"Lumberjacking is the World’s Most Dangerous Profession" by Christopher Fox Graham

lumberjacking is the world’s most dangerous profession
falling trees and limbs slay lumberjacks at a rate
30 times higher than average
breaking bones a dozen times daily

these arms are not built to fell trees
these hands not built to wield axes or chainsaws
I am no lumberjack
but I know the sound of a tree falling in a forest
we do not know how many died
to build this stage
to erect these room
to raise this roof

poetry is the world’s most dangerous art form
suicide and addiction and overdose slay poets
at a rate not measured by the Bureau of Statistics
because we do not list "poet" as a profession
no matter how deep is in our bones

but I am a poet

these arms were built to climb trees
these hands to wield pen and microphone
the sound of a poet falling in a forest
sounds so much like a tree
even the Earth can't tell the difference
we do not know how many died
to raise this roof
to erect these room
to build this stage

I know no dead lumberjacks
but if I were to inscribe the names of all the dead poets
this body would be inkwell:

one drowned in the heat of lonely city
swallowing pills to stay afloat

one who found refuge in a bottle
until his liver took his heart in the divorce

one who shotgunned the worst of him
across pages of the best of him

one with the Will of a Haymaker
now Basquiating himself
with a heroin needle
refusing to hear us say "stop"

one who swam into the river
never intending to reach the far shore

one who relived his golden age
overdosing on methadone

one who named his son Oren
and told us to look it up
wrote that one day his son would fall,
but a poet would there to catch him

and another poet

and another

and another

I know no lumberjacks
but I know they must weep like I do
whenever these names come flooding back

we do not build furniture or homes or monuments or empires
tangibility that can exist without the living
we only leave behind our words
which yellow and age over time
only existing if we read or speak them
but there are too many words now
and not enough time
and I'm beginning to forget
and there's no one here to help

lumberjacks take refuge in the woods
work beneath the leaves
take revenge on the limbs and trees
that slew their brothers
but we poets have nowhere to go
but back to these pages
to these microphones
to these slam stages
where we pour out our rage
it's why we're always shouting
a Dead Poets Society
is trapped in our throats

I'm not even supposed to be here
there's too much sin,
sloth
and pride
to be a Speaker of the Dead
to bear this burden of survivor
I am the Devil's bad luck
and the Grim Reaper's off days

I am tired of burying our dead
of toasting our fallen as conquering heroes
of retelling all the same old stories
to those old poets who can remember
before the needle drained
the pills slowed
the bullet shattered
the depression became too much to bear

I am tired of telling new young poets
about who came before
or how their newest stanza
can make me weep
because it sounds so much like someone
they can read but never meet
they don't need this added weight
while learning to fly
I am tired of telling still-living poets
with one foot in the graveyard
and one hand on a needle
that I don't deserve to outlive them

one poet named his son “Pine Tree” in Hebrew
wrote that one day he would fall
I am no lumberjack
but I will ready to catch him
because a poet said to


I can build nothing
but this
this is a promise I can keep

My Biggest Events of 2012

The year 2012 was busy, with both highs and lows. These are neither the best nor worst the biggest events of my year:

Confirming ballistics from double murder outside Sedona

The morning of Friday, Jan. 6, James Johnson, 63, from Jaffrey, N.H., and Carol Raynsford, 63, from Nelson, N.H., were found shot to death in an idling late-model red Subaru wagon around 11:30 a.m. on Friday, Jan. 6, at an overlook between Sedona and Cottonwood. There hasn't been a murder inside Sedona city limits since 2003.

Photo by ABC15 News

On Sunday, Jan. 8, a shootout in Anthem resulted in the death of Maricopa County Sheriff's Office deputy William Coleman, a 20-year veteran of MCSO and father of two.

The suspect, Drew Ryan Maras, 30, fired 29 rounds at police, two of which killed Coleman. Deputies fired 41 rounds, killing Maras.

The weapons that killed Jaffrey, Raynsford and Coleman were all .223-caliber rounds.

We, at the Sedona Red Rock News, were trying to get confirmation of a ballistics match between the two shootings, but the Yavapai County Sheriff's Office couldn't confirm it.

