05/25/10

Gosh, 19 readers! Everyone did a great job, as usual. Before I go into them in detail there are a couple of announcements to be made.

First of all, the contest has been indefinitely delayed. It will be happening the the near future, though, so make sure to write your open letter to the BP about the oil spill. The new voting date will be announced at the next open mic.

Secondly, the Anomic Press website's skeleton is up. Patrick and I are working on the important things as we speak, but they probably won't be up for a week or so. Check it out at http://anomicpress.com

So, without further adieu:

Davi–Troubadour – This was Troubadour’s first night, but not David’s. He shared a poem about “maggot words,” “words made digital,” and other generally angry words.

Clayton Cooper – Clay dropped his usual Cat in the Hat on Viagra persona tonight to read some older poems about love and Zoloft. “It’s like a shroud, or a veil, even…” He also pitched a new gum to us, which apparently had the ability to turn you into “a badass, rad mother fucker.”

Kevin Koontz – This was the first time I had heard anything from Kevin, and it was quite interesting. Among his poems were introspective poetical spits that danced with both balance and nature.

Jonathan – “Herb has an H in it.” A nice, BP-based rant followed by a realistic kick in the ass.

West – The only new reader of the night. His name was very fitting, for he was from the West Coast. He sang some songs to us that would probably have made him famous if he lived in the 70’s. “Absence of essence.”

Quincy – “Potato chips were invented in 1965.” We found out that Q is raptose intolerant. Apparently artists like Ludacris and Nelly make him sick… “They say death only hurts the living. What about the living dead?”

Kent – “I don’t want to pay for your bullets no more.” He delivered a very moving political piece.

John Ellis – John talked about spring cleaning and read some Haiku. “Are we living in a never ending story? If you’re offering.”

Matthew – We were blessed with three poems, the most memorable one was about some inhumanly disgusting beard; another spoke of very hellish jelly beans; and the final was a very beautiful piece about butterflies and flowers, which contrasted pretty well with the others.

Dustin Toney – Dusty laid down a freestyle-poem hybrid that, for one reason or another, was a lot like jazz… On a side note, he is no longer attracted to white women.

Stephanie – Stephanie gave a eulogy to an angelic child. She also gifted us with a very accurate portrayal of a confusing (is that word a bit redundant?) dream.

Charles – We were told some very touching and saddening things about his father. “When did a father become a villain? Worse than a villain! When did a father become apathetic?” “Is it my job to hang myself on the gallows of my family tree?”

Barrett “ ” White – The usual, wordy, epic poems came from poor little Blank, but how can one ever tire of them? “If we died on a thousand mile highway, there would be a spot for us in heaven.”

Erika – “Today is butterfly day, just so you know.” She left us with a marvelous and depressing description of modern life.

Jill – Jill dedicated deep, feminist-esque a poem to her nieces. “Your mother has been afraid to be a woman. So have I.”

Anna Hubbard – “I could already feel my knees bruising up with geometric patterns from the tile.” Anna shared a story about a rather awkward experience with us, but it was very well written, nonetheless.

Travis “Mariah” – I read, but wished that Pat, Alex Colston, or Travis Cummings were reading instead.

Jimi – Her poem was titled “The Last Time I Read at Poetry Night, it got Me Pregnant.” She shared a poem about motherhood, or so it seemed. “Leaking love through tender tits.”

Meghan – She read some Haiku. “Haiku on a Racist Alabama Rest Stop.” “Michael Moore is a Fake Socialist.” Very enlightening, to say the least.

See you guys next week,

Travis "Mariah"

5/4/10 (5/9/10)

Good morning and Happy Mother's Day to all of you mothers and mother figures out there in the world. I appreciate those of you that showed up last night and celebrated my early birthday with good times and good music (for a few short, fleeting moments). Last week, I wrote down some of my favorite lines from the readers that I heard. Here they are.

