Writings Wrongs first full Year, 2009

Writing Wrongs had a pretty good year, for it being the first full year of its existence. The audience stayed up for the most part with a consistency I couldn't have really expected. We had some great features, I mean great. I'd have to say that my favorite features of the year were Blair and Brian Ellis, though we had so many just destroy the spot. I'm quite sure Rachel gave the best feature nobody saw (as part of an experimented Saturday night show, a spectacle I plan to make amends for in 2010). Some of our shows were so packed, we had to steal chairs from the coffee shop itself and we would still have a standing room. I saw so much growth amongst poets this year that I hope it becomes a trend for years to come. As far as slamming goes, here's how it went down

Women of the World Poetry Slam '09
Rep: Barbara Fant


If you've got a problem with Barbara Fant, then you're a horrible human being that needs to question your existence. Yeah, I said it. People LOVE Barb and that's before they hear her actually recite a poem. Then it just gets stalkerish. At any rate, this was Barb's second WOWPS appearance and she finished 24th overall

National Poetry Slam '09
Team Members: Wyk McGowan (1st), William Evans (4th), Barbara Fant (2nd), Mike 'Spike' Cowell (3rd), Ethan Rivera (1st)


This team was pretty fun. We should've had more than we did. This team did well. We should've done better. I'll chalk that up as my shortcoming for not utilizing the prep time the best in having our team ready to perform like we could've. Nevertheless, we finished 27th (out of 68 teams). Its the best finish for a Columbus team since 2004. I'm quite sure its a top five finish for Columbus' history. A nice building block, especially for the first year of Writing Wrongs being in competition

Individual World Poetry Slam
Representative: Ethan Rivera


Ethan was the lightning rod for Writing Wrongs for the duration of the year. He showed the most growth and work ethic in making himself a better poet and it showed when he won our IWPS slam-off pretty easily. He finished 76th at IWPS, which I know disappointed him initially, but it became evident that he was learning on the fly and earning the respect and admiration of his peers. His poetry will be a force to deal with in '10.

So many crazy things are set to pop off this upcoming year, I'm definitely happy to have such a great seat for the show that Writing Wrongs will be.

Ahhh...2009

For the Writing Wrongs end year blog, go here


I'm not gonna lie or even exaggerate here...to date, 2009 has been the best year of my life. Lets review, shall we


January


+ I release my first Chapbook: Humble Shell Casings
+ Watched the first Black Person elected President being sworn into office

February

- Lost my job (in a manner of speaking) at Cardinal Health
+ Started the Upwords Youth Poetry Slam

March

+ Signed on with Penmanship Books

April

+ Started Projecting Murals LLC
+ Hosted the first Columbus All District High School Slam
+ Won the Writing Wrongs National Team Grand Slam

May

+ Was on the winning 2009 Rustbelt Regional Slam Team and finished 3rd overall as an individual

August

+ Coached the Writing Wrongs National Team to a top 30 finish (a personal best for me and the highest finish for a Columbus team since 2004)
+ Released my first full manuscript on Penmanship, In The Event you are Caught Behind Enemy Lines

September

+++ I got married...Can you believe that shit?

October

+ Made my first Finals stage at the Individual World Poetry Slam

November

+ I turned 30 years old (yes, I'm putting this as a plus. A big one actually. The only thing worst than getting old is not getting old)

December

+ Went on a mini tour to the west coast

Yeah, I'd call that a pretty good year. The highlight of my year without question was finishing 3rd at Rustbelt...I kid.

Seriously, without a prolonged amount of mush, meeting Leah years ago (let alone marrying her in September) was the kind of life altering experience you wish for. And life was pretty damn good before I met Leah, but now, it seems so dismal to think what might have happened had we not crossed paths.

From a poetry aspect, I expected good things to happen, but had no idea what that would really entail. Having just finally gotten around to doing a chapbook (and only because I was approached to do one, not because it was in my original plans), I find it hard to fathom that I would put out a full manuscript of new work just over 6 months later. And the book has done really well as I've sold thru half of my second run already.
The biggest revelation to me this year in poetry was that I had no idea how people felt about my work. Sure, I got the usual compliments and I think I'm a pretty decent poet because I've really put in the work, experimented and always tried to be original within my voice. But between IWPS and doing the tour at the beginning of December, I learned of an appreciation for the work that I hadn't anticipated. And you know what, it makes me want to be a hell of a lot better because I know where the walls are I have yet to knock down. Gives me something to climb towards for 2010.

I hope everyone got that the wanted for Christmas and get what you want for New Years (which in many cases is just a fresh start at something), but I hope to see you all in prosperous winds in the New Year

Website Launch

Thanks to the lovely Lauren Zuniga, I know have a functional website. Its not 100% done, but its pretty damn nice if I say so myself (and for Lauren). Since I got rid of my Myspace page, this is definitely the go to site for info my goings on.

WWW.WILLIAMTHE3RD.COM, please check it out

Arizona & the Big Boat Ride Home: 3

When we last spoke, I had just finished performing at Black Pearl Tempe & Phoenix while being wowed by a phenomenal 13 yr musician Alex Aiono. On Saturday, Edward, the beautiful Tamika (part of the Black Pearl Arizona team) and I ventured to Tuscon for the Ocotillo Slam. Great night, great poetry. Doc Luben was a great host and super entertaining throughout the night. I got my first extended look at Lindsey Miller who won the slam and was quite impressed. I now feel sorry that I was out of town when they came thru Columbus together. I'm sure it was a hell of a show. As for me, I think I did my best feature of the tour. I got to do 3 new poems that I wrote after the tour started two weeks ago and they felt right. Just right. Again, a great night.

Back in Phoenix on Sunday night for the Home Base Poetry night. For those familiar with Black Pearl when it was in Columbus (at the Brownstone), it was like that, on steroids. About 250 people, 90% black, filling up a hotel ballroom for nothing more than poetry. Very interesting evening. I did a 3 poem set and got a standing 'O', which felt like a good way to end the tour.

As for personal goals that I set out at the beginning of the tour, I did marginally well: Wrote 5 poems, which all feel like keepers.
I didn't finish the essays, but I did write the outlines and framing for two of them.
Did not eat any meat or dairy. And you know what, I feel pretty ok.
Did not get any running done, though I did work out...some. The weather really fucked with my ambition of running.
As an unforeseen accomplishment, I sold out of all my books, which I'm pretty proud of since I got 50 of them shipped to me on Monday while I was still in the Bay.

Overall, I had an amazing, amazing time and loved every locale I hit. I'll write a more decompressed wrap up of the trip when I get the chance. Right now, I'm just focused on getting home to my wife.

