Poetry Open Mic I have been writing poems since the seventh grade. This therapeutic obsession finds its way into my everyday. My home is filled with thousands of poems and poem-bits. I have cigar boxes full of scraps of verse. Endless lined notebooks tell the tale of the evolution of my consciousness. Thought clippings are stuffed in drawers- too many to count. I feel honored when arriving at a chance to share my poetry and concept writings. The opportunity to read at an open mic was radical, unique, and orgasmic from the lens of the ever-quieted poet. I’ll definitely be doing that again. As soon as Tiffany told the class about this open mic on Friday I immediately started planning my poems and outfit. I got dressed early and was afraid for hours that I’d get my “poet dress” dirty. I accented my “poet dress” (which is made of fine white lace and has the most wonderful, innocent, and picturesque black peter pan collar) with black panty hoes, black knee socks, and my signature midnight combat boots. The look was mod and avant-garde. I pinned my hair back like a lady. A poet should be pretty. A poet should entrance the audience with a full audiovisual confrontation. I walked from Walden to the Bards Town Theater in the cold. I arrived nearly an hour early, unfortunately. I read over my work several times. I ordered chocolate cake and water. I recommend and applaud the chocolate cake. I was the first person to sign up to read and thusly received the opening spot. It terrified parts of me and other parts it tingled and thrilled. I read my Sonnet, a poem titled, “To the People in the Apartment Below Us”, and my Butterfly haiku. The audience seemed to like my writings. They laughed at the appropriate spots. I read slowly, which is a recurring difficulty for a high-strung Aries like myself. I did not stutter, I kept with the breath, and I think I did my work justice. I curtsied politely when I finished. I exited the stage confidently. It was a rush, an ecstasy, a moment I’ll never forget. The night was filled with poetry thereafter. Altogether it was a beautiful and romantic evening. As I walked home, down Bardstown Road cold and alone, strutting in my “poet dress”, I thanked Whitman, Ginsberg, Plath, Warhol, Thoreau, Shiva, the Buddha, G-d, and my other creative inspirations for their contributions to my fascination, passion, and dedication to inventive verse.
Posted on: Wed, 13 Nov 2013 21:25:58 +0000
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