A tragedy, like this, means something different to a journalist. While we feel compassion for the victims of violent crimes or bank frauds and assaults and identify as fellow humans to those in feature stories or obituaries, reporting the news is our job. Reporting this story, and doing it before anyone else in the Verde Valley means I was doing my job for my community.We went to press suggesting there might be a relation, but 15 minutes to deadline on Tuesday, Jan. 10, I happened across a Twitter post from a New Jersey news site confirming the connection. My editor was out of the office, so the onus fell on me. I shouted "stop the presses!" had my photojournalist Tom Hood checking my email every 20 seconds while I called MCSO over and over until I got verbal confirmation and Hood got a press release from MCSO verifying the ballistics. I rewrote the lead with just a minute to spare and sent the plate the press, effectively breaking the story locally connecting the two shootings.

There is still no motive in the two deaths near Sedona.

May photo shoot

In May, following a Sedona Poetry Slam, a got a group of my best poets to stay overnight.

Photo by Tara Graeber

Josh Wiss, Spencer Troth, me, Brian Walker, Azami, Nodalone, Valence and
Lauren Hanss, left to right, helped encapsulate Arizona's Wild West and sci-fi
motifs.

The next morning, we went out to Fay Canyon and shot a series of photos blending Firefly imagery with the Old West, with images shot by Tara Graeber.

Hikers to the site came across a dozen armed poets and artists adjacent to the trailhead. Seeing there reaction to poets like Josh Wiss with three pistols and Valence wearing heterochromic sunglasses, my trenchcoat and a wielding a rusty shotgun must have been terrifying, then hilarious.

Of course, readers of my blog have seen the results of these pics as they are my favorites.

Publishing my first bound book, "The Opposite of Camouflage"

In late May, I started working on my first bound book of poetry, publishing it through Lulu.com, a print on demand service.

I hadn't printed a new book of my poems since 2006 and I've become a much better poet since then. It has 16 poems in a 52-page bound book, available for $9.99.

Poems included:

• Welcome to the Church of the Word
• Manifesto of an Addict
• We Call Him Papa
• Spinal Language
• Ragnarok
• The Peach
• Breakfast Cereal
• In the Corners of This Room
• Three Minutes for Dylan
• Do You Have a Baseball Bat?
• My Hands are in the Mail
• The Devil’s Gardens
• Revolution 2.0
• Staring at the Milky Way with One Eye Closed
• Dear Pluto
• They Held Hands

Special thanks to Big Pappa E for suggesting the title.

Winning the FlagSlam Grand Slam in May

Photo by Tara Graeber

The FlagSlam Grand Poetry Slam competitors: Tara Pollock, Ryan Brown,
Spencer Troth, me, Valence, Dan Rivera, Evan Dissinger, Josh Wiss, Nancy,
Nodalone, Vincent Vega and Jackson Morris. Pollock, Brown, I, Nodalone and
Morris made the team.

The last time I was legitimately on a team was 2006.

In 2010, I was added to my fifth Flagstaff team because I had competed and happened to be going to Nationals as a volunteer and the team's fourth poet bailed.

But in 2012, after a year of competing every week, despite living 40 minutes away in Sedona, I won the FlagSlam Grand Slam, making the team with Ryan Brown, Tara Pollock and Nodalone, and our alternate Jackson Morris, who we almost immediately made a fifth member of the team, as permitted by Poetry Slam Inc. rules.

The team was super supportive and incredibly talented, probably the strongest team of poets since the inaugural team in 2001.

First Sedona Grand Slam in June; performing with Azami

In 2011, The Klute suggested I send a team from Sedona to the National Poetry Slam.
I scrambled in to get in six poetry slams between December and May, meeting the threshold to qualify for inclusion in the National Poetry Slam, paid venue registration and certification for Studio Live and set up a point system to encourage poets to participate. 

Members of the Sedona Poetry Slam Team, left to right, Frank O'Brien, Spencer
Troth, Evan Dissinger, Tyler “Valence” Sirvinskas and Josh Wiss stand on stage
after their first National Poetry Slam bout at the McGlohon Theatre in Charlotte,
N.C. The team came in third, losing to Portland, Ore., and Oklahoma City, but
defeating Springfield, Mo.

