This is the official blog of Northern Arizona slam poet Christopher Fox Graham. Begun in 2002, and transferred to blogspot in 2006, FoxTheBlog has recorded more than 670,000 hits since 2009. This blog cover's Graham's poetry, the Arizona poetry slam community and offers tips for slam poets from sources around the Internet. Read CFG's full biography here. Looking for just that one poem? You know the one ... click here to find it.
Showing posts with label Denver. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Denver. Show all posts

Monday, May 12, 2014

"The Madness Vase" by Andrea Gibson




The nutritionist said I should eat root vegetables,
said if I could get down thirteen turnips each day
I would be grounded, rooted.
Said my head would not keep flying away to where the darkness lives.

The psychic told me my heart carries too much weight,
said for twenty dollars she’d tell me what to do.
I handed her the twenty and she said, “Stop worrying, darling,
you will find a good man soon.”

The first psycho-therapist said I should spend three hours a day
sitting in a dark closet with my eyes closed and my ears plugged.
I tried it once but couldn’t stop thinking
about how gay it was to be sitting in the closet.

The yogi told me to stretch everything but the truth,
said focus on the out breath,
said everyone finds happiness
if they can care more about what they can give
than what they get.

The pharmacist said Klonopin, Lamictal, Lithium, Xanax.

The doctor said an antipsychotic might help me forget
what the trauma said.

The trauma said, “Don’t write this poem.
Nobody wants to hear you cry about the grief inside your bones.”

But my bones said, “Tyler Clementi dove into the Hudson River
convinced he was entirely alone.”

My bones said, “Write the poem.”
To the lamplight considering the river bed,
to the chandelier of your faith hanging by a thread,
to everyday you cannot get out of bed,
to the bullseye of your wrist,
to anyone who has ever wanted to die:

I have been told sometimes the most healing thing we can do
is remind ourselves over and over and over
other people feel this too.

The tomorrow that has come and gone
and it has not gotten better.

When you are half finished writing that letter
to your mother that says “I swear to God I tried,
but when I thought I’d hit bottom, it started hitting back.”

There is no bruise like the bruise
loneliness kicks into your spine
so let me tell you I know there are days
it looks like the whole world is dancing in the streets
while you break down like the doors of their looted buildings.
You are not alone
in wondering who will be convicted of the crime
of insisting you keep loading your grief
into the chamber of your shame.

You are not weak
just because your heart feels so heavy.
I have never met a heavy heart that wasn’t a phone booth
with a red cape inside.

Some people will never understand
the kind of superpower it takes for some people
to just walk outside some days.
I know my smile can look like the gutter of a falling house
but my hands are always holding tight to the rip cord of believing
a life can be rich like the soil,
can make food of decay,
turn wound into highway.

Pick me up in a truck with that bumper sticker that says,
“It is no measure of good health
to be well adjusted to a sick society.”

I have never trusted anyone
with the pulled back bow of my spine
the way I trusted ones who come undone at the throat
screaming for their pulses to find the fight to pound.
Four nights before Tyler Clementi
jumped from the George Washington bridge
I was sitting in a hotel room in my own town
calculating exactly what I had to swallow
to keep a bottle of sleeping pills down.

What I know about living
is the pain is never just ours.
Every time I hurt I know the wound is an echo,
so I keep listening for the moment the grief becomes a window,
when I can see what I couldn’t see before
through the glass of my most battered dream
I watched a dandelion lose its mind in the wind
and when it did, it scattered a thousand seeds.

So the next time I tell you how easily I come out of my skin
don’t try to put me back in.
Just say, “Here we are” together at the window
aching for it to all get better
but knowing there is a chance
our hearts may have only just skinned their knees,
knowing there is a chance the worst day might still be coming

let me say right now for the record,
I’m still gonna be here
asking this world to dance,
even if it keeps stepping on my holy feet.

You, you stay here with me, okay?
You stay here with me.

Raising your bite against the bitter dark,
your bright longing,
your brilliant fists of loss.
Friend, if the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other,
my god that is plenty
my god that is enough
my god that is so so much for the light to give
each of us at each other’s backs
whispering over and over and over,
“Live. Live. Live.”


Andrea Gibson © 2011

Andrea Gibson is a spoken word artist and activist who travels around the country with readings on sexuality, class, white privilege, gender, love, war, bullying, and mental health. The first winner of the Women of the World poetry slam, Andrea’s work has been featured on the BBC, Air America, C-SPAN, Free Speech TV, and in 2010 was read by a state representative in lieu of morning prayer at the Utah State Legislature. Andrea is thrilled to have this space to dialogue with you all about trauma, suicide, and the things that keep us here and wanting to be here.

Saturday, September 10, 2011

National Poetry Slam 2011 cypher, poet Brando Chemtrails



Poet Brando Chemtrails from Denver's SlamNuba performs during a cypher from 2011 National Poetry Slam, Aug. 8-14. Shot in on the street outside 496 Massachusetts Ave., Cambridge, Mass.

SlamNuba won the 2011 National Poetry Slam. Brando is one reason why.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

Bill Hicks: A 30-30 rewrite poem, by Paulie Lipman

Bill Hicks: A 30-30 rewrite
by Paulie Lipman

Humorist Mark Twain said that
there is no humor in Heaven
Comedian Bill Hicks replied that Hell
will always have the best musicians

The only difference
between a comedian and a humorist
is that a comedian is more
damaged

Bill,
they
called you angry
You
were always in good company
Even Jesus
embraced rage's jagged blossom
as he evicted every thief squatting
in his father's house

Anger
is a gift
The cracked glass spark
that bursts in the chest of every great leader
doomed to the enlightenment that we
as humans, are capable of so much
more
but we run from every opportunity
to realize it
Love
is the fact that they never stop trying
to tell us

Laughter and Happiness
are two jilted lovers
at best

Bill
It's been 16 years
since Cancer's soft ravage
devoured your voice
Your mantle has grown dust
and your every heir apparent
knows only bitter,
cynical indifference mistaken for
righteous Anger
Love
for gullibility
I
counted myself among them
but there was no heart
to our hands
only dull, blustering thunder
inarticulate
and
too clumsy for incision
It tookyour sharp fingers
to slice through my sternum
and choke throttle my heart
back into lightning again
destructive
but illuminating
damaged
and hopeful

They call me
angry
I
am in good company

Copyright 2010 © Paulie Lipman

I have always enjoyed Paulie Lipman from Denver. He encapsulates the Denver scene, having been on six teams. I have slammed against him and seen him feature a few times.
His poem "Potential" brought me to tears at the National Poetry Slam this year in St. Paul, Minn. That goes far to say in that it is not a particularly emotionally heart-wrenching poem in an of itself, it was just a fucking good poem that touched me right then. That's good showmanship. Lipman is a great performer and a good-hearted poet, one whom I highly recommend seeing if he tours to your city.

Paulie Lipman has been at this spoken word thing for about six years. Lipman has been a part of six Denver National Slam Teams (including 2004's second-place team and 2006's National Poetry Slam champions)

Lipman has extensively toured the United States and a little Canada including many schools, from grade school to college and youth correctional facilities. He was recently published in the National Poetry Slam collection "High Desert Voices."

He also appears as the voice of Neal Cassady in the upcoming documentary “Neal Cassady: The Denver Years.” And, he can’t wait to meet you.

Pick up Paulie Lipman's new album, Inobservant at www.twistandshout.com

Read more: www.myspace.com/paulielipman