Wednesday, October 21, 2009

Monday, October 19, 2009

10/13/2009 -- Contest Night

Everyone give it up to Meghan for another win in our monthly contests!

She's 2 for however many contests we've done.

It was a particularly good night, 10 readers in total, 3 entries into the contest. All of which were awesome entries. Tricia read a poignant poem about her arrival and impending departure from Pensacola. Dustin's piece was a satirical look at local politics and issues in the community. Meghan's entry was a composed and eloquent peer into the community of Pensacola from her perspective.

It's unfortunate there can only be one winner. Even the Applause-o-meter had trouble deciding who won.

Next, we need to start collecting poems for the book.
I've made a list of frequent contributors to poetry night.

Everyone on this list can have up to 3 poems in the book.
Try and submit in the format you want to see in the publication.
Any edits will be cleared with you, so don't worry.

Yes, you can still enter the contest.
I'd like you to submit these three poems you want to see in the book, ASAP.
Then, when contest time comes around,
just resubmit them with the additional two you need.

Of course, the official submission cut-off date is NOVEMBER 3RD.

Here's the official list of people who can ABSOLUTELY see publication:

  • Trevor Warren Griffith
  • Renaud
  • Stijl Calhoun
  • Meghan K
  • Stefan Georgi
  • John Fravel
  • Quincy Hull
  • Naja
  • Nitin Advani
  • Alex Robinson
  • Barrett White
  • Al Spyce
  • Alex Borgella
  • Iceis
  • Tyler Cummings
  • Derek Cosson
  • Priya Lin
  • David
  • Tricia McSweeney
  • Alex Colston
  • Jimi

Everyone else will have to submit and see what happens.
This is not a favoritism thing.
This is a result of consistent participation in poetry night,
whether on the stage or listening and attending.

Otherwise, submit entries to
hand them to me at POETRY NIGHT.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

10/08/2009 -- Poetry Night, Contest Announcements

We had a great night, once again. 12 readers, including myself, and the triumphant, tired return of Quincy Hull and Naja. They're here to stay, now. Let's welcome them to the family.

Anyway, we had plenty of announcements, so I'll jump right into the contest rules.

Now, folks, I know this is strange for our contests; however, keep in mind this is primarily due to keeping up with the theme for the publication. As you know, we're planning on releasing an anthology for our year anniversary called 'PS--Pensacola....'

So, for this reason, the contest's only guideline:
It must be titled or start with the line "PS--Pensacola".

Also, because of the nature of these next two contests, I decided to go ahead and announce them.

For our November Month, we have two separate contests. Yes, you can enter both.

1) All-Star Poetry Contest:

Five of your best poems (Including what you want to enter into the Anthology)

Turn in poems as you'd like to see them published.

Make two copies, one for the judges without your name on it; and, one with a cover sheet including your name, e-mail, address, phone number, and which contest(s) you entered.


There are no other guidelines, but bare in mind--being thematic with your entries WILL ALWAYS benefit you.

Prize: Half of the pot of total entry fees into this contest, a free used book from OPEN BOOKS, a free copy of PS--Pensacola when it arrives, and all five of your poems will be published (As opposed to three)

2) Short Story Contest

Self Evident rules, really.

Word count:

Make two copies of the story, as with the Poetry contest
double space the judges copy.
Include a cover sheet on the proof copy.
Do not include your name on the judge's copy.

Prize: Half of the pot of total entry fees into this contest, a free used book from OPEN BOOKS, a free copy of PS--Pensacola when it arrives, and your story will be published regardless of your contribution insofar as Poetry is concerned.

3) Enter the Contest!

Okay, I said on Tuesday that the November month contests will have an entry fee of $5. However, upon evaluation, I'm worried that we won't have enough people entering the contest. Aside from having fun, we're doing it to fund raise for the book.

So, I'm raising the entry fee to $10.00
per contest.

This means a bigger pay out for the winner and--hopefully--better production quality for the anthology.

So, I'd like to know if you're entering the contest. Please comment here or send me an e-mail.

You can turn in your entries any time before November 3rd.
Please turn in a Manila Envelope with all of your materials, including the entry fee.

This contest will be judged by outside sources with the appropriate credentials;
however, their names will be kept secret until we're done.