Travelling Mercies: 2

If a mini tour is a pregnancy (which its not, don't kill me women, I just need a measurable time parallel), then my tryst through the Bay Area would've been the 2nd Trimester. Some kind of amazing, I'll tell you. I did almost as much spectating as I did featuring, but I had a great time. Features, I got to see: Buddy Wakefield in Oakland, Ainsley Burrows at the City Slam (for which I spotlit) and Chas Jackson at the Golden State Slam, all of which impressed, A LOT. In between, I also featured at San Jose for the wonderful Kat Dietrich and concluded my time there by featuring at Berkeley.

Yo...This shit was awesome.

So many of the Bay's finest we're in the house that night including a beat-boxing 9 year old that rocked the house before my teaser. As good as he was, he would not be the most impressive youngin I would see on this tour (in the business, we call that foreshadowing). The Berkeley Slam was hosted by Jamie DeWolf and my God, I never wanted to see a Tourettes show so badly. He was unreal, which you can imagine I'm sure. Funny, rude, engaging, just an unflinching energy that was awesome to see. My set went over extremely well. Even debuted a new piece about infidelity I was slightly nervous about. I definitely have to shout out the people I hung with most of the week: Ekabhumi, Kristina Robertson (who I saw every single show), Tatyana Brown, Jaime Britton & Stephen Meads (who probably did my favorite poem/performance of this tour so far). Thank you all for making me feel at home 2,000 plus miles away.

By Thursday, I was on my way to Arizona to do a few shoes and hang with my man, 50 Grand Ed Mabrey. Ed, did this up right, set up shows for me, treated me like a brother coming into town and we've had a great time thus far. On Thursday night, I got to be part of a benefit concert that included quite a few bands. Including my new favorite artists. I will now direct you to the Alex Aiono section of the blog.

Meet Alex Aiono



He's 13 years old. He's Samoan. He plays the ukulele. He's a good looking kid. He's all kinds of awesome.



Its not just the fact that he's an immensely talented pre-teenager, that sounds like a grown damn man and is charismatic as hell. He's super humble about it all. Which means he's just that good of a kid (shout out to his parents on that one) or he has no idea of the kind of attention/praise/love/female attention/accolades that will get thrown at him in the next 3-6 years. He's also got a great family as evidenced below



And for the John Legend fans, you'll appreciate this:



Ok, I'm done now.

So its Saturday and I'm headed to Tuscon tonight to do the Ocotillo Slam. Lindsey actually, extended their season and created this show since I was going to be in town...no pressure there. I guess I better not suck tonight. But I'm really looking forward to it. Sunday, I've doing an appearance at one more Open Mic, then headed home on Monday morning. Can't wait to see my wife. And I keep hearing about all this snow Bullshit happening back east. If my flights get fucked with even a little bit, its gonna be me, Mother Nature and a hate crime, trust me on that.

Left Coast Travel: 1

Everything started with a marathon travel day. Truly some Planes, Trains & Automobiles shit, but I finally made my way to Vancouver on Sunday night. Had a bit of a miscue with my lodging situation, but it turned out well as Sean McGarragle took good care of me. The show was Monday night and pretty magic. Its uncanny how you accumulate friends and acquaintances over the years with no bearing of where they're geographically located, but you're reminded of such when they keep showing up at the venue. Big crowd, great energy. The audience and its response was very much a living entity and it was a joy sharing poems with them. Got some quality time with Ms. Spelt as we talked about EVERYTHING (which many people do with Ms. Spelt). His viewpoints on mythology in the classical and modern sense fascinated me and really framed a great conversation. The best moment of the night for me may have been when he covered Gabrielle's latest poem before the slam. Magical stuff.

Tuesday night, I made my way down to Seattle. Look, Daemond is one of those cats that you mention his name to anybody in the know and they light up with the immediate 'good guy' response. You get confirmation of such after about 3 1/2 minutes with the guy. He also trumps any feelings I have of missing Leah after a few days since Inti has been out of the country for weeks.

Let me pause here to say that its cold out west. Muthafuckin cold man. Not what one pictures when they travel that far west. It might have gotten cold back in Columbus during the time I've been away, but 40 degrees in San Fran wasn't part of the plan. You hear that Mother Nature?! I got some four and five letter words for you when I see you. I heard your kids ain't shit either.

Anyways.

The Seattle show was cool. Unfortunately, they had some venue issues a few days before my feature. This led to Daemond and crew having to find another venue at the drop of a dime just to field the show. Which they did. But of course, changing a venue on short notice will always lead to a dip in attendance and this was no exception. I did miss some of the usual stalwarts of the Seattle Poetry Slam not being there, but the crowd was super attentive and involved so I enjoyed it a ton. Oh and Mike McGee was there. And he was awesome. Of course he was.

Due to another venue/attendance situation, the Everrett, WA gig didn't work out, so Daemond and I both flew out of Seattle on Thursday morning (him to go see Gabrielle, me to The Bay). It turned out great because I got to Oakland in tact, got some rest and hit the town in time again to catch the Oakland Poetry Slam. Lots of great peeps in the house, lots of good poems thrown around capped off with Buddy's feature which was pretty damn special. I imagine he's gotta be road weary as hell, but he still brought his trademark energy last night and it was nice to see.

Next Gig: Sunday Co-Feature with Ainsley Burrows at The City Slam in San Francisco.

An Interesting Night

I came across the video of Roger Bonair-Agard and myself performing at Denver back in February. Fun night for many reasons other than poetry, but we did our thing a little bit too.

Go West Young Man

Lengthy (you were warned):

On Sunday, I depart for the west coast for a two week tryst, starting in Vancouver, BC and ending in Phoenix, AZ. I’m pretty pumped for it, as outside of both of my competing IWPS appearances (Vancouver and Berkeley respectively), I’ve never performed west of Denver. As I’m been doing this for a little over four years, some may say it’s about time, but now feels about right. If I’ve got any buyers remorse on booking this tour its that I’ll be away from my wife for the longest duration since Bazalicious and I embarked on our mini East Coast/Midwest Tour in March ’08. That tour included everything from a Worcester Flojo, a fan with a face like the Brooklyn-Queens Express, a polka dancing Vampire and the longing comfort of Ms. Bouliane every step of the way, so there’s no way I could ‘top’ that experience. So I’m counting on the amazing peeps of these amazing scenes to be my comfort food while they indulge me for 20 minutes at a time at their local watering hole. With a microphone. Or not.