In June, I hosted the first ever Sedona Poetry Grand Slam, featuring in alphabetical order:

• Evan Dissinger is one of the preeminent voices in the Flagstaff poetry scene. A skateboard rat in Flagstaff, Dissinger is one of the most sincere poets in Arizona with a knack for making conventional experiences sublime.
• Lauren Hanss is one of the strong female voices in Flagstaff. An early education and creative writing student at NAU, Hanss is respected for her honest, confessional poetry.
• Known for his political savvy and humorous poetry, The Klute performs all over the United States and Canada and featured at the Poetry Slam and the Sedona Public Library. A seasoned veteran, The Klute has been to the National Poetry Slam seven times, for the Mesa Slam Team in 2002, 2003, 2005 and 2006, and the Phoenix Slam Team in 2008, 2009 and 2010. He also won the grand slams in 2005 and 2010.
• A poet’s poet, Frank O’Brien writes with a profound simplicity. O’Brien won the 2008 and 2009 Flagstaff Grand Slams, and competed at three national poetry slams from 2008 to 2010.
• A veteran national competitor, Lauren Perry competed at the National Poetry Slam with the Mesa Poetry Slam Team in 2006, 2009 and 2010. She also proudly represented Sedona at the 2012 Women of the World Poetry Slam in Denver.
• Austin Reeves is an up-and-coming voice in both Sedona and Flagstaff. A coffee-loving creative writing student at NAU, Reeves has already made an impact, taking second at the last Sedona Poetry Slam in May.
• Beginning in Flagstaff in 2005, Rowie Shebala has slammed all over Arizona. After graduating from NAU with a Bachelors of Science in Theater and a minor in English, she hosted the poetry slam in Gallup, N.M. On the national level, she competed at the 2009 Women of the World Poetry Slam in Detroit and as a member of the Mesa Slam Team in 2011.
• Tyler Sirvinskas aka Valence, was a member of the 2011 Flagstaff National Poetry Slam team. He is the top-ranked poet competing in the Sedona grand slam.
• A political science student at NAU, Spencer Troth’s introspective work brings compassion to his views of current events, such as a poem touching on the double murder outside Sedona in January. Troth will be taking his poetic voice overseas as a political science student in France next year.
• Mikel Weisser is a school teacher from Kingman, an Occupy activist and a 2012 candidate for Arizona’s Congressional District 4. In conjunction with his congressional campaign and activist activities, Weisser schedules poetry performances all over the state.



Part of the performance included a duo poem featuring me
performing "[The Dust] In the Corners of this Room" with my
then-girlfriend Azami dancing to the piece.

• Joshua Wiss’ infectious enthusiasm for life is evident in his energetic performances. A recent graduate of NAU with a degree in creative writing, Wiss performed at every Sedona Poetry Slam this season and is currently ranked No. 2.

Part of the performance included a duo poem featuring me performing "[The Dust] In the Corners of this Room" with my then-girlfriend Azami dancing to the piece.

That was awesome.


The 2012 Sedona National Poetry Slam Team members were chosen: Valence, Evan Dissinger, Josh Wiss, Frank O'Brien and Spenser Troth

Desert Rocks Music Festival

The Apocalypse Slam, The Dust and Whiskey Slam,The Hunger Slam, whatever the 12 poets who participated wanted to call it, it was a struggle but awesome when all was said and done.

Notice the lack of green on the underlying map. The festival was dust, just
dust.

The slam itself was great, the camaraderie between those of us who went will last for years, because performing slam poems in the face of 50-mile-an-hour dusty gusts will make you tight with each other. Misery loves company.

Hanging out with Seth Walker, Solomon Schneider and some of the best slam poets in the country was worth all the heartache of going and competing:

• Karen Neverland was a member of the Salt City Slam Team in 2010 and has featured at many venues around the Salt Lake area with her poetry and motivational speaking. She has been featured on KRCL’s RadioActive and City Weekly’s Zionized and has recently completed a full-length philosophy book (unpublished). Karen has also self-published three chapbooks of poetry and often performs under the nickname “Karo”. In her free time she runs Salt Lake City’s most successful open microphone at Greenhouse Effect and enjoys creating music. 
• Amy Everhart has been called one of "America's most refreshing Poetic Voices", a whirling-dervish of a performer whose voice sucker punched itself into the National Consciousness when she made history in Berkley California on October 10th, 2009 by being the first Woman to ever win the Individual World Poetry Slam, the most highly coveted title in United States performance poetry.
  
•  Will Stanford is co-founder of Sparrow Ghost Publishing and Collective, a hair-stylist in training, hst of Portland Poetry Slam, Word-Out and Broetry. I write poems and do hoodrat stuff with my friends. Also, he performed a poem naked.