S' Mayo- "drag your devils to heaven to be destroyed"
Erika- "filled to the brim with liquid memory eraser"
Stephen- "a time of courage in an age of fear"
John Fravel (my personal favorite of the night)- "not a Willie Mays, but a Willy will" & "the defendant's penis was an oxymoron"
Travis- I wanted to write the whole poem down
C. Cooper- "hours lost to blind man's theory"
Alexz- "flair and excessive wall ornamentation"
Dusty- "alligators ate antelopes because they can't eat cantaloupes"
Q [stillblacksee]- "I'm seeking 12 disciples armed with hammers, not Hummers, but hammers"
Naja- "some people have faith in the chains that hold them back"
Meghan K- "Michael moore should give / his movies away for free / capitalist pig"
Cole- "3.141592653"
Spirit {aka the Poet?}- "our multiculturalism is coming in the state of animalism"

If any of the above quotes are completely incorrect, I apologize...it is hard to catch up with some of the faster readers. See you all on Tuesday, 5/11, where we can discuss the inaccuracies and express our frustration

_White
(http://nyquilchug.blogspot.com/)

April 20th- The real contest night.

Battling the obligations to my scholarly duties, I will now recount the events surrounding the mystical night of April 20th, 2010 that has been, until now, shrouded in secrecy.

The night began as any other, but what night is different when distilled to its purest parts?

There happened to be no new readers this week, but the majority of the wonderful regulars that the frequenters of Poetry night have come to know were there. The list of readers and my brief summaries of their performances are mirrored below.

1. Morgan- Spoke of Rwandan & Afghan victims. Provided audience with a POV that many never consider.
   
2. Erika- My favorite line was, "Horticulturally speaking, i'd be a root."
   
3. Rylan- Always provides simple, but thought provoking prose. A tale of two blind, hungry bats.
   
4. AKA- More focus and emotion this week. "...The same people that smile in your face and hate you round the corner..."
   
5. Naja- Even unprepared, her poetic performances are strong.
   
6. Steven-The third performance I have witnessed from him. Has a unique, solid style that is strongly rooted in a, for the lack of a better word, classical sort of poetry.
   
7. Barrett White (contest winner)- Up to his new/old hi-jinks with his bag of tricks. Looking forward to his future work.
   
8. Dusty- Read something that a friend had written titled, "Letter to America from an Iraqi Woman"
   
9. Mariah (contest participant)-Presented an Adderall-inspired poem about genitals and his contest piece was a clever poem based off a work by Jackson Pollock. The poem definitely reflected Pollock's style.
   
10. Jonathan- A different side was shown this week. Read an honest and emotional poem about growing up without a mother.
    
11. Iceiz-I was most impressed with her ability to write a piece DURING Poetry night and present it just as well as her prepared poems. Even off the cuff, she is still incredibly passionate.
    
12. Travis- read a number of contemplative haiku. I wish I could hear from Travis more often.
    
13. Q-Read his cleverest poem to date. Using the elementary structure of nursery rhymes and
    
14. Cole (contest participant)- Presented a great piece that, upon reading in print, was meticulously crafted.
    
15. John Fravel (contest participant)- John Fravel read a piece that was unmistakeably John Fravel. I do not recall the title, but it very well could have been titled, "One million brown bunnies".
    
16. Patrick Hudson (contest participant)- "A flower in reverse is palindromic, A seed in reverse is palindromic again."

As far as the contest, it goes without saying that all the poetry presented during the contest was particularly good. Alas, the audience was required to vote, and Barrett White walked away this week's winner.

Afterwards, everyone went to their respective homes and went to sleep, I am sure. Except for those that might have observed a particular holiday celebrated this time every year. Of that, I am not.

Looking forward to tonight NPS,
John Ellis.

Update for April 13th, 2010

Hello Blogosphere!

THE APRIL CONTEST has been post-poned til TOMORROW due to low participation.

The rules are simple, most of you probably have a piece like this already.
Present a poem inspired by another work of art, EXCLUDING POETRY.
This can be music, film, photography, painting, or anything else you can portray as a piece of art in the contest.

Moving on now, the slam on the 13th was still a successful one. 15 readers in total, although the original count was 17 - it seems a couple jokers thought it would be funny to sign each-others names on the list. Well, it was funny. But, next time - sign the names as Simpsons-esque pranks; such as,

"Amanda Huggenkiss" or "Hugh Ass" or "Oliver Clothesoff"

otherwise you embarrass yourself much more than me
and that simply
will not do.

Oh yes, did I mention that Ty Cummings surprised us with an appearance?