I must say though, I’m treating this as a working vacation. I have copious amounts of shit to get done (or at least plan to get done). It’s funny how you don’t know you’re at a crossroads till you’ve been sitting by the same yard marker for two months. Writing Wrongs and its future has taken up an inordinate amount of my brain capacity of late. What are our goals? Short and long term? I’m proud of it, but how proud? Not broke don’t fix it proud or just the tip of the iceberg proud? Part of the problem may be that the ‘we’ of Writing Wrongs is in actuality ‘I’. The pros of sculpting your scene around a younger demographic (as in high school and college students) far outweigh the cons, BUT one con is that everyone seems to be in transition and therefore unable to take a true ownership in contributing to the night when outside of hitting the mic. We’re going into the winter and in Columbus that means everybody with insecurity is going to be starting their own Open Mic. Regardless of how long these ankle biters last, it’s the fool that thinks fools are to be completely ignored. I refuse to the stale open mic where the same 8 people hit the open mic, the same 6 people make the slam team for 6 years. So I’m always up for evolving something, even if it currently works. I would love to be part of a committee or brain trust as opposed to being the man, but in reality, I’m just bouncing my ideas off of people who’s opinions I trust, but have had minimal exposure to the actual workings of a poetry night outside of myself to offer a valid and different perspective. We won’t even mention the fact that I’d rather run the youth night every week. Anyways. Then there’s me. What exactly do I do next? I’ve had a fresh pine casket under my bed for slam for a few years now (guess that doesn’t make it so fresh) and will probably put it in the ground officially after ’10, but I would like it to show for something other than saying I got to feature at Bumfuck College of Arts in Bumfuck, OH. The possibilities are actually there. Do I dive back into theatre and bring this one-man show to fruition? Try to get on with an agency? Keep plugging away at my non-profit? MFA program? Back to school? (Ugh). Back to a corporate gig, ya know, back when I made good money? (Ugh-squared). I really don’t know, but I guess that’s a luxury of creating options for yourself early and having an amazing wife that allows you to sort thru the falling feathers.
So outside of doing a lot of thinking or soul searching if you will, I do have actual work to do. The checklist is as follows:

1) Writing: I haven’t wrote a poem in a while. On purpose. Tons of ideas floating in the head, so no writer’s block, just letting it manifest in these walls. I’ve been saving them for this road trip, hoping the environment will help put a little coloring in the work. An experiment, we’ll see how it works out. I’ve also got a at least 3 essays I’ve been contemplating on that I want to finish (Should arrogance really be separated from the art, Dancing for the all black poetry audience and How to host a successful Open Mic). So the goal is at least 7-10 fully birthed poems (of varying lengths) and 3 essays.

2) Reading: No poetry books allowed for this trip. I’d like probably one Biography and a couple of good fiction joints. I’ve got a couple already, but I’ll take suggestions if you’ve got them.

3) Personal Health: So here’s the thing, I don’t plan on eating meat for this two week trip. Now, poet friends, before you scoff like that ain’t shit, I’d like you to keep in mind, I’m a carnivore. Straight up. Maybe when you were a dinosaur, you watched the meteor hit you thru a Triceratops’ eyes. Me, I was the Raptor that probably just got done digesting your cousin. I’m just sayin. At any rate: I’ve been a step away from going vegetarian for a while and eat about ¼ of the meat that I used to. Sadly, this is not for any political statement. I’m cleansing or shedding if you will. My rules are pretty simple. Water in place of…everything liquid. No meat. And very little pasta. I’ve went spells before without eating meat, but I’m also a former college athlete with a muscular frame that weighs 210+. Asking me to take meat out of my diet is like putting a solar panel the size of a postage stamp on an Escalade and telling it to run on Sun rays and not gas. But I’ve found some new tactics to supplant my energy, so we’ll see how it goes. Poets, I’m holding you accountable. If we’re eating together in Seattle and you see me eyeballing the cheeseburger, it’s your job to smack the menu out of my hand. I promise to laugh and not, ya know, break your wrist or anything. And I’ll be working out. Everyday. Unfortunately, I won’t have my kettle bell with me since that would take up 30lbs of my 70lbs suitcase requirement, I’ll be coming armed with jump rope, stretch bands, and new running shoes. I promise not to get my swole on in your living room at 4 am. Unless you’re up too.

4) And oh yea, do some bomb ass shows. I’ve always assumed that East coast was my second home because NYC and I fit together like poets and anti-depressants, but that isn’t really fair since I’ve made seldom trips to the Left Coast since I started doing poetry. So have at it Pacific peeps, make me miss you when I’m back at home in overcast Columbus, OH while the snow falls in February.
For those interested, here are the dates I’ll be out there. If there’s anything else I can hit, let me know now before I finalize all my travel between the cities:

Dec 7th: Vancouver Poetry Slam @ Café Deux Soleils
Dec 9th: Seattle Poetry Slam @ Spitfire
Dec 10th: Everrett, WA @ Zippy’s Java Lounge
Dec 13th: San Francisco Poetry Slam
Dec 14th: San Jose Poetry Slam
Dec 16th: Bezerkeley Slam
Dec 17th: Black Pearl Tempe, AZ
Dec 18th: Black Pearl Phoenix
Dec 18th: Phoenix, AZ (TBD)
Dec 19th: Phoenix, AZ (Details TBD)

When Brothers Speak: Toronto, Day 2

Incredibly packed out. Like 400+ people. About 90% black attended, probably 92% women. This will be important for a future blog.

They were extremely receptive, engaging and I think just about everybody performed even better than they did the night before. I can't say all of us escaped with our souls still in tact, but that's another story as well. Headed to Ottawa this morning with the crew and I'm really looking forward to the show there. I keep hearing good things and that this point I don't expect too much different.

When Brother's Speak...who's listening again?

Last night was the opening night of the 11th When Brother's Speak Spoken Word Concert in Toronto.



And it was dope. Real dope. I gotta say, the vision that Dwayne Morgan has created of taking poetry out of the bars and into the concert hall is pretty special and one that many of us share. The crowd was pretty receptive (though they were probably a little tired by the time I closed out the show), but it was attended extremely well. So well in fact that it runs on two nights in Toronto because the venue he uses seats about 500 and this year they had about 700 pre sale tickets sold. Did I mention that these are $35 and $45 tickets. There's a shock value I associated with that number at first, but to be honest, as poets we all hoped that our craft would be valued that highly, so I'm at peace with it. Second show tonight, then we're off to Ottawa (I've never been) for Sunday's show.

This entry was originally conceived as my thoughts on the dynamic of predominantly black poetry shows, but I don't have the time today to give it the attention it deserves. More to come

IWPS Wrap-Up

First and foremost (and I'm sure I'm being repetitive), this was the most tightly run Poetry Slam Event I've frequented (in which I've attended every one of them since IWPS 2005). The proximity of the venues, the attention to detail by the staff, I just can't give Ekabhumi and his crew enough credit. Doesn't mean it was perfect, but above any criticism I could honestly muster.



