. Give me time to get cds and other gifts together.

The biggest thanks goes to my wife, my biggest supporter, who painted the living room in my absence and watched my son while I was out of town. I love you.

To all the organizers, drivers, names I have mistakenly omitted and volunteers of IWPS: a big thank you and well done. I admit to being skeptical about having to go to Fayetteville, but came away really enjoying the community. You have a great scene.

Got back yesterday after a delay in leaving that required a push back of my flight from Atlanta. No other problems. Even had the exit seat legroom on the trip home. Shared the row with a young man who works for Abercrombie & Fitch, whose travel reading was the latest by Tucker Max. No fight broke out, we talked about our fantasy football teams.

Final word: Champions

The temperature dropped about 30 degrees yesterday from Thursday. Storms rolled through and it rained a bit. It is seemingly impossible to find an umbrella in this part of town. Dodged the mist and damp to find a place called the Little Bread Company, which is a short walk from the Hotel.

This place was fantastic. Everything made on premises, from scratch. Almost like Stauf's, but smaller and friendlier. I had my breakfast sandwich in a seat directly across from the display case, and was enticed by a huge plate of cream puffs. These cream puffs were different, as they were covered in chocolate. I told the cashier I'd be back for one of those cream puffs after my walk.

Hit Dickson Street in the vain attempt at umbrella shopping. Got some souvenirs at the campus bookstore and went up the big hill that would take me to Clinton House.

In the mid 1970's Bill Clinton was (as was Hillary), for a brief time, a law professor at the University of Arkansas. And he already lived in one place in Fayetteville. As he was driving Hillary to the airport she noted how much she liked this house. When she got back from the trip, Bill told her he bought the house and asked her to marry him. They were married in the living room. Until they bought the house in Chappaqua, it was the on;y home they ever owned.

Not the best of presidential homes I've visited, but the guide was very knowledgeable and friendly, and I washed my hands in the same sink the Clinton's used.

Got soaked on the way back. Still went back to Little Bread. The cream puff was other worldly.

After a beer sandwiched by two whiskies the night before, I was not in the best shape to attend an early workshop, but did save up my energy to attend Extreme Championship Poetry. Rob Sturma did a great job organizing the event. There were costumes, bad guys, heels, baby faces. It was like watching a night of RAW, but poets fought with words and not steel chairs.

Oh yeah, I was in a bout last night. Two and three minute rounds. I was in the three slot. Did Nine Bullets at Qimchok, got a score I thought was ok. Then, two poets later, the scores burst open and I was last in the round. Poets brought their game. Tables were turned. I went last in the three minute round did To My Son on His 10th Birthday and called it a weekend. Got seventh in the round. Was very happy how I did despite the whoszitwhatheheckjusthappeneditz of the first round.

How tough was my bout last night? Three of the poets ended up on finals stage. All deserved. G. Yamazawa (Who I was in the bout with on Thursday), Cameron and Ed Mabrey will all be onstage tonight. I was also in the bout on Thursday with Melissa May, who is also in finals. I like competing against the best, it brings up your own game and gives the audience a entertaining show.

Went to Matt Miller's Art Studio to see how Ethan did and to see the late bout there. Between rounds one of the judges abruptly left, flipping off one of the organizers as he left. Still not quite sure what happened there. A little spot of drama that did not effect the results.

I kept checking the overall results online to see who would end up in finals. One bout's results were late being posted. I'm sure a few poets were sweating it out. Then the scores were released. It's going to be a very good final.

As for my overall ranking, I went from 28 to 45. Would have not liked to have dropped that far but what can you do? I'm pleased with my work. Had a great time. My main goal was to finish in the middle of the pack, and not near last place like Berkeley. It happened. Again, thank you all for your thoughts and messages of support.

Winding down today. Listening to Everton vs. Wigan, getting ready for the poet picnic. Hope to read at the comedy showcase this afternoon. Then the finals and after party. I do not think I socialized as much as I would have liked, but damn, my energy is limited these days. Staying up late is hard.

I'm at Scarpinos at seven.

Made it to Fayetteville with little fuss. Delta flights were on time with no drama. The flight from Memphis to the Northwest Regional Airport was surprisingly short.