Slam scores posted during the Desert Rock Music Festival.

• Jackhammer Serenade is composed of Dre Johnson and Patrick Ohslund and was born of fire and incalculable odds as these two poets converged from vastly different backgrounds on the 2009 poetry team Life Sentence. Since then they have given themselves entirely to multi voice work in order to further the human experiment of melding consciousness.
  Their work is at once tongue and cheek combined with a biting no-nonsense social commentary on the unseen suffering going on in the urban world.
• Jesse Parent is a poet, an improviser, a former mixed martial arts fighter, a computer nerd, a husband, a father, and, above all, a human being. According to the results of the 2010 and 2011 Individual World Poetry Slams, he is also the 2nd ranked slam poet in the world.
  
• Jordan Ranft loves poetry. He loves writing it, and he loves performing it. In the few years he has been practicing his craft he has taken the scene by storm. First starting performance career out in Colorado Jordan placed several times at the Mercury Cafe Slam in Denver. Now residing in northern California he has performed all over the bay area, won multiple slams, and has featured at several big name events including the Northbay Poetry Slam and the San Francisco How Weird Street Fair.
• Lauren Zuniga is a nationally touring poet, teaching artist and activist. She is one of the top 5 ranked female poets in the world, the 2012 Activist-in-Residence at the OU Center for Social Justice and the founder of Oklahoma Young Writers. MoveOn.org, called her poem "The most riveting message on the war on women in under three minutes." Her work has also featured in On the Issues Magazine, Daily Kos, Crooks and Liars, Being Liberal, RH Reality Check, Muzzle Magazine, The Good Things About America and The Gayly.
• Gray Brian Thomas is a performance poet born and raised in Salt Lake City Utah. Graduating cum laude with a B.A. in English in 2012 from the University of Utah where he was editor of enormous rooms, the undergraduate literary journal, Gray has been writing and performing poetry for several years. He was a member of the 2007, and 2011 Salt City Slam teams, and is a current member of the 2012 Salt City Slam team. He helped found the College Union Poetry Slam Invitational team for the University of Utah, which sent it's first ever representatives to the 2012 CUPSI tournament. Gray is also the 2012 Individual World Poetry Slam representative for Salt Lake City, which will take place later this year in Fayettville, Ark.
• Lacey Roop is a nationally recognized and touring poet placing 6th in the 2011 Women of the World Poetry Slam (WOWPS), was the Austin, TX Individual World Poetry Slam (IWPS) representative, and has been a two-time member of the renowned Austin Poetry Slam.
  What is far more interesting about Lacey, however, is that she has an uncanny ability to get hit by cars while biking, finds the fact that we are all made of stars both fascinating and comforting, and wears a key around her neck that unlocks the bottom of the ocean. Really, it does.
• The rapper Progress.
• Lilly Fangz
• Me 

And we got to see Beats Antique, Brother Ali, and the winners, Jackhammer Serenade, opened for the Wailers.

Copperstate Poetry Slam

Valence, Josh Wiss, Evan Dissinger, and
Frank O'Brien show off the 2012 Copperstate
Poetry Slam trophy they won as the Sedona
National Poetry Slam Team.

The Copperstate Poetry Slam brought together poetry slam teams from all over Arizona. Flagstaff was rocking it, but Nodalone and I dropped our duo "Babies" and effectively threw the slam.

My Sedona boys, however, rocked it and took home the trophy.

Spenser Troth was in Los Angeles getting visa from the French consulate for a future study abroad course and coun't attend. The rest of the 2012 Sedona National Poetry Slam Team Valence, Evan Dissinger, Josh Wiss, Frank O'Brien

After Nationals, the team chose to give me the trophy as the Sedona SlamMaster, which now sits on my entertainment unit, proudly overlooking all the slams of the 2012-2013 slam poetry season.

Whatever team I'm on in 2013 will be gunning for the next trophy.

The FlagSlam Team at Nationals in August and peforming nothing but duo poems.

I have always loved Ryan Brown's poetry.

Being able to perform a duo poem with him at the National Poetry Slam was awesome. We had performed my poem "Dear Pluto" flawlessly at the Copperstate Poetry Slam and I was looking forward to slamming it at Nationals.