So a brief recap from the first night (I'll have more slam nerdery listed below): I had a total rank of "5" after day one and stood in 11th place overall going into day two. I pulled a total of a "3" on day two giving me a total rank of "8". This would be put in 5th place overall, the top 12 making Finals. Wow. You know, it was a goal of mine to make Finals, but I always envisioned myself sliding in somehow, not stomping into it. But all my poems went over really well in pre-lims and I made it in with a nice cushion. Even more special for me was the fact that Mr. Ed Mabrey made Finals too.



My history with Ed is well documented, so it felt 'right' for both of us to make Finals together. It took me a while to make an impression upon the poetry world without Ed's involvement (not his fault, just the natural way these things happen), so for us both to make the stage felt really good.

It was good having Ethan there representing Writing Wrongs too.



At first we both groaned when we found out we had BOTH of our Prelim bouts together. But it was a blessing for me to be able to see him perform all of his pieces at his first IWPS, even if we were competing against each other. I'm sure he would've like to place better, but in all honesty, it probably happened the way it should've. The first night was rough on him, but an eye opening moment, the second I saw more confidence and a better stage presence from him. A good overall experience for him and I look forward to seeing what it brings out of him.

Lastly, before the specifics of how I got to Finals, the Individual World Poetry Slam Champion Amy Everhart was pretty outstanding.



Many have said that this was the best Finals stage for IWPS. I dunno how true that is, but I was happy to be included. Many of the poets that made Finals I truly admired, so it was awesome to be amongst them. A great night overall.

Some fun facts:
As many have now figured out, Amy was the first woman ever to win IWPS.
But also, with Iyeoka finishing second, this was the first time since the first IWPS that two women made the final pairing.
In total (if my history is accurate), that still only brings the number of women to make the final four to 5 (Rachel McKibbens and Andrea Gibson twice, Celena Glenn and now Iyeoka and Amy).
Last item on gender would be that Finals was even split: 6 men and 6 women.
Another item: Denver is doing the damn thing. Including Ayinde Russell as the SAC, four poets from Denver graced the final stage. They did send 7, but still, that's a nice pull.
Another close to even split: Five vets (Khary Jackson, Tara Hardy, Original Woman, Ed, Alvin Lau, ) and 7 newbies to IWPS Finals (Amy, Iyeoka, Sierra DeMulder, Rudy Francisco, Kim Johnson, Theo Wilson & myself).

All in all I had a great time and this was easily one of the best poetic experiences I've had thus far. (Slam Nerdery in the next post)

Day 1 at IWPS...

...was kind of badass. Fun stuff. Leah and I spent all day on a plane (our flight left at 6am EST), so to say we were fatigued by nights end was an understatement. First impressions, Berkeley is slightly awesome. Just north of stupendous. I love the environment, the community feel within the venues. I know the Bay Area has been touting how hard they've been working on IWPS and it shows, tremendously.

People have said it already, but I'll reiterate: women are running this IWPS. After day one, I think they are 4 of the top 5 and 7 of the top 12. The only qualifier I'll give is that more specifically, the western United States women are running IWPS. I'm pretty sure Iyeoka is the only woman east of the Mississippi in the top rankings (there's only 4 of us total with that regional differential in the top 12). Maybe that's a coincidence, maybe that's part of the growing discussion of just how regionally competitive the national events have gotten depending on where its held, but either way, they're bringing it and bringing it with fury.

Personally, I started off the day by doing the Masquerade Slam (hosted and created by Christian Drake). All persona poems and a really fun event. I did '21 Shots for Jesse Jackson from Huey P Newton'. I didn't realize they were scoring it (in the most loose and fun way possible) till I got there, but I ended up finishing 2nd in the slam to Sean Walker's amazing Tree persona piece. Great stuff.

I had a late bout and pulled the 1 spot in the rotation. Great. But I was lucky enough to 1) be in the late bout and 2) have this be the year that they switched the order of putting the 4 minute round first, then the 1 minute round. So, even though I was leading off, I could lead off with a stronger piece. I ended up with a 4 rank for my 4 minute, and a 1 for my 1 minute round giving me a total rank of 5. Puts me in 11th place heading into tonight. Ugh. I'd like more cushion. I would probably feel more comfortable knowing I had to climb to get in, cuz trying to hold serve ain't really my steez. Friday is always moving day at IWPS, things never end up the status quo, so I'm going to perform like I'm on the outside looking in.

Got a tough bout tonight, but I'm set up well (my reward for going first last night is going last in the first round today), so we'll see.

In the mean time, I'm cruising Berkeley with my wife, will stop in and see some workshops and the Poet CD showcase, then get myself ready to perform tonight.

The road to IWPS...

...has been long and winding since I last was there. Which would've been 2006, in Vancouver, BC. That was my first IWPS (though I watched the 05 wips in Charlotte for my first national poetry slam event) and I didn't know what I was doing. Not even a little bit. I had exactly 2 1/2 poems at most, but still managed to come in 22nd. I was cool with it. Got to watch one of my boys make finals (Baz), my other boy actually win the damn thing (Ed), so it was a really good time to me. When Ed won the bid to bring IWPS to Columbus, I was amped. Like Crank type shit. I mean, how often do you get to compete for a National event in your own backyard. So I was dedicated to working my poems and giving myself a legit shot to make Finals, especially since it would be in my hometown. Then Ed moved to Arizona. And the bid fell apart. Then I started Writing Wrongs and wanted to focus on growing my scene over competing during the winter. In the words of Tyler Durden, "I suppose these things happen."

So I set my self up to make a run at this year. Berkeley sounded like a great place to jump back into the fray since I've never performed out west before (besides Vancouver). I'm still trying to grow my local scene, so I didn't want to compete in the preliminary slams as to not take a spot away from somebody else. I've been working pretty hard on my craft for the last few years and I feel...adequate going into Berkeley. Of course, the first night all ways kills more dreams then it births, but I'll blow up that bridge when I get to it. Wish me luck...I'll keep you updated as the nights progress.

Some moving pictures

I get hit up all the time as to where video of me performing is at. While I don't have a ton of recent stuff, here's what I could grab from the interwebs

Poem: 15 Songs for the Inner-City Teenager

A few people asked about this, so here it is:

15 Songs for the inner-city teenager

I. The first time you watched an animal starve to death
You told yourself
This was nature’s way
An evolution you were helpless to stand witness too
The first time you watched
You didn’t even notice it gnawing on your leg
To save itself

II. He says, ‘They gave me a hall pass, I think I’m supposed to be here’

III. Do you think it’s a coincidence that dolphins only commit suicide
After their family has abandoned them. There is a mass grave on beach fronts
Vacant of a biological history to claim for themselves

IV. When you catch the little black boy reaching for your wallet, only confront him after he has taken it
You will know if he is an animal
If he snaps at the throat that fed him

V. The walls of Eastmoor Academy High School are stained with primer
But allergic to paint
You can hear the lockers rusting under barbwire tears
The ceilings bleed yellow
Pissing over proposed failures
Like a hate crime

VI. A convicted pedophile once said that today’s youth
Are like fountain pens
They can produce beautiful arts
As long as you don’t press hard enough to break them

VII. The fourth time you watched an animal starve to death
You crossed the street
Quickened your pace
Sang ‘Amazing Grace’ loud enough to block out
The death rattle behind you

VIII. He used to walk to school with his friends. Then he walked to school with an extra clip in his pocket
Now he just walks with an extra clip

IX. Near the end of World War II, the US soldier confronts a civilian of Auschwitz near a concentration camp:
Are you fucking kidding me. Are you trying to tell me you couldn’t smell the bodies. The burning. The ritual
Do you expect me to believe that you can’t taste death when you opened your bedroom window at night
That you don’t know extinction when you see it?

