Poetry Bomb No. 1

Monday, December 29 at Victorian’s Midnight Cafe at the corner of Fifth and Neil, 7.30 PM.

This poetry bomb will be themeless.

This note includes an assignment: Write a eulogy for that bar of all bars: Larrys.

Yesterday, I got calls, texts, and emails from several people. It took me a while to accept the truth. Larry’s Bar, home to all artistic misceants of Columbus, king of my world, has closed its doors. Larry’s is dead, long live the new King.

See you then and there.

Stage fright at the poetry open mic

This is a poem written by Nathan Moore and I over two drunken nights at Larry’s Bar…

Stage Fright at the Poetry Open Mic

Shine on me your blinding light
I’ll twist and fight and still find the sound
at once too fast, too slow. Pain encumbers, but desire
shouts. It’s megaphone fires at my ear.

When I stand in front of you, sweat forms
but when I perform I can’t see. My script leaves me.
My mouth juggles these syllables, my eyes turn you
slant, the say my glasses do. I pinch my nose,
squint, and screw my eyes around that word,
around the world outside this spotlight, the world I’m trying.

Lying like a dog in the scene, I’m telling the truth, though
it’s useless. I’m forcing this beauty down your throught:
meaning is the tonic, and your sonic method met my
architectural wound. Lace up my flesh, run the thread

of your intention through the grommets in my skin. I’m in,
I’m out. Still you shout these asemic billboards. The road hoards
your words. I cannot understand what you want to tell me,
your khole lined eyes convey, then skuttle, sway,
and dart at my teeth. I smile at you and sing from them.

In front of all of them, I’ll flaunt our connection while never letting on.
I’ll go on and this jacket will not fit. We’ll sit and watch your words
squiggle in front, or are they mine, my words, thrown out into the air
are now yours, and I keep them. They’re not yours now. They’re mine.
mine. mine. mine. mine. mine. mine. mine.mine. mine. mine.

Poetry Bombs

I am thinking of starting a reading/writing/critiqu group here in Columbus, Ohio. Here are a few things we will do

* Meet in local bars, coffee shops, and resteraunts once every two weeks
* share recently written or discovered poems
* offer critique when asked for
* divvying out of poetry assignments
* offer chances for collaboration
* bring poetry to others by presenting inpromptu “guerilla” readings

If you think this group will be right for you, please comment on this post and I will send you info about the first Bomb.

Like condoms for your head

Sometimes, it is not enough
to protect ourselves only
from sperm, from vaginal

secertion, from precum. Sometimes,
we must also protect ourselves
from damaging thoughts
our loves may have. They may be

unartistic, or Republicans, they may
consistantly tell us we are wrong,

but the rythm and soul of the sex
is so good, we cannot leave. When this
is the case, please
protect yourself.

for $19.95, you can buy this:
a simple hoodie that,
with the hood up, works
like a condom for your head.

Protection from those words,
from destruction, from a strange
inability to say no.