Belting out a poem

Last Friday night was a fun time. I went to the "New Poems Only Open Mic" at Kafe Kerouac. Had to pick up my daughter from work right at 8:00, so I ran a little late getting there. Would have missed the open mic altogether were it not for the graciousness of MC Scott Woods. (Thanks, Scott!) Not sure it was worth extending the night to hear a couple of crappy poems I was testing. Thank goodness a couple of other poets still had more they could/would read.

Got talked into heading down to Dick's Den for Circus of Cool's open mic night. I'd never been at one of Circus of Cool's events, and it turned out to be an okay event. They are a very nice jazz band in their own right, but they add to their night by allowing poets to hit the mic with them. Joanna, Louise, Paul and I showed up for it, along with some apparent Circus of Cool regulars.

I wasn't going to read anything, but I was inspired with a poem while listening to their music set. Louise's stomach was upset. She ended up leaving before the poetry started. Joanna Shroeder So, I hit the mic, too. Found myself belting out a jazz-inspired little ditty that worked out okay. I should have left at that point, but Joanna and I both had so much fun in the first round we decided to stay for a second turn at the mic with them. Worked out GREAT for Joanna. Me...? Not so much. It's not the same doing my regular poetry to music. Was pretty much a disaster--Joanna and Paul both knew it, but the crowd didn't. That was a bit fortunate.

Was interesting to watch the Circus of Cool regulars do their thing. I was pretty darned ready to go before The Extended Native American James Brown Imitation hit the stage. Needless to say, I was "outta there" as soon as that was done. The King would be proud, I suppose, to know that his 1960s/1970s legacy lives on.

Keep Movin'

At the end of the street--there, under that yellow glow of streetlight buzz, that shadow you saw in the day now void where an entity should be--THERE is that doubt you wrestled with years ago, coming back to haunt you now. What will you do when you meet it? Shake its hand and take it home with you, or walk past it like you've never seen it before?

It is full of the rank mistruths you told yourself once, the things you said you could not do. It hides behind bushes hoping you will slow your pace just enough to let it launch onto your back, sink into your spine again. Let it linger long enough, it ties anchors to your feet, wraps the weight of all your maybes heavy around your waist. It will teach your heart to fear, your mouth to hold forever truth you've been appointed to hand to listening ears.

Today is a new day, full of possibilities formed by the choices made yesterday, but not bound by them. Who would you be if you never doubted yourself at all? What would you accomplish?

It's time to begin the walk you thought impossible, to see it possible as never before. "Not weapon formed against you shall prosper; and every tongue that shall rise against you in judgment you shall condemn. This is the heritage of the servants of Yahweh, and their righteousness which is of me, says The Lord." How are you possibilities now?

Keep moving. Whatever you do, just keep moving.

Strange Dynamic

There's this strange dynamic going on in local Poetry right now. So many active venues and so few consistently active poets seems to be leading to factions. Odd juxtapositions of personalities. I sat in a local slam recently, and it felt like I was at Nats again, with most of the tables from Columbus and some foreign team hittin the stage. It was quite obvious who was welcome and who was not, who the crowd was behind and who they were not. I found it disturbing.

GeezLouise, I hope I never go sideways of a crowd, never go stepping all over other people's toes. Lorrrrd, let my goings be amenable to everyone I meet. We meet SO few fellow artists in this world. Heaven help us all if we go sideways of each other and lose the sense of family we all once knew.

I'm writing again!!!!!!! That's a change--for anyone who didn't realize I wasn't writing. Of course, none of what I'm writing right now is any GOOD, but at lest I'm writing. That's the first battle--getting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard. Never letting that lifelong relationship end. Never letting children go unborn or seeds go unplanted. Constantly giving life to words that constantly give life. If we cease to do this, we die. A little something is lost every time we fail to walk this path without new art on our breaths and love in our hearts. It's all about the love, people. It's about the love. (And anyone who thinks I mean romantic is on the wrong blog.)