X. ‘I have a hall pass, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to be here’

XI. The streets are like dog years. If I live to my senior year, I want 34 candles on my cake. What the fuck do you know about privilege? I walk past guys every day that size up kids like malt liquor bottles. Longing for the day they can twist my top off and pour out some for the losers that ain’t here. Did you think this was as easy as falling off a bike? Did you think that adults would live forever?

XII. The 11th time you saw an animal starve to death
You closed the door. Called animal control. Boarded your windows
Complained what the spectacle would do to your property value

XIII. The walls of Northland High School are slick with the gooey insides of torn promises
If you press your chest to the linoleum, you can smell the bodies, the burning, the rituals. Do you think the walls flirt with the ghosts of extinction? If it had arms how tight do you think it would hold it students?

XIV. The last time you saw an animal starving to death
You shot it in the forehead. Watched its ambition hit the cement like a bear trap vomiting on itself
Its left leg was still twitching when you removed the hall pass from his fist and replaced it with the gun
You then immediately forgot the whole thing happened

XV. A bloody E Flat he says, ‘They gave me a hall pass, told me, I was supposed to be here. Did they know you were waiting here, when they sent me?’

Horshoes...Handwritten Grenades

It comes back to you sometimes. Like an old accent you suppress until you hear your native tongue flirting with the tip of your ear drum.

Winning...something came back for the Writing Wrongs squad on Thursday as we were able to win our bout. The team battled hard, performed their asses off and dug deep with a collective grip around their nads (er, ovaries in Barb's case) and did what needed to be done to win. So that gave us a total of a 4 thru pre-lims (3rd place finish on Tuesday, 1st on Thursday). Just so has it a few "4's" got in to semis. Unfortunately we weren't with them.

But I couldn't be more proud of how we bounced back, finishing 27th overall (out of 68 teams with the top 20 making semifinals).

We're done slamming, but I'll have more updates from the National Poetry Slam later

Heartbreak...

Well, for Nationals the first night of slamming is always heartbreak hotel. Everyone finds out if they prepared enough or gets to see that they’re no nearly as good as they thought they might be. Writing Wrongs pulled the 3 in their first bout (ie, finished 3rd out of 4 teams). Judging by the performances we put on, that seems about right. Definitely not the type of effort we had prepped all the summer, so in that aspects it’s a little disappointing. We still have our next bout on Thursday in a very winnable matchup, so we are not past our window of atonement. Making semi-finals is probably a long shot at this point, but we can still make a herculean effort towards it by winning on Thursday.

But that’s the slam part of it. From a coaching perspective, while I’m not happy about how we performed, I’m glad everyone got to hit the stage on the first night. Our rookies got a taste of the hard skin of slamming at Nationals and I think they’ll be better for it. We all got to hear some amazing work both in our bout and others, making a lot of new friends along the way.
Wednesday is our off day, so I think our team has made it mandatory that the beach is on the menu. A much needed day of rest, relaxation and at the end of the night, just hearing some good poems.

I’ll check in again soon.

National Poetry Slam: Take Four

Yeah...so I'm sitting at the Southwest Terminal in Columbus (which is the best for the techy traveler since Port Columbus has free wi-fi and Southwest has bars and stools with electrical outlets and usb powered ports, something visibly and incomparably vacant from 70% of US airports). By 11am (God-willing), I'll be in West Palm Beach, fully immersed in the opening salvos of the 20th annual National Poetry Slam. Got a lot going on this year. Coaching the first Writing Wrongs Slam Team, my second team overall. Getting the first print of my new book in my hands. Trying to sale said book. Setting the foundation for some extensive touring in fall and winter. We shall see.

For the immediate focus, I think the team is ready.


They're fun. They're focused. They're incredibly diverse and probably nervous as hell. I don't think I've been on a team where the poets all felt like they had this much to prove. Including myself. I've got two rookies (Ethan & Wyk) that are desperately trying to make me and everyone else forget that they're rookies. I suppose they're as ready as newbies get, though I'd love for them to already have the experience that they'll get from this Nationals...heading into it. Such is life I suppose. Spike had an inconsistent Nationals performance in '08 and wants to atone for it. He probably had a lopsided balance of prep & partying last year (lopsided away from my desires no doubt) and he's been noticeably focused this summer in improving himself and our team. Probably doesn't hurt that I've been riding his ass for the last year or so because of what happened in '08, but he's been very committed. Then there's Barb. Well, Barb is Barb you know. Smile and hug on you, rip your heart out on stage. Smile and hug afterward. I saw everything from Barb that I needed to see in Toronto during Rustbelt.

Me, a brotha wants to make semis. Somewhere between Nats last year, Rustbelt and hanging out at IWPS and WOWPS, the community started treating me very...alpha. Which I'm cool with. I just know that when in doubt, people are going to expect me to carry the team when necessary. I don't think this team needs that from me...but I need to be ready...just in case.

As for the bouts, we didn't get any favors as far as an easy road. Of course, everyone will have their own favorites, but I've heard the echoes about how tough our first bout will be. Denver Slam Nuba, Oakland & Eclectic Truth (Baton Rouge). Are you serious? Yeah, apparently. But you know what, that's a Tuesday issue. Today, I'm just a travelin man like Mighty Mos. Gonna settle under some Florida sun and wait for my team to arrive (which I think I got 5 or 6 hours before the next one arrives).

My heart is in Toronto, though the Rustbelt trophy is in my kitchen

To get it out of the way, lets hang a big, pink dress (in honor of Barbara Fant) on the elephant in the corner:
A lot of people decided to not come to Rustbelt this year.


Which is a shame...but understandable from some standpoints. The perceived distance to Toronto for some cities, the complication of crossing an international border and worries of obtaining a passport (though you didn't actually need one till two days after Rustbelt ended) or the theological discussion of whether the city of Toronto was actually part of the Rustbelt Region or not and just how relevant that point was. I'm not disputing any of those causes. What disappoints me is that by simple math, plenty of teams that voted for Rustbelt in Toronto last year decided not to show up this year. That...is a problem. So I went in to Rustbelt with a completely different perspective from past years. I put together a make-shift team before Writing Wrongs even had their slam-off, eventually ended up registering 1/3 of the teams that would compete at Rustbelt and told Mike "Spike" Cowell that this would probably be Rustbelt 'Lite' because there were only 6 teams.

