This weekend in Albuquerqe is the Poetry Slam competition to determine the members of the team who will go to the 2007 National Poetry Slam Championship in Austin, TX in August. I’m going to try to make the Albuquerque event. I want to see slam in action. It’s as much the performance as it is the poem.
In honor of slam events, which I imagine are gearing up all over the place, I challenge my writing community to do some slammin’. According to the What Exactly Is Poetry Slam FAQ, poetry slam is “the competitive art of performance poetry.”
The basic rules are:
- Each poem must be of the poet’s own construction;
- Each poet gets three minutes (plus a ten-second grace period) to read one poem, if the poet goes over, points will be deducted from the total score;
- The poet may not use props, costumes, or musical instruments;
Write a poem that you can perform in three minutes. Write several. Gather an audience–your family, loved one, cats, friends–and perform your poem. Or, perform it in your kitchen, alone, where you can really belt it out. If you want, write about it. Is poetry slam your cup of tea?
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[…] Apr 9th, 2007 by quoinmonkey I’m thinking about poetry. Our topic this week is to write a poem for Slam-o-rama. […]
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Writing Practice 10 minutes
obstructing mountains stand in my way
i follow my heart down a path
that is mine, and mine alone
not yours, not hers, not his, but mine
i’m off again gliding past the singing ferns
slogging through the marsh grasses
by the still pool where an eagle picks off
a giant white swan, dig talons into her neck
lifts her dangles her from her claws, floats
high into the sky and then lets her go
to crash on to a rock, to split open her guts
to cook her for an eagle snack
should a battered woman feel guilty
about murdering the one who beats her
does a mouse feel shame for killing
the cat that mauls her for hours
there’s no word for guilt in Tibetan
only “intelligent regret”
mountains are falling on to Hwy 1
thery are crushing cars, blocking traffic
another rebellion of mother earth
another fight against the machines that
drill and dig, drop dynamite into her heart
she explodes, throwing rocks down on
rumbling trucks and zipping cars
don’t worry about the mother
she’s taking care of herself
obstructing mountains
splatter the blood and bones of
European colonizers who have
come to the end of their 400 year party.
The revelry of greed is over
Our mother will have her day.
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RECALL on Kuya Minogue practice:
gliding past the singing ferns
eagle picks off
a giant white swan
lifts her dangles her
split open her guts
murdering the one who beats her
mauls her for hours
***there’s no word for guilt in Tibetan
only “intelligent regret”***
mountains are falling on to Hwy 1
crushing cars, blocking traffic
rebellion of mother earth
drop dynamite into her heart
rumbling trucks and zipping cars
obstructing mountains
blood and bones
European colonizers
end of their 400 year party.
Our mother
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Kuya,
Thank you for this poem. The vibrant images inspire me. I’ve had a hard time getting started on the Topic post this week. I find inspiration in other writers.
QM
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I’m having a hard time, too. What is it? Is it the slam aspect? It feels kind of like rap or something. Yet I also was inspired by Kuya’s poem.
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I’ve been trying to figure that out, too. I wrote haiku last week when I walked the labyrinth. And it came harder than last year when I was practicing slow walking more. I think I need to slow walk more. To be outside. I like being outside when I write poetry.
Not sure. Maybe it is the slam thing. Performance challenges me. Though I did get up and read in front of coffee shop audiences a few years ago; they were long pieces of prose, too. Looking back, I can’t believe that was me.
QM
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[…] 11th, 2007 by ybonesy I don’t do slam. Not like slam I am. I prefer spam. Grilled. Or bologna or cheese please. Anything but […]
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[…] from Topic post, Slam-o-rama Wednesday, April 11th, 2007 […]
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[…] 11th, 2007 by quoinmonkey Don’t know about Slams, no, not my cup of tea. But poetry has got it going on this week in Minnesota. As I write, Where […]
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