He read from his recently completed novella, but beforehand--he relayed a message from 2 (out of 6) original New Poets: Trevor Griffith and Alex Colston.
However, circumstances as they are, neither audio nor photographic evidence was taken; so, it could be a big rumor I made up. Still:

It set the stage for an evening of prevailing emotional urgency.

Barrett followed Ty, recovering from his recent experiments into prop interactions.
Which made his poem slightly less memorable, in my opinion.
I mean, really, it's hard to follow up smashing a porcelain clown with a hammer with big glasses, low decidable projection, and questionable Jewish ethnicity. (I'm just joking on _____!)

Next came Isis, who split her set into three, beginning with a newer poem -
so new, she had yet to memorize it. It was a different side to the often crowd favorite; something that everyone, I'm sure, desired to see.

Two new readers graced the stage, David Wade and Poppy (last name).
Having known David a little over two years now, it came as a delightful shock--not like the masochistic, mad enjoyment one might derive from electrotherapy--but more intune with the after affects of successful defibrillation.

Poppy read a poem inspired by a painting his cousin Austin did. Called White Bullets, Austin actually brought the painting--presenting it before the audience. This was somehow unrelated to the contest.

Even Clay Cooper somehow managed to get serious on stage, recounting a trip to euthanize his father's dog. The experience, which occurred earlier in the day, seemed to have a rather profound affect on Mr. Cooper. He stood on stage without a poem, blue wristwatch n'all, simply speaking--a direct message intertwined with rarely seen earnest words.

As is often the case on Tuesday Night, we ended with a poem of gratuity.

Isis read one of the more loved pieces, a poem every poet must write:
a love song for words. In context to the evening, it came as a culminating force rather than a personal explanation. Where life finds each of us in hardship, ecclectisim seperates our situations by social standards. Cultures often celebrate how different they are from one-another, but what I saw in Isis' poem was an ardent adoration for similarity.

To assert our differences requires us to use that which connects us all, the foundation of civilization, an ineffable idyll every person in End of the Line on any given Tuesday can share in.

To me, she was saying: "we can always find each-other in words."

NPS update for 03/3/2010--"NOPEN MIC NIGHT"

Patrick, your faithful emcee here to extend the update.

4 we move on, be sure to read our article in the Independent News.
Our very own Hana Frenette wrote the superb piece
and somehow managed to make me sound intelligent.

Also, next week we announce contest rules for April.

Okay.
With 17 readers and a packed night, emotions were running in every direction.
Oh yeah, we had no mic (pardon the pun I stole from Morgan)

Scott Mayo read a prosey piece, split into two parts through the night. It detailed an adventure which took place as much in his head as it did in the world (in this case, the world was a day-trip he took to Pensacola before
establishing residency in this fine city)

Barrett continues to experiment with the effects of props on his readings; albeit, this time proving to be much more subtle than a brown bag over his head. Hookers and cryptic word play aside - this guy writes with an honest eye on everything.

And, the same goes to John Fravel - who returned tonight from a month and a half hiatus from reading (He still showed up every Tuesday, though!). The Watermelon Man, as he says: Just came to him. It was reminiscent of

John's early writings, like those included in PS--PENSACOLA.

Which, speaking of, Meghan K and her husband Joe brought to the stage towards the end of the night. By request, she read the title poem of our anthology in its entirety while Joe drummed along (as he did several times that night). It was easy to remember why she won that contest in November. That powerful piece is the 3rd page of PS--Pensacola, which anyone can pick up on Tuesday for $7.00.

Clay Cooper, a relatively new poet, read for his 3rd consecutive week. He has an interesting style. It seems he takes poetic cliches, as well as cadence to their only logical end -- satire. Clay's poem spoke of life's river, and how he drinks alcohol too much. Still, before the expected giggle fit Clay's known to induce in the crowd; he illustrated his own originality in a poem about his dog.

Renaud returned with a rendition of a favorite poem: 'down' by j ivy.

Quentin Taylor, Renaud's partner in crime (in his band Red Shoes), joined us on the stage. I'm not sure if he's a new reader or not, but he was treated with the love we give to all first timers. Reading from a cell-phone, however, inevitably produces technical issues. Luckily, Quentin didn't let his message get lost in the stumble.