FlagSlam 2012: nodalone, Ryan Brown, Jackson Morris, myself and Tara
Pollock outside our venue at the National Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C.

I wrote the poem and Ryan did the edits to transform it into a duo.

We killed it in the first and second rounds of the National Poetry Slam and gave the powerhouse Nuyorican Poets' Cafe a run for its money, leading them for two rounds before they and Hawaii slam pushed out some great poems and pushed us to third place.

Slamming with such a talented team was a great experience.

Having been to nationals as a solo performer so many times, I looked forward to an odd anomaly this year; I perform on the nationals stage three times, none of which were solo. My first poem was with Ryan, my second was "Babies" with nodalone, and my third was a duo poem with Tara Pollock dancing.

I also got trashed at nationals, no surprise there, and handed out nearly every copy of


My newest poetry book "The Opposite of Camouflage"

GumptionFest VII

Yep, seven years of providing free art for the community.

This was the first year without our founders Dylan Jung and Danielle Gervasio. There was some complaints about shifting the location of the venue from Coffee Pot Drive to the Old Marketplace and a lot of headaches between organizers who had some difficulty getting along. There were also complaints about so many out of town acts and so few locals on the stages. But the economy has been weak, and there are fewer full-tme and amateur performers in Sedona,

Splitting sites was admittedly troublesome as a lot of people didn't realize the festival was as large as it was. The stage at Sun Signs suffered the most, which is real shame because Mark Jacobson has been one of biggest, longest supporters.

GumptionFest is always an experiement and we learned from this one. As we say every GumptionFest, next year will be better.

On the plus side, I fought for my poets to be treated as equals on the programs, website and promotional materials. Poets The Klute, Tara Pollock, Evan Dissinger, Josh Wiss, Taylor Hayes, John Q, Batman (Biance Luedecker) and Geoff Jackson all had a turn on the microphone with The Klute winning the annual GumptionFest Haiku Death Match, reclaiming the title from his 2010 victory.

Get ready for GumptionFest VIII in September.

Death of Chris Lane in August

Ever since Christopher Lane's death, people have asked me my reaction, or been afraid to. This is as near as I get to an official statement.

The reason I moved to Sedona in March 2004 was to help Chris Lane run NORAZ Poets.

Despite being friends from the 2001 Flagstaff National Poetry Slam Team through our years living together as slam poets in Sedona, he kicked me off the 2006 NORAZ Poets Slam Team after Meghan Jones had a temper tantrum over some angry emails and quit in a tizzy about two weeks before the National Poetry Slam.

The fact Lane created a previously nonexistent "ethics of email correspondence" rule and tried to send me a certified letter telling me I was off the rather then call me or stop by -- we lived in the same small town after all -- was a bullshit move on his part I felt and I never forgave him for the coldness with which he behaved toward his friendly rival and one of his oldest in Northern Arizona.

This staged photo of Chris Lane in Jerome in 2004 and me would later prove
to be our de facto relationship from 2006 until his death in Aug. 2012.

Thus began the Sedona Poetry Civil War, as one of our mutual friends called it in 2010. For the first year, I was "banned" from competing in NORAZ slams, but still went to a few in Flagstaff while avoiding those in my own town. I still co-ran a relatively popular open mic with Greg Nix at the Szechuan Martini Bar.

In February 2007, Sedona Monthly ran an article of Lane's franchise of the Alzheimer's Poetry Project and accidently ran my name in the story and photo captions, to which I took great delight. The reporter had never met me.

On March 12, 2007, he called for a truce and we met in a neutral location at a restaurant to discuss the terms. We negotiated a code of conduct for NORAZ, the terms of which he changed when he sent a final draft on March 27, 2007, adding in a whole series of rules about drug and alcohol use, which in a poetry scene or any civil setting were superfluous and unnecessary for a simple nonprofit. After all, I held a poetry open mic at a Sedona bar and banning minors from entering was the job of the bar and the bouncers, not Nix and myself.

At the same time, Nix and I were hosting the Sedona Poetry Open Mic, an event which Lane wanted to put the NORAZ Poets logo, but which Nix and I declined as long as the alcohol portion of the code of conduct was still in question. In any case the dialogue fell apart by mid-April.

In 2007-2008, Aaron Johnson stepped down as FlagSlam Slam Master. NORAZ. The new FlagSlam had little to do with NORAZ afterward, and in late