The winners will be announced on November 10th, just like a normal month.

As always, you can submit via e-mail to, as long as you've formatted the document correctly and insured that you will pay the entry fee.

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Poetry Slam 09/29/09

We had a HUGE night this week, so I'd like to extend my gratitude towards everyone who made it out. The cafe' was packed to the brim, and I think we may have inadvertently cost a couple earnest patrons the ability to sit and enjoy their meal. Hopefully the sheer brilliance of everyone who read last night was a good enough parting gift.

Also, a ton of new readers last night; which, is always good to see. Hopefully they will return to us.

Another minor note of business: I did intend to talk about the anthology last night, but with so many readers--it was hard to find a chance. So, I'll just write a bit about it.

We need staff members. I've got a lot of other business, but I consider the Anthology extremely important. As most of you know, the book's proceeds will be donated to OPEN BOOKS because we love them. Though, this means any funds we allocate from the book can't go towards to production cost.

So, what does that mean? NPS is going to do what high school bands do and FUND RAISE.
I'm not sure how, yet. Maybe we can find a really rich person to help us, but it seems unlikely.

For every person who takes a staff position, you take that much work off of my shoulders and anyone else who joins up. Also, aside from getting credited in the book, you'll receive a free copy and free reign over your pages.

So, here are some job available:

1) Photograph Collector - Make sure we have photos of everyone who will be in the book

2) Designer - Will be in charge of making sure the contributor's desired format is reflected

3) Fund Raising Organizer - Helping me come up with ideas, organize what we need, and putting these ideas into action.

4) X - Staff Member

5) X - Staff Member

I want five main staff members to help me out with this. The last two are really just everymen(or women) to help anyone, or come up with their own jobs.

So, if you'd like to help us out, comment and say what position you'd like.

Thanks so much, and don't forget to POST WHAT YOU READ LAST NIGHT,


Friday, September 25, 2009

Trevor Griffith?

Someone informed me Trevor was quoted by the NY TIMES, but then I was looking at this:

Could this masked figure be the same man, or is this a cosmic coincidence fucking with us?

Trevor Griffith, 21, was part of the march after driving 16 hours from Pensacola, Fla., with three fellow students from the University of West Florida.

“The fact that 20 or so individuals right now are determining economic trade policies for four to five billion people just isn’t right,” Mr. Griffith said. “That’s why we’re here.”

Trevor Warren Griffith!

What the fuck?

Thursday, September 24, 2009


We had a small group on Tuesday, but a great one. Instead of reading inside, everyone agreed to move out front and hold the readings out there. It was quite an experience.

Al came in from Ft. Walton and stole the show, in my opinion.
Of course, that's not such a strange thing for him.

Thanks to everyone who showed up.

Post your poems up if you read on Tuesday.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Open Mic 09-08-09

Congratulations to John Fravel for winning the character piece contest last night. His poetic impersonation of Trevor Griffith is unparalleled, not to mention absolutely hilarious.

Also, a warm thanks to everyone who entered. The audience was truly torn on who should win; everyone received at least five votes.

In any event, great showing last night, great poems, old faces, and some new ones.

Now, let's get these contestants to post their poems on here for everyone to read.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Poetry Reading 09/01/09

Alright, contest rules:

Pick a character of your choice

an author
a character from a book
a character of your own creation
or someone you know

and write a piece from that perspective.

Voting next week!

Post your poems!

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

August 25th, 2009

Alright, as I mentioned last night, we're going to start posting the poems read at the weekly slams. Hopefully, everyone will take it upon themselves to carry-out this practice. We'll see how it works at first. If need be, I'll just bring a tape-recorder and do all the work.

Also, I'd like everyone to know that Jamey's absence last night had nothing to do with absent-mindedness or ill-will. Moments after the reading was over, Jamey called me and provided a suitable excuse.

He extends his apologies and truly regrets not being able to attend.

Trust me, I stayed up with the guy on the front porch drinking wine and beer until 4.

Moving on: For the time being--just post your poems as comments. I'll start us off.

Monday, July 27, 2009

Thoughts of Immigration

Our Story shows the wonderful grace of migration. I picked apples for many years in northern California. There is a rhythm to picking apples. The human body will break down if this rhythm is not heard. I learned this (in my youth) from migrants.