Our old friend Spirit is gone, instead replaced with AKA the Poet. He seemed very clear headed on Tuesday - his poems were direct, sharp. He seemed more intune with the crowd, or perhaps they were just more responsive.

Something which has become more and more common in the past two to three months.

Morgan continues to practice on his Sonnets. If you'd like to see his progress, check out Mr. Hamilton's blog. (Which I will post up as soon as I find the link)
He's got a certain charm which never escapes the crowd, or maybe it's just the goof. Either way, he's a damn good writer - and he's only getting better.

Finally, Priya Lin wandered into the set about half-way through, requesting a spot (which I could never say no to).
She stood on stage speaking, holding her mac-book one handed so her fingers could entangle with every spirit in the air, a bombshell spit out on the first sentence. With only subtle warnings, Priya has decided to move to Hawaii. There were equal distributions of lament and excitement in those several silent pauses between her final address.

A note on Priya: she's been a constant with NPS since almost the beginning. When we first moved to EotL with the open-mic, Priya found the first and only flyer I put up for months. In the most random of places, too - a Gulf Breeze StarBucks. Thinking back, I'm not too sure why I decided to put it there. Or, why I put my own phone number on there.

Maybe for this exact reason. That's a downplay of a beautiful providence, though; I could write a million poems, but none of them would mix words together as perfectly as reality has mixed our lives.

Priya, your elegance and grace have inspired me more times than I can count, because - as is often the case with inspiration - sometimes you don't even think about it. Until you do. And, believe me when I say that you taught me something I'll never forget:

sometimes the simplest beauties are the most profound.

Late Blog

This blog is roughly a week late, so I just want to briefly bring back some memories from last week. We had another crowded audience gather to listen and contribute. The doors of End of The Line were left open, allowing a comfortable breeze to enter the tight cafe...also, a mysterious visitor came and loudly attempted to give away a bar of chocolate. If you read last Tuesday, please post some of your contributed work along with this post. See you all tonight.

B. White
(http://nyquilchug.blogspot.com/)

03/09/2010- A night nothing short of...

As the first time emcee for possibly the largest number of readers that Poetry Night has seen to date, I am pleased that this night was nothing short of colossal. Including the readers who read for the haiku contest, the audience was treated to performances by TWENTY-FIVE different poets of which NINE were new readers. The sheer number of voices heard at End of the Line on Tuesday night demonstrated the diversity of thoughts that characterizes every Poetry Night. Poetry Night consistently proves to be a night nothing short of beautiful, and so, this particular night, too, carried the energy which feeds all those that come to End of the Line on Tuesday nights.

Despite the briefness required from the poets as a result of the large turnout, every reader seemed to bring words that were thoughtfully and uniquely his or her own. The variety of emotions and topics ranged from the stirring recounts of a police brutality victim to the comedic solutions to the question of life. One reader even spoke of the worthlessness of poetry only to be answered with cheers and applause. To me, a night that can contain such an understanding for the vast array of ideas presented is a night nothing short of extraordinary.

Aside from the large turnout, NPS featured a haiku contest for the month of March. There were eight entrants, one of whom was Patrick Hudson, the NPS founder and customarily, the Poetry Night emcee. The voting was so close that March produced two co-winners. After discussion of a sort of tie-breaker, it was decided instead that Cole Amick and Stijl Calhoun would be the selected co-winners of the haiku contest. So congratulations to these two, though all the entrants brought incredible material.

Every week keeps me looking for the next Tuesday to hear more from such wonderful poets, and the role of guest emcee allowed me to further understand the time and effort put into organizing Poetry Night. For those who are regular attendees on Tuesday, be sure to thank Patrick Hudson for the sacrifices he makes for people to be heard. I thank everyone who has made Poetry Night nothing short of inspiring. That is all. Thank you.


Wishing Poetry Night, NPS, and EotL continued growth and success,
John Ellis

Inspired by Nps: Deep Connectedness

Tonight's gathering (03-02-2010) made me think of the term, "Deep Connectedness" more in depth...