After a brief wait, my ride to town arrived and I got a quick tour of the Northwest Arkansas countryside before getting to the hotel.

The hotel rooms are too good for poets. Large, comfortable beds. Amenities. Clean. The a/c unit is not very quiet but it's a minor complaint.

Got myself registered, realized I had no idea who more than 3/4 of the poets competing are and got myself some food. Found a place called Hugo's, which is a dive burger joint, just the place I needed.

Dickson Street reminds me of Byers Road in Glasgow. A lot of shops, bars and eating establishments. Since I'm in a college town, there is a lot of fast food but the powers that be try to keep it interesting. It's kept fairly clean, which was a pleasant surprise.

The University itself is a mish mash of old and new construction. It's also set on some hills, some are steeper than others. Good exercise.

On the way to the student union for the Last Chance Slam, I looked down on the sidewalk and saw many names carved into the pavement. This is called The Senior Walk, and it celebrates all of the graduating classes of the university. This tradition has been happening since 1906. There are miles of names on the sidewalks of the University of Arkansas, a very cool tradition.

The slam was lengthy. Seventeen poets competed for what turned out to be two slots in IWPS. Thankfully there were only two rounds, with a cut to seven after the first round. It was won by a Seattle poet named Greg Bee, who I met before the slam as we recognized each other as "old poets." I'm pretty sure he and I are the same age. He's been involved in the scene since about 2004 if I remember right.

The other poet who earned a slot in IWPS is Lauren Zuniga, for Oklahoma City, I think. I've seen her on stage at WoW in Columbus and her work is solid.

Could not stay up late as I was exhausted, but I was also disappointed the hotel bar closed at 11PM. Would not have minded a night cap before going to bed.

Woke up around 5:30AM, tried to go back to sleep. Said the heck with it and took a shower then wrote this.

Off to find breakfast, take a walk before the cold front blasts through and most importantly, get ready for tonight's slam.

There is work to do at seven.

That other song by the Deutschendorf fellow

Now that I've found a kicker for my fantasy football team, I can go.

I leave for Fayetteville, Arkansas in a couple of hours to represent Writers' Block Poetry in the Individual World Poetry Slam. As ready as I'm going to get.

Unlike Berkeley in 2009, I have a better idea of what to expect. I plan to socialize a little more, which is very hard for me to do and I want to finish a bit further from last place this time. Fair enough goals?

Will try to update as much as I can. We'll see how the hotel wifi is. I'm guessing Facebook and Twitter updates will occur too. It's a college town, of course there's wifi!

I want to thank everyone at Writers' Block for their support as well as those who have contributed to my trip. I really want to thank my wife the most. She'll be watching my son for a couple of nights and has a project of her own that she's going to be working on while I'm out of the house.

Now, to get the kid on the school bus.

Really should start packing, or pacing

Today I am home with a sick child. The boy has a cold and cough. He got some rest last night, but needs more - and for the cough to diminish some more. Hoping I do not get what he has because I'm going to IWPS tomorrow and having a voice is kind of important in a poetry slam.

Yesterday was also his IEP meeting, which is always an hour of lost hope for me. I'd go on about it, but it's too damn depressing. I also had my goals and objectives meeting at work, which is all I'm going to say about that here, too. A double whammy I do not recommend anyone having to go through in a day.

Trying to get my act together for the trip to Fayetteville, it's tough with all the other stuff that is going on. All I can say is that I'm going to do my best.

Hardware in the house

The attempt at balance begins. Inquiries have begun in getting people and programming together for the Arts Festival. Timelines are being sketched out. The ignition has been turned on. My responsibilities for a committee at work are lurching ahead. It's hard for me to reach out to complete strangers, even when I'm seeking the tiniest of information or a modest but painless commitment of time. Comfort zones are being breached.

Very little has been done in preparation for IWPS, I have no clue what to read, that will change. I have booked the hotel room and will get plane tickets this weekend.

A number of people have asked if there will be a way to donate for my trip. The answer is yes, and a paypal link will be posted soon. There will also be added value. Details are on the way.

Last night at Writers' Block, Vernell Bristow the reigning IWPS Champion passed on the IWPS trophy. She read a lovely haiku during the ceremony.