Well, either by coincidence or as a direct correlation, this was the most fun I've had at a Rustbelt yet (which includes two of those happening in my hometown). For the record, I've never not enjoyed a Rustbelt to some capacity (except the self mutilation that occurred within my team in Milwaukee '06). But the community aspect we all want to take away as poets and that we as organizers all try to sculpt from the walls of the venues we choose was there...in a big way. The competition was unwavering, make no mistake, but the love for every poet that stepped off stage, the anticipation of every poet from the previously unknown (like Phoenix of Cleveland), the Alphas (like Jamaal May), the uniqueness of the multi-voiced poems that Toronto always brings to the table was thick and seemed to hover above the speakers during the intros of each round. Toronto developed the reputation early on how impossibly friendly, committed and organized they are in the poetry slam pursuits and it put a nice shine on everything this weekend. And congrats to the organizers growing the biggest Finals audience in Rustbelt history. The venue was beautiful, the energy was dripping into the aisles and the attentiveness of the crowd was as good as you're going to find...on either side of the border. Cheers Toronto...you get my props in a big way.

I also learned a ton about my National Slam Team as they made up most of the official Columbus Writing Wrongs team at Rustbelt (plus Omari Kingwise who I'll get to later). I gave Mike the reins to coach the squad as I doubt I'll be coaching adult slam teams for another 10 years and didn't want a conflict of interest being on another team anyway. I was proud of them, extremely proud. I felt like Ethan and Wyk cut their teeth the right way, getting a taste of National Competition, the feel of how lonely and liberating the stage can be in front of a bunch of strangers. It renewed (or re-upped) my confidence in them as we prep for Nationals. Mike got a crash course in decision making and its short and long term impacts on your squad (while he performed extremely well himself). They all got what they needed to get out of it and I couldn't ask for more than that. The immortal Jim Brown once said, "Everyone has a plan until they get punched in the mouth"...and they definitely stood tall after taking their lumps.

Which leads me to Omari...who was invaluable. I have no illusions of whatever shadow I may cast for my National teammates and just how Alpha and opinionated I am as a coach for them, so I know there's a chance of them becoming numb to me at times. So Omari being part of the squad was just perfect. He's an ideal teammate, a team first guy who excelled into Indy finals anyway. He led by example and gave my guys a glimpse at what a professional, selfless poet looks like in a competitive situation. He definitely one of my favorite people right now.

Ok...Detroit...not much I can say as I love these peeps already. Its no secret that J.W. Baz (who rolled with Detroit) is one of my best friends in poetry scene kinda made my weekend just being there. The always beautiful Karrie Waarala is a joy both on and off stage. Tom Budday just did his fuckin thing. Point blank. When the opening salvos were fired, he was winning his rounds and he rode that energy to second place at Indie Finals. Which was only because Jamaal 'Vs.' May won it...again...Of course he did. Before Rustbelt started when we were all trying to guess who might make Indie Finals, we were all like, "Well, Jamaal is the only automatic..." I make no concessions on my admiration of the man's work as he's one of my favorite cats in this here poetry game. There were times when he performed this weekend where I could feel my spine CLICK and as cynical as I've become about poetry, that doesn't happen very often.

As for my Brooklyn-Columbus team...we accomplished what we set out to do, which is win the whole damn thing. Which felt good. Damn good. For a number of reasons. I had people telling me that I carried us to the championship which is complete BS (nice compliment aside) as everybody, I mean, everybody brought it. Especially at Finals.

Dave Nichols - Dave has always been an interesting case study as far as slam is concerned. You won't find a person that doesn't think his work is amazing, but he's feast or famine in slam at times because of his rapid and dense style. He stumbled a little the first night of competition and I told Mahogany that Dave would internalize that and be a complete Beast the rest of the way...and he didn't make a liar out of me. Just a joy watchin the big guy let loose on stage. And if you haven't heard about the booty bounce her performed in the middle of his poem, then you better ask somebody.

Barbara Fant - I don't know how it happened exactly, but somehow I became more like an older, overprotective brother of Barb more so than colleague or coach. In my short time on the poetry scene, I have never seen someone skip as many levels on the evolutionary ladder than her. More than anything, my favorite aspect of the last couple of years has been watching her go from (seemingly) shy pretty girl with a big smile to Godzilla behind a microphone and its been awesome, awesome, awesome.

Mahogany L Browne - Look, this started as a joke. We were chillin at the Hard Rock Cafe during Women of the World when Rustbelt came up in the discussion and she was like, "I wanna be on your Rustbelt team." I said absolutely. She thought I was bullshittin. I wasn't. She went thru a lot to make her way to Toronto this weekend and its unquestionable that she changed the landscape of how this event was going to play out. Her poetry and high scores aside, she just gave my squad (and the competition on the whole) this swagger that could not be silenced. She got Barb and Dave to believe that it was our title to lose. She got us all to wear the "I'm kind of a Big Deal" T-shirts just to cement that confidence. She was awesome as she always is in every way and made this even more fun than it was going to be. Love you Mo Browne.

Again, Toronto, you did a great job, behind the scenes and on stage, giving me an experience I won't soon forget. Peace to everyone that made this thing really, really fun (like Tom Noy, Free, LOGIC, Mr. Edward Mabrey and the Marsh Family) as LOGIC will have his work cut out for him next year in East Lansing. Goodnight Canada, I miss you already.

When non-slammers go wild

This blog will not be original. The issue of Slam in the poetry world has be diagnosed to the depths of Hades well before I even knew what it was. An event occurred last night at a slam here in Columbus in which a respected poet in the community had themselves a Christian Bale type meltdown about how slam was devaluing poetry (right after they pulled themselves out of said slam mind you).

I was not there. I cannot comment to any extent of the person's behavior beyond the blogs, notes and posted items that have appeared since last night, so I won't. But outside of the obvious inclination that you 'just can't do that' and the fact that I've seen this person perform with similar behavior before, I'll say this: Many of us have wanted to do this before.

How many times have you been in a slam, you hear a poem you don't like at all, but then the scores go up and there's high 9s across the board? The first thought that comes to mind is: Fuck, its gonna be like this all night? And some nights it goes that way, so no one is misunderstanding the train of thought that leads to some one exploding at a poetry slam. However, I think the best element of slam is the community aspect of it (hey, didn't Smith create slam to give it back to the people anyway), so if you're up there lambasting peoples work, then you're going against the intent. Also, there's something to be said for seperating a person from their art/talent. You probably think of a ton of poets where you're like, 'great person, ok work' or vice versa. The same way I can say that Ty Cobb and Pete Rose were amazing baseball players, but huge assholes as people. So its cool to think a poem isn't up to snuff, but the second you proclaim to everybody else how bad the poem was, you're dealing with the individual at that point, not the poet.