I walked into the newest Publix on 9th Ave a few days ago to buy some fruits; Publix is a nice supermarket to shop at, but I walked around in the fruit section going, we don't remember the Mother anymore; we went from being able to pick an apple or an orange right from a tree and eat it, to purchasing packaged fruits at a supermarket, we don't think of the Tree, or the roots of where we are getting everything from, anymore. As a result we walk around pretending that we are strangers to each other during the day time. I talked to Patrick tonight and I said I got some art supplies, I would like for us to get together one day and draw a Tree together, I have access to a studio in downtown Pensacola and we can have fun with this, so we will talk more and come up with a time that works for most people who are interested in participating in the idea. The birth of the first Nps Tree. Let's re-connect with our roots, and therefore with one another. I think it is about Time. Instead of deep disconnectedness from ourselves as walking souls in disguise, let's turn it around as a tribe and come to a place of Deep Connectedness that is once natural. Naja told me the other day that Koel threw fire at Open Books, we "are" Fire, I wrote the following about Fire: Bush Fire, warm and sweet, Juice follows, Kind and Serene. I so appreciate everyone that contributes to Nps.

Love,

Priya

Goodnight Nps

What a night, I was blown away by the poems a lot of us shared tonight at End of the Line; I offer my Peace to all, we live in a Time of great turmoil, the Soul needs a resting place, and I am listening 24/7, to the Collective Soul of Who We Are. Goodnight Nps. Imagine an angel beside you, when you were first born you had one right next to you, and now it is still with you.

Sweet Dreams,

Priya

Spring Gathering for Nps Poets

Dear Nps poets,

I will be hosting an informal gathering on the 6th of March (Saturday) at 7pm for all the Nps poets.

Let this gathering nurture our creative juice, collective voice, and poetic spirit. We are doing another "round table by the imaginary fire" type of reading.

The theme for this gathering is "Three Universal Needs of the Soul", which I will discuss next Tuesday night.

Let the soul speak freely, both on stage and outside of End of the Line. If you don't read, but are interested in participating in the theme, please come and join us.

Location will be announced later in the week.

Sincerely Yours,

Priya

A Synchronistic Gathering of Poets

Naja, Q, John Ellis, Morgan and I gathered after last poetry night and we formed a round table of synchronistic poetry; synchronistic meaning no planning, but Nature orchestrates the beginnings; the Way is already inherent in Nature, there is no Force pulling or pushing, but only a gathering designed for all of our highest interest, which is a sharing of Love via its many faces through the Spoken Word.

Come and be the Way for the new poets, we are important in history, we are not minute in a way we perceive ourselves in daily lives, let go the fear and the anger and the frustration and the sad moments of what was, and rise above all to get in touch (and in sync) with a higher level of creativity.

There is a book called The Artists Way by Julia Cameron, I am thinking about writing something similar (eventually) called "The Poets Way", designing to tap into higher states of creativity for all poets and lovers of the Spoken Word.

It is my love for poetry AND poets that have brought me here, I would not be at Nps without Patrick's dedicated and consistent effort to keep Nps going, my appreciation goes out to him first.

May I suggest that we become ONE BREATH with all the poets that have gone before us, all the great ones before our time, they were great and we are the continuation and the keeper of the Power and Beauty of the Word; it is a privilege to BE A POET, my goodness, it is a full-time profession in the eyes of God.

I thank you all humbly, with all my heart and gratitude for people that brought their talents to this Time that we live in.

In Grace,

Priya

After Poetry Night on 02/23/2010...

Magic, Synchronicity, Power, Historical Significance, Grace, Love, Beauty, Timing, and Purpose have united and set off the Quantum Fire.

(brief pause) ring ring!

T.S. Eliot gave me a call from the Dead Poet Society and said, "NPS is ready."

"The New Renaissance is here, all poets congregate by the Force. Peace is the Tao, the Spoken Word is the instrument. I lead the Way. -Priya Lin"

Patrick is still the leader of Nps, I am assuming leadership of the Way, John Ellis will follow. -P.L.