We scrambled for "wind falls" in the coolness of morning, then with muscles loosened, we took to the ladders. The rhythm of speech was then established. Nothing important was said before footing the ladder.

Do you know that men have pruned trees in anticipation of you? For lifetimes these spaces were carved for your ladder, and with ease you can "enter" the tree to be surrounded by shining fruit and shade, and in rhythm you will find the dents and scrapings of ladders that have gone before.

There was a Jap-Camp in this ranch. The communal kitchen and cots provided years of safety for Asians during the years of war. Ranchers brought provisions by day. Schoolteachers arrived at night with lessons and books and dreams. Do you know that folks did this in anticipation of you?

Do we know that anticipation is migration? We hear the wind falls in noisy buckets and nothing need be said. As in a dream, nothing need be said. Well, perhaps Andale (come on) or Vamos (let’s go)!

Migration will be the last to leave.

Last Supper at the End of the Line

On Tuesday night the (real) Slam built to a crescendo which I try to use as the launching pad for this rant, while writing in Stream Of Consciousness’ Narrative to capture the ride. The Slam was fun and the writing it inspired was more fun yet. Read below and enjoy!

Dear Patrick:

I don’t know how to begin, so maybe I’ll just stick to the facts, that in the beginning there was man, and in his haste to be manly, he left. Kind of like you did before the Tuesday night Slam. From what I can tell (as World Policeman) this was an untimely exit, and without poetic license, simply, the wrong time to leave.

I heard the murmurs in the thong … I mean throng, but didn’t think much about it.
As Stefan did his ditty the way Stefan do, people began pouring through the door.
To be clear, they weren’t pouring any thing through the door, it was more like they were being poured, kinda like those sheep that run off the cliff.

Anyway, the walls were bulging inward and then they bulged out, and with every chair taken the third ditty began with a young woman Whaling. I thought she was Vegetarian so I knew something was amiss, when she referred to her monthly ebb… I mean flow, and every back stiffened. Well, mostly the girls but the guy’s eyes kinda shattered red, not loud like a shot but rather like a BB gun tinkle.

Now, I’m old enough to see clearly, and as World Policeman it falls on me to remind you this whole thing started with Stefan. I’m not sure of his motives but when the 4th ditty started about the Three Deaths of What’s His Name , Stefan chuckled. The insensitivity of this moment made every body look up celestial, and I don’t mean in the dictionary, but actually look upward, and in venison.. I mean unison, they saw the sheep on the roof.. I mean ceiling, and you know the wood slats up there were talking all clickety clack… clickety clack, when the sheep began to part, maybe from the vegetarian knife (I don’t think so cause it flew clear through) but the guys… the guys with red eyes saw all the parting as pink, even the clickety clack, and when the horse appeared in the clearing it was pink too, at least to lesser men, and sure as shit there was Stefan in the saddle, you know, all laid back and his toothy grin parted by a piece of straw.. or wheat.. or staff of life. I don’t mean staff in the biblical sense, but he did have a twinkle in his eye, and I just don’t know how I found myself thinking about that saddle when I heard someone say “hey… that’s Patrick’s horse” and since the horse was on the ceiling, I saw it as a high horse and agreed!

I’m pretty sure I was the second voice, but anyway right then all the sheep froze and fell to the floor. Shattered to rubies for some and diamonds to others, and by the time we looked back up from our pockets the saddle was empty as a deer in the headlights of the last supper….. I mean the last speaker, and she slammed her ditty to the wall from the halls of the VA (hear the echo) and it was pretty much anarchy by then, and god dammit I want insurance too, but I don’t think THIS shit would be covered…
Doctor says “What seems to be the problem?” I say “GET AWAY FROM ME YA RAT BASTARD, I’M CRAZY” knowing full well that a rat bastard is only half a rat… (it’s almost a term of endearment), when I hear the echo “Rat Bastard.. Rat Bastard” and realize I’m at the End Of The Line YELLING and the VA Girl’s rant had gone silent when the cadence of the thong … I mean throng, began their own version of Rat Bastard and looking to the saddle saw the Stetson all black in sheep shit and they knew it was yours Patrick, and somehow they thought the Rat Bastard was you.