It's called The Uni and I bought the item toward the end of my year as IWPS champion in 2009. I thought there should be some tradition passed on, and a green jacket had the one size fits all problem. Thus, after some be-dazzling by Veronica Sawyer, The Uni was born.

I'm exciting and proud to have The Uni in the house for a year.

At least it's not Branson

I'd be a lot more enthusiastic about things if I had not sank a lot of money into the car a couple of days ago. I knew the rotors were pitted, braking was similar to bronco busting, but when there was a lot of loud metal on metal banging during acceleration I knew I'd have to give in and take the car to the shop.

So I got to sit around the house and stress, do some editing, stress some more then watch Celtic win their soccer match to get into the Champions League and stress. The call from the mechanic came in, turns out the brake pads were not clipped on right by the people who put them on after I got the car last December, and they froze up the calipers. Scorecard was new brake pads, new rotors and calipers. A sickening total.

This was Wednesday, the same night as the Writers' Block Grand Slam in which the winner would go to the Individual World Poetry Slam. Five poets, including myself, were competing.

I was determined to compete and have fun, with no other expectations. Had my poems pretty much set. A one minute and two minute poem and two three minute poems of which I had to choose one.

Drew the five slot, which meant I went last in the round. That strategy did not matter much, not with only five poets reading.

Read a new poem that I finished the night before, To My Son on his 10th Birthday. You never know what is going to happen when you debut a work, especially during a major slam. After reading it, I got to my seat and my wife was bawling. Guess I struck a nerve in a few other people too as it was the highest scoring poem in the round. This meant I was to read first in round two.

There was no time to settle down, and I had another new poem, this one called Nine Bullets at Qimchok, about the taliban atrocities in Afghanistan. Got the judges verdict, then Gina read her poem and sailed past me in the scoring.

Going into round three, the one minute round Gina was in first, I was in second, Vernell third, Alexis then Aaron.

Gina did her thing then I came up and did, well, An Obscene Phone Call from Mr. Potato Head which brought the house down. I was in the lead and Vernell needed a near perfect score to catch me. That did not happen.

So I won the slam and a trip to the IWPS finals in Fayetteville, Arkansas in October. It was a great night of poetry and all five of us were outstanding. I've accepted the trip. Never been to Arkansas, deep in the Ozarks. My room is booked, the plane reservation will be made next week. I am thrilled, but the money issue and timing was not the best.

That said, I'm looking forward to representing Writers' Block Poetry. Now I have to figure out what to read there. Tough task. I hear there are only going to be 72 poets in the competition this year, so I'm guaranteed a better finish than my 90th in Berkeley three years ago. Also, like 2009, Ethan Rivera will be representing Writing Wrongs Poetry.



Columbus is coming Fayetteville, be ready!

Oh, and next week I get The Uni!

Normalcy advances

Coming back from a vacation in which there was little rest has been a tough adjustment. There's been a lot to do at work, which has resulted in slug like behavior at home. My wife did some more work on the back porch last night and I moved some record albums around while ditching some useless shelving.

Trying to get prepped for Wednesday's Grand Slam too.

My son started school this week and his bus has been extremely late in picking him up. So late we've had to take him to school. The bus home was an hour late the first day and 48 minutes late on the second. I do not consider that an improvement. Cannot get through to the transportation department, wonder why? Out of his first two days we spent about three and a half hours waiting for a bus.

Maybe they'll get it right by November.

The sound of one blogger flapping

The National Poetry Slam was held in Charlotte this past weekend. Congratulations to Slam New Orleans for winning the title! Both local groups, Writers' Block and Writing Wrongs competed and ably represented themselves and their city.

There's always some drama that happens right after finals is over. This year it was happening even before the last poet had read. It involves clapping, and if you're on a team, or participating in an event - and how much you clap for your 'opponent.'

Yeah, big controversy in the grand scheme of things. Poets are not putting out burning buildings, but simply trying to cause a different type of heat when on the microphone. Yet, it's been causing a few three figure status update postings on Facebook, because all of the world's problems are solved on Facebook.

"Clap for Everybody," is becoming a catch phrase of poetry slams, and open mics in general. It takes a brave person to get on a microphone in front of a crowd of drunks, then read something about death, injuries that occurred while being raised or a rabid unicorn with herpes - and the poet should be, at the very least, rewarded with polite applause at the end of their poem.