February Twenty-third, Two thousand and ten

Good afternoon, blogosphere. Last night, our very own New Poet's Society had a spectacular Open Mic at End of the Line Cafe. As usual, the talent was electric from the first reader, our very own Fearless Leader P. Hudson and his Anomie blood blue moon poetry. From there, the audience was 'wow'ed by Q's magnificent cadence, backed-up by Naja's spectacular vocals. Her performance was met by a sea of applause from the crowd. Next came the enigmatic Rylan and a particularly cryptic piece that earned him the moniker 'that fox guy' from dumbfounded smokers outside the cafe. Dustin followed with an interesting conceptual silence titled 'The Poem Between Poems,' or somethin along those lines. The two new readers this week went by the names Charles and 'Pepaboy Trill McCoy'...great job to them. Just as they were finishing, Kent appeared from the shadows, hopped up on a magnificent cup of coffee, spilling forth hurricane-fast rhymes about a world of paper before rushing out the door. A smile of fulfillment hung beneath his mustache as the crowd celebrated his verbal dexterity. The comedic Morgan brought forth some beautiful short pieces last night, along with frequent contributor J.D. Ellis. Both of these young poets bring vitality and talent to the open-mic sessions. Priya Lin, with her ubiquitous Apple laptop, handed out dedications and metaphors while keeping her screen illuminated with the slighest tap of her finger. Gary read a fantastic poem reminiscent of 'Dune,' and his wife Katherine stood with strength as she offered us a bouquet of poetic language. Meg gave us something to think about with her three page poem, written on scraps of paper that added depth to her performance. Naja had some of that 'old to me, new to you all' stuff that really made us swoon, especially her last poem that came completely out of her memory banks. Per tradition, Spirit finished out the night with his usual verbal gymnastics. In all, the night was full of great artistic merit...a collective favorite line came from Naja, who coined these appropriate words:
"Poets are my preachers/and church is an open-mic."
Look at the time! See everyone next week........I hope you all found joy in this long-winded post.

Best,
barrett

(http://nyquilchug.blogspot.com)

02/16/2010 - Feb. Contest - 17 readers

The night started off with a 'Collection of Fever Dreams'
by our recently relocated friend,
Ty Cummings, read by his younger brother Travis.

My favorite:
"The distance between us shattered like broken flower pots, &
we lay in the soil reaching for eachother."


We built along, both Q and Naja delivering powerful performances
after relating some Black History Month facts, as they have all month.

Spirit showed up with notebooks and conveyed a different side of himself,
lucid and somber in opposition to the freely erratic and emotional side
normally displayed by his improvisation.










As everyone should be aware, we held our Feb. Contest last week.

The 8 contestants:





John D Ellis









Dusty T






Priya












Cole Amick








M.K.







Scott Mayo











AlexB





John Ellis won
11 votes out of 22 with

"To Understand and To Be Understood, let's not get this confused."
-J.D.E. (2010)
kumbaya, my lord, kumbaya
kumbaya, my lord, kumbaya
kumbaya, my lord, kumbaya
o lord, kumbaya

we hold these truths to be self-evident,
that all men are created equal,
that they are endowed by their Creator
with certain unalienable duties,
that among these are to understand
and to be understood.

yes, to understand
and to be understood
these are the two inherent responsibilities
bequeathed to us by our fatherless forefathers

to understand
and to be understood,
these are the hopes and dreams
of man and man alike

to understand
and to be understood,
these are the debts that are owed
of the people, by the people, for the people

to understand
and to be understood
this is the burden placed upon us,
the children of maize, of tortoise's back, of clay and mud.

so, do not confuse this.
do not confuse this as
the rhetorical inbreeding of misguided attempts
to subjugate others by the good ol' boys that
were raised by the trailer park code of hammurabi
no, this is not "I for I" but "I owe you"

not to be confused with reparations,
for i never wished nothing bad on no one
and the only money I have,
has been invested in bonds;
bonds between my brothers and sisters
(can i get a) hallelujah, amen!

but do not mistake these bonds for chains,
for i would never trade my kin to become
freedom's whipping boy, no,
do not misunderstand me,
this message is not so black and white,
but i hope to understand and to be understood.

so kumbaya, and gather 'round
we shall beat a new drum,
a drum of revolution
beat the rodney king drums no longer
beat the reginald denny drums no longer
beat the tasha hill drums no longer
beat the james chaney, andrew goodman, and michael schwerner drums no longer
beat the drum of compassion
beat the drum of knowledge
beat the drum of liberation
beat the drum of truth
beat the drum of equality and virtue
beat the drum of your heart
beat the drum of your mind
beat the drum of art, of poetry
to understand and to be understood.