Isn’t it poetic that MY meaning was lost in HER poem while YOU were found out? Say it isn’t so Patrick. Say that you can fix it. They burned the ass end off The Line and the garden is in ruins. Tiny little voices lying on the floor point to bunny pictures standing hollow. The lasso broke a railroad track cross every bunnies heart and still they hold a candle for YOU Patrick… I mean me… no YOU.

(w/thanks to hunter S Thompson)

Tuesday, July 21, 2009

Conversation Poetics Conest Winners!

Congratulations to Stefan and Trevor for placing first in the contest, and to all of you who participated!

Tonight was great. A lot of good readers, a lot of laughs, and a lot of fun.

Thanks so much for coming,
see all of you next week!

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Contest Rules

Conversation Poetics:

Get a partner (up to groups of three) and write a poem
trade pens on each word, line, stanza, or idea
whatever you'd like.

Agree on the end; then, decide how to present it.

Performance and vote will be next Tuesday!

Thursday, July 2, 2009


Foremost, I want to apologize to everyone about Tuesday night. I know my absence was confusing, especially considering my presence beforehand.

It would have been right and proper to at least tell somebody I was leaving.
I didn't do that.

I've been at NPS without fail since the beginning.
Even when no one showed up.
I'm not going to say why I left; I'd appreciate some respect to my privacy.

So, once again: I'm sorry.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Fliers for your consideration

hand-outs, four to each print

poster size

Just in case you wanted to do this from home, I scanned these suckas in.
You're, of course, welcome to make any edits you want and repost them, distribute them, or whatever you'd like. It's an open trade deal.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009


Silence of the woods interrupted by the syrupy sounds of moaning--it echoes
Getting louder now -- almost rumbling in my ears
I hear the screeching of two lovers ode to the sunset
It sounds like murder -- torturous cries -- I don't understand
How can she let them -- have her?

I get closer now -- I can see them
Thunderous applause rains down from the sky
As I join an audience of singing whipper wheels and red birds
They look upon what I see now -- crickets whisper critiques and suggestions
As I sit inaudibly awed by contrasting vision and knowledge
Is that what its supposed to be? It sounds now like Chopin's Nocturne in C -- minor.

The silky friction of their bodies -- like an electric violin
played in Carnagie Hall paints a stunning portrait of love
Her back cracks softly as she arches -- leaves rustle as the other bends an arm
Breathing like a freight train -- quicker and louder now -- whimpers like kittens
Melody and harmony with each move they make -- brass trumpets and percussion join in --
oh - thats the leaves rustling in the wind -- just slightly

A squirrel jumps on my shoulder -- chattering words of advice
I want what they have -- there is no sting to making love
He sanctions my desire then riotously scurries on -- an interruption to the silence in their heads
They turn -- I see her face--the moon shining sharply on her smile
The eyes of the other tell a lucid story--and I know her
My teeth chatter with excitement
could it be
was that me?

I wake up

Tuesday, June 23, 2009

broken branches

Looking for a face,
in rock formations,
falling leaves
blown from their home:

light green spring trees

orphans along
the forest floor
turn tinted yellow-brown
and mix among

fall's fallen broken branches

Looking for a face
in debris in dirt

I see
neck--punked wood
skin--brittle bark

Each feature forming from a forest floor gestalt.

Is this your face?
It looks so familiar

I am tinder

Thursday, June 18, 2009

A gem

Although I may not agree, the words are truly moving.

Here's an excerpt from Stefan's recently finished manuscript:

"And as I begin to think about what I have just written, I'm struck by what I feel is the strongest argument for design: a sense of purpose. For I feel that I have a purpose on this planet, that I am destined to achieve great things. Perhaps it is just my own desire, but where does that come from? Why am I so compelled? Is it to leave my mark on the human race? To obtain a certain immortality like Caesar or Alexander? Maybe. But I think that there is something else to it. This sense of purpose is inside of me, and it fills me, and I cannot ignore it. Surely it can be broken down to a molecular level, can be explained away by genetic coding. Surely it can be attributed to natural selection; to my inherent pre-disposition towards survival. Surely there are a hundred better explanations. But I'm still not ready to accept them."