Ending Black History Month

The Folly in Standing Up

Few things smell like Sunday
Like a boiling pot of red beans in the kitchen
Reginald knows this
The scent pulls his eyes open from his afternoon slumber
He has left the TV on
And it is buzzing like a sunrise
He is not ready to welcome
A high tide of History Channel
Destabilization for a veteran

At 68 years old
Reginald has forgotten about more things
To apologize for
Then times he deserved an apology himself
But the TV is asking 1967 questions
2K Reginald simply doesn’t have answers for
Like why a North Korean sunset tastes metallic
How he could never wash the jungle
From between his toes

The remote control is buried in a tree stump
Three feet away from his rocking chair
But there is a folly in standing up
Like volunteering
Like letting your head be exposed
To the mercy of thick brush
A non-English speaking nightfall
That hates you
Hates you in Lao
Hates you
For fighting for a country that hates you
Traitor
Mutt
That dog don’t hunt
Unless he buried everyone’s shit first
Boy

Reginald can feel the snakes ascending his chair
The venom is mercy
Don’t wanna bleed out in no rice patch
With some Huntsville peckerwood laughing over me
Best bite me now
Lest my squad call you a nigger lover
Keep your head low Re-Re
There’s less armor on the back
Of this helmet
They’ll make your dome blush
Like an ink blot
Tell command that the darkies
Got no sense of direction
Dead negroes can’t pin no tales
On trigger happy donkeys

Keep your head low Re-Re
The ceiling fan ain’t no rescue chopper
Don’t know what’s waiting for me
Back there anyway
Another dead minister
A Doberman extending from the ethos
Of a blue uniform
At least here I got a M16 chance
An AWOL shot at seeing 70
Ain’t you heard the forest fire screams
The scratches the starving natives leave
On my chest trying to eat the ammunition clips
Across my belt
In the land of the Goukes
The porch monkey is king
Keep your rifle dry
And your eyes open when you sleep
Don’t know when one of these good ol boys
Gonna be too high
To tell I ain’t no 14 year old Vietcong
Too ashamed by the time they come down
They gotta hide me
In a murder hole
No thank you
Re-Re don’t do haiku
Too many hung. Casualties. Looks just like Heaven’s. One hand clapping.

The TV is calling its documentary a special
Like there’s anything special about
The smell of charred meat
Where a village used to be
Re-Re wants to stand up
But he can’t
Still trying to roll over
From that pretty girl before the others
Got their turn
Can’t stand up mid stroke
Lest they believe
You’re a faggot over here
Couldn’t understand her
But tears are easy to translate
The numbness of a woman’s befouled body
Only visits you in foxholes
Or letters to home
You sign as Thomas or Jonathan
In case the mail carrier grew up
With Trent Lott
Didn’t have no Casius Clay celebrity
Couldn’t Louisville loudmouth
My way out of coming here

Re-Re counts his days in racial slurs
And epitaphs
Just 284 Nigger watch my back’s
Till he leaves the jungle
Funny how the concrete
Is softer than American irony
How the clouds will always look
Like a napalm sky

Few things smell like Sunday
Like the handle of a semi automatic
Messenger
But Reginald gets it
Gets his rocking chair
Will never be sacred ground
As long as he keeps a memory
Gets that apologies are lost in the winds
Of lands you never plan on returning to
Which is why
He will never ask for the ones
He actually deserves

Forest Fire

If I kissed you
Under this tipsy sky
Could you resurrect me
Before it awakes from its slumber?
Before the clouds get their bearings
And discover my body wrapped in silkweed
With traces of your voice still leaving slight bruises
On my shoulders?
Could you break me
And reshape me as a sun dial
So I am useless
When your light is taken from me
Like the Earth was allergic to my parallel
And refused to let me fall
Like you stored magnets in your cheeks
I could never pull away from your smile
Tell me where the sidewalk ends
Tell me this temple you’ve been building
Has walls made of nothing but the sound of you sleeping
I will rest there like a wounded soldier
With his memory cut out during battle
Sleep under my shield
So I am not devoured by your reflection
I want to draw the ocean
You dream of being rescued from
The scarf you think is much too warm to wear
On most days
And prompts you to expose yourself to the unknown
The wind at your back that reminds you
Nothing can move you
Not a boulder ignorant of gravity
Not a blizzard who only wants to shed himself
Till he is back to the first snowflake he began as

I miss you in a way
A needle misses the inside of forearms
How guitar strings hate to love the notes that leave it
I want to bring a forest fire to your open sky
So you can see
That you are above
Majestic things
Destroying themselves
Shackle your ankles to summits
And watch you move mountains
When you dance
This waltz of volcanoes imploding
Holding in the tears of watching
You paint gods across
The landscape from your footsteps

If I kissed you under this tipsy sky
Would you tell my mourners
I died a hero
That you held me like a noose
When you hung me from your lips
That I refused to step away from your ribcage
When your heart came barreling down the tracks

I want to bleed sand
When you handle hour glasses
My life rests in your hands
When you hold it sideways
And stop time
I can finally rest knowing
I have no more mountains left to climb
No longer falling down the barrel of stop signs
No more words with heartbreak and your name
Left to rhyme

Every night
The sky drinks its own weight in your eyes
And is too drunk by dawn
To fight off the coming day
We are all the numbing the pain
Of losing what we never really deserved to have
Flying kites during thunderstorms
Trying to forget the taste of safety on our tongues

If I kiss you
I want you to carry me home
Though I’m sure
I’ve never been there
Before

The Thankless work of being Ed Mabrey's Best Man

There are many titles/jobs/duties out there that are definitely more of a honor to be asked or appointed to, than it is to actually embody the entity. Such as President of the United States when you follow W. Or to star in the newest Bret Ratner film. For me, its to be the Best Man in some one's wedding.

I didn't realize until recently (when thinking about my own approaching marriage) just how select a group 'Best Men' are. I guess the equivalent would be Maid of Honor on the female side, but judging by the difference in obligational enthusiasm between men and women towards the ideal of marriage, I'd say the positions aren't exactly equal. Plus traditionally, since women seem to have shorter same-sex friendships then men do (you know, because we actually like each other), I'd be willing to bet that Best Men typically have a longer history with the groom than Maid's of Honor do with the Bride (if we're excluding family members).