Updates/News by Dustin.

Hello all. This weeks context was postponed due to unforeseeable events that we were not made aware of. John, John and myself will recite our competitive pieces this coming up week (assuming we are all there), in which those present will be able to vote on their own personal preference.

Great poetry last week... I enjoyed it myself, I must say.

Davis St. Blues

Jazzy'z playin' blues 2 blocks down davis
Front 'n' Center
rustic vocals
a low barbeque fog fermenting
an' kickin' up as ee plays

Me tappin' keys
acquiesce to banality
as filigrees drift through
cigarette smoke blinds
mixing steam emanating
bore rain-water coffee

Tuesday afternoon always feels like morning
Jazzy'z noted denote the moaning
bucking typewriter clanks through the droning
of another cool fall mourning

blues hanging twixt
autumn orange brown leaves
and dropping.

We extoll
Jazzy 'n' I
as yet another sad letter
forms filigrees then floats
on the bellow of an old song with a whiskey tan
and tangential traffic swooshes
drowned in drawling deference.

"Damn Blues camn an' gotme again.."

He sings for eyes
a sight for a dime to may be paid

"Gotta make it through
these god-damn Davis St. Blues
another autumn another day."

Jazzy could play pulled pork out of his pocket,
and if it's pullin' pay from your's,
the shade of his day could change
but it's gray like cooking skin smog
like that empty restaurant
2 blocks down Davis

"Just another day, another fate for old songs
and their blue singers.
Jazzy don't even know,
we've been writing the same verse
over and over again
only to find
the world
a little less impressed by our accomplishments
a little more
by our failures."

For NPS: See you all Tonight!

In search of a gathering

Somewhere in the jungle and tugged amongst the trees

Where you will find only the most sincere seekers

Of the mystics in themselves

Those that embarked on such trails

Trails of Bliss

Of hidden paths

Of ecstatic joy and abundance

Every step along the way...

(to be continued, this legend we call NPS)

See you all tonight!

-Priya Lin

2 February 2010 - Poetry Night/Contest Announcements

As my first post, and the first post for NPS in the new year, I would like to say that Poetry Night has been a wonderful and illuminating experience. That being said, this night was every bit as wonderful and illuminating. The revolving door that has been NPS over the past couple weeks welcomed back Q and Naja, as well as Iceiss and two new readers, Kent and Rylan. We had a total of 13 readers, and essentially everything that I am trying to say about this night can be best captured in what I would call the quote of the night (maybe even the decade). It was spoken by one of our new readers, Kent, and I hope he won't mind me including it here.

Without further adieu, the quote of the night-

"...the collective talent in this room is fucking staggering."
(This is Kent)

Now on to the contest rules for Tuesday, February 9th, 2010.
The rules are very simple. Write a poem about an aspect of February. Any aspect at all.
The poem could be related, but not limited to:

• Black History Month
• Breast Cancer Awareness Month
• Valentine's Day

The winner, of course, gets the respect and adoration of everyone at Poetry Night for one whole night.
The stakes are high, so start writing.

Wishing NPS continued growth and success,
John Ellis



pics by priya:

Poem for Trevor

“Raconte-Moi” (Tell Me)

~a service piece, serving one of the NPS stars, Trevor, this poem comes to me when I listen to one of my favorite French songs

Tell me

Your life stories

Your unseen sorrow

Your dreams and despairs that only you and your buddies know

And perhaps

None of your buddies know

It’s still hidden quietly

At the secret garden of your innocence

Those who can enter

They bring you a rose

A miracle of love

Wise and young

Old and innocent

Cherished and adored

Kind and forever sweet

Your nature shines like the sun

Dimming the light

I saw the man you are meant to become

Even if the light is still dim

Around you

And it seems to be a bit too dim

For the star dusts that you carry in your pockets

It’s just a note

That you picked it up one day after a long day

It says

I know you

The magnificent child and the man to be

There is one thing more you need to know

And I am going to whisper this to the Universe

My beloved

Your essence is non-stoppable

The timeless piece that is You

Those of us who cherishes who you are

Will hold it gently in our hands

Nurturing every cell of yours

Until one day

Your truth comes

Majesty is your last name

Forget Not

-Priya Lin