Border's Reading

I went to a poetry open mic at Border's bookstore today off Alabama and Kirby to support a friend of mine who was reading there. I wasn't the only one. Half of the VIP team met me there, and I was pleasantly surprised to see Marcel and his girlfriend.

The event is run every second Tuesday, I believe by a man called Ken Jones. He's a little intimidating, but very nice. Teaches a creative writing class at the Art Institute over the summer, and he has that professor air about him. I'm guessing he teaches during the regular school year too. Anyway, he hosts the Reading Series, and it's quite a nice turnout.

I'm not getting to the point. The point is this: it's refreshing to see poets outside of the slam community. I'm completely inspired to write more, knowing that there's a world outside of scores, judges, and egos.

Driest American Humor....

is always in the reviews section of webpages on stores, makeup products etc. This review was for the Best Buy in the Galleria area. Made my day.


http://www.yelp.com/biz/best-buy-houston-2

Brave New Voices

Showing Season 1 to my summer school kids tomorrow. Hopefully it will spur interest and we will have new recruits for MetaFour.

Vocal Nodes, MetaFour, Houston VIP Grandslam Tonight!

So, it's been a minute. Many of you (aka the handful of people that read this blog) have been wondering where I've been. It's simple: life moves at break neck speeds. I, too afraid of neck trauma, have been sprinting a little bit faster than life itself, trying to stay ahead.

In early August last year, I came down with laryngitis. This may seem normal for a teacher, but I continued to speak on my swollen vocal chords and developed nodes or nodules on them. These are also fairly common: a lot of ministers, cheerleaders and teachers develop vocal nodes. Being a miser, I didn't go to the doctor till December, where I found out they had taken residence and refused to budge. Their immediate verdict was: no singing, no poetry, no speaking beyond what you have to until the calluses soften and disappear. 

I've been in and out of the doctor's office and been in speech/vocal therapy for months now. It's a long and seemingly unrewarding process. I can't sing along to the radio, so I've invented this speak-along system when a song I like pops up. This may seem like I'm venting, but I've learned to enjoy the smaller blessings in life. At least it's not throat cancer. I'm just out of commission for a maybe a year and a half. 

I haven't completely given up on poetry. I'm still coaching at MetaFour Houston (check them out at http://www.facebook.com/metafourhouston) and we just had out grand slam yesterday! It was  very intense, and high energy! Probably the best teen slam I've been to ever. EVER. I'm excited about going to L.A this year, and I'm even more excited about Houston making a presence at BNV. 

My favorite event of ALL TIME is tonight. I love adult slam offs, and the VIP Houston Slam is the season's main event (http://www.facebook.com/event.php?eid=112283218782274&index=1). The town's best BEST poets at Houston's only coffee shop that unreservedly loves poets and poetry. After a few glitches (apparently, NPS told them that some of their slams didn't count, so they went the exta mile and did a few more), they are FINALLY at their GrandSlam. The spoken word community has been waiting for this for a long time, and it's happening tonight! This is the team I would've slammed for, had I not had my vocal issues, but I'm hoping to still help the team once it's formed. 

So, details. You should come out. You should support local art. I'm not sitting at a Panera and randomly typing out a blog for no reason at all. 

Time: 9 p.m- 12:00 or whenever it ends

Place: G's and Z's Coffee Shop (4412 Almeda, Houston TX)

Cover: $5, I think, but call me for details. 

Slam Mistresses: Deborah D.E.E.P Wiggins 

I know most of the poets on this list, and I guarantee that this is not an event that I'm missing. Either should you.

So, stream of consciousness done. I'll be back later to put up a new poem at some point and talk about random things. 

Lights

thursday night, the lights went out
collective groans thrown like fishing nets into the
still, the black black sends a sudden fear,
but beyond the fear
is the music that the leaves sing to the elusive breeze
the crickets tapping their way home,
blind to the human stain still seeping into
reaches hidden by the dark,
it is only when the lights return
that i make these observations

December 27

is usually spent in airports,
travel smells settling into your heavy jet-lagged face,
a worn smile reaching into familiar creases
usually, this is what we do.

this year, you will not cross the Atlantic.
i will lay in my too-big bed, and let
my imagination loose itself in its goldfish bowl.
how do i tell you i miss you
when i asked you to stay in your safe England,
when i explained that i am only in transit here,
an Indian girl with a southern drawl.

We always crossed into the New Year together
Hands weaved into each other,
party favors flicking like frog tongues into the muggy Texas night.

Fisherman

I am made of bones and stones and holes,
but i'll learn how to breathe in your world.
come to me at dusk when the day begins to trust
that night will sweep up the stars when it's done
mourning another loss.

fisherman. cast your net out into the ocean
i will come swimming
it is only your heart i want

i am made of sea and salt and wind,
my hips are curiously poetic when they swim in
whirlpools round your boat why do you smell
like rugged lengths of rope that scar minute
messages on your palms.

fisherman. there are other fish, yes
but i look through the blurry green every dawn.
i know your net, and if you will cast it into this
water, i will come swimming
it is only your heart i want.

A Marked Thing

I found an old little ditty I wrote to my "no-longer"!

damn! you a fine ass brotha.
flickin' those women off you
like birds with extra feathers,
your heat makes England go from
winter to sunny weather.