My point is that its a big deal. Men typically take a foxhole mentality to most things in life and when one guy tells another that he wants him to be by his side on the day that EVERYTHING officially changes, its not something to scoff at. Besides...who else is going to be the pulling guard for him thru all the Bridal Party traffic if he changes his mind at the last second? I wouldn't want some cat I'm just 'cool with', taking out the knees of my would've been wife's father if I decide at the last second that this chick is way too crazy to commit my 401K to. If Tom Hagan was a punk, Michael Corleone never could've taken over most of Vegas. You get my point.

So it is an honor, no doubt. And an honor I would accept 98% of the time (one has to assume we're close if the guy is asking me). But that doesn't mean that being the Best Man is really cool. Actually its far from it. Its a lot of fuckin work homie. I've been lucky enough to be the Best Man at two weddings and I worked my ass off. Besides the odds and ends stuff, lets run thru some of the particulars of your duties as BM:
1. Getting the Groomsmen on the same page. Lets be honest about a couple of things here: One, men aren't known for their organization...or for particularly caring a whole lot about someone else's wedding. So making sure they'll all be in town on time, tuxes (Ugh), gifts, all that shit has to be sorted out by someone. Plus, I've yet to be a Groomsmen (5 total) at a wedding and been a close acquaintance to every other bastard lucky enough to be asked as well. So as the Best Man, you might have to manage some personalities you don't particularly care for. Its like being a head coach of a football team and having to govern over the assistants that were there before you and are bitter because they didn't get the job in the first place. Sometimes you're saved by family being part of the Bridal Party (like Ed has a son that's a teenager) and sometimes it makes things worst. The last time I was a Best Man, it was at my cousins wedding and he has two older brothers that felt...passed over. Awkward.
2. Planning the Bachelor Party isn't as glamorous as one would think. I'm sure the perception is, "Dude, you book a hotel room, a couple of strippers and alcohol, what could go wrong?" Well, with that particular setup, everything. But balancing a 'good but memorable time' and making sure Candy doesn't end up being the groom's baby mama asks to be touched with a velvet hammer. A lot of comes with judging the groom: Are you celebrating the marriage or the end of the bachelor status (two totally different things)? Is he normally a shut in or the life of a party? Does his wife pick up on details like glitter lotion? You want to avoid the extremes so that you're not bailing one of the groomsmen out of jail the next morning or sitting bored out of your mind while watching Obama's rise to power on the C-Span for the 32nd time. Plus another complexity and misconception about bachelor parties: They're not just for the groom. Often the other groomsmen have invested in that party as well (financial or otherwise), so its your job to make sure everybody has a good time. And some bastards are just hard to please.
3. You are THE insurance for every logistical issue. Safe Auto. Progressive. All State. You get the point. When Murphy's law kicks in, its usually your ass that's the target. "What's that, we need more chairs at the reception? Can someone pick those up?" "The DJ doesn't have the music we need? Who can take him this CD?" "Aunt Bertha is stuck at the airport? Do we know anybody that can help a 74 yr old woman with a surgically repaired hip into a car and turn a 35 minute car ride into 15 so she can be here at the start of the ceremony?" Who else are they gonna ask for that shit? If you're the Best Man, its all you Big Dog. I suggest you pack some running shoes and a protein shake on your way to the church.

There is one very large and obvious perk I have intentionally omitted (because it doesn't apply to me for Ed's wedding).
1. Being the best man makes you the most attractive man in an 8 mile radius to everybody except the bride (hopefully). Bar none. I don't care if you look like Howard Stern (minus Stern's money), you don't hear a lot of No Thank You's when you're the best man. Now, I assume this is regardless of sexuality, since emotions are high for anyone involved, but the stature of Best Man at a wedding is basically like being the guy who saved a 4 yr old from drowning down at the watering hole in a small town. I have since been rehabbed from my former life of debauchery and whoredom (as my fiance loves to say), but if I forgot to pack condoms with my clothes for the weekend a wedding was occurring, it felt about as grievous as the groom forgetting the rings. Few things in life are guaranteed...oral pleasure while carrying out your duties as a Best Man is one of them...

...unless of course you're getting married a month before that (or are in any kind of meaningful relationship period. Then you're just screwed (...never mind).

At the end of the day, guys asks a lot of people for a ride, money, permission to date some one's ex but typically, they only ask one person on this earth to be their Best Man. And if you're willing get Bertha's big ass into your two door coop from a crowded airport if your job depended on it...would you even flinch if your brother asked the same thing of you?

Seven Points of Light

Seven Points of Light

When they come for me
Their hands gnarled and twisted
Like smoke in the lungs of a fetus
They will ask me where I have hid you
To what place makes sunlight knock softly at its entrance
Where birth never cries until the blood
Has become visible
I will ask them for a tool
A rock hammer
A colored pencil
The name of their worshipped
Anything that will die slowly from constant use
I will use it to trace these seven points of light
From the sky above us
I will tell them I buried you alive there
That you smiled
When I pulled the black over you
That you felt you were too good
For soggy Earth and sad songs

I will tell them you were right

That I tied a boulder to my ankles
And dove into your yes
That I have raised six kitchen knives
That are just like you
That if it weren’t for their intent
People could tell they were your brothers

Gentle ladies of consequence
Do not let your daughters trip into these shallow graves
When you smile flash floods
All your regrets will wash up around your ankles
Like smoke at the base of twin buildings
Like cigars vanquished in the mudslide of a bully
To these docile men of Cicero
And the thunder of legions who don’t remember home
Try as you might
To avoid dropping your sons into these square emporiums
They deserve a soldiers demise
A promise that ties itself to your ribcage
Like a kite fueled by the winds in your chest

We’ve made a habit of burying our young
In a planet that is dying itself
We plant magnolias in the Sahara
And expect orchards
Call our children Jupiter
As they are galactic in our eyes
That will only fail at being stars
There is too much sky to be undisturbed
And left vacant
Too much of everything
To ever assume we are alone

When they come for me
Bury me six feet above the ground
Let my spirit dance with a prevailing wind
Do not obstruct me with brick walls
Do not bar my entry into the ether with skyscrapers
Or telephone polls
Knock down these billboards, these voting booths
Group homes and parking garages
Bring your bulldozer
Your wrecking balls
Your colored pencils
Your fallen stars
Your matchbooks and create absolutely nothing
Where everything can exist
Till we have mass graves floating around our hips
Till cemeteries are opening doors for those that still walk
The earth
And remind them
They never really left us
When they ask you why
When you have pushed the last lighthouse into the embankment
And they ask you why you have done this
Tell them there is still life floating around us
Tell them no fence will ever stand between you
And your mothers face when she says your name
So softly
The gunpowder in your ears shies away from the spark

When they come for you
They will ask you where you have hidden me
Tell them that I am not hidden
That they should not disturb the earth on my account
That I am amongst the living
Because you
Never forgot me