Personally, I try to abide by this. If I like a poem, I give good applause, if I really like one, I clap louder. Who likes every poem though? So maybe if I do not like the tone, or the language, or the poet's t-shirt I'll tap my hands together a couple of times and wait for the next poet. That's me. I'm not turning my back on them while they're reading or throwing stuff at them. I'll take the fifth on checking my email, I do have to work on stopping that.

These days, when I'm slamming, I want to compete with the best poets out there or be beaten by them, so I want everyone involved to give their all. I do try to be encouraging. We all must remember though, it's a game that was invented in a bar, to be played in a bar.

And if my opponents do not want to clap after I read, or even as I approach the stage, so be it. The crowd is what matters most during a slam, otherwise it's just poets playing to other poets and I hope that is not an ultimate goal.

Clap for your poet, so they do not tweet about you, or worse, make it a Facebook status update if you do not.

Right Poem, Wrong time? Wrong poem, right time?

Fascinating evening of poetry and slam at Writers’ Block last night, Erik the Viking seems to be becoming a regular and should get his card soon.

Seven poets competed in the slam. A couple needed to get their second slam in to be eligible to compete in the Grand Slam, others were competing for practice, others for shits and giggles.

I did not need to compete for points, had a rough day and needed to let off some steam. That’s why I took part. Really had no idea what I was going to read. The phone going off during open mic was a perfect set up for me to read my I’ll Serve You if You’re Phone Goes Off While I’m Reading a Poem, poem. Since I drew the one, and accepted my fate, I figured I’d burn it, get an entertaining slam going.

It went over well enough, but at the end of round one I was in seventh place.

In round two poets were getting serious. Vernell and Hanif were bringing it. Getting their chops developed before they headed to Nats. A guy passing through town named Ryan scored huge in round one with a witty poem that reminded me of Jonathan Walters’ computer love poem I heard in Berkeley three years ago. He tried the same thing in round two, but while punning off of car names he lost the poem. The awkward silence of a poet who forgot how the poem went was in the room at Kafe Kerouac. Eventually he picked up his own thread but drew a large time penalty.

Bryant did well in his first slam, even though he had to profess his love for Justin Bieber.

I was the last poet in the slam and was clueless what to do, so I found one I’ve never slammed with before and had only read one time in the four years since I wrote it. Sommelier of Justice is very foul. A lot of four letter words. Smug and angry, but the energy from all the cussing seemed to work in the room last night. You never know what kind of response you’re going to get and last night stuff clicked together. It took me from seventh into fourth place which was quite the surprise.

So the Grand Slam is going to have six poets: Ethan Rivera, Gina Blaurock, Vernell Bristow, Alexis Mitchell, Aaron Alsop and I. Aaron came in third last night, picked up a point and will be competing in his first Grand Slam. I’m excited as Hell for him and am really, really looking forward to taking part in this slam, which takes place on August 29th at Kafe Kerouac. It’s going to be a very intense night of poetry. Someone’s going to Fayetteville, Arkansas to compete at IWPS at the end of that evening.

Where the wrapper be

Last night was one of the best open mics at Writers’ Block in sometime. Really.

A virgin poet started out the night in amazing fashion by ripping through a Viking poem that had nothing to do with Erik the Viking, but everything to do with conference calls. Seriously, one of the best debut poems since The Chet.

Virgin two did a powerful piece about losing a friend to drugs.

Richard from Cincinnati did a love poem, with Jesus twist.

Rose Smith sizzled. Had keys thrown at her.

There was a Sean Barber sighting! And Sean relived the olden days that never happened by reading a poem accompanied by Scott Woods on piano.

Joe! Read a train poem that had nothing to do with the train derailing, but everything to do with life’s metaphors.

A third virgin, Meg, was quite sensual.

Karen read. Yes. Karen read a tale about the Grove City bull calf that reminded me of Noel Harrison’s Young Girl.



A Quad of virgins read on the stage. Alexis called it a four course meal. A young lady read a poem in front of her Aunt and Uncle. It was about Twix and all the things you could do with it, I think. I was waiting for mention of the crunchy middle.

There was also a slam that Gina won. Wal-i came in second and I showed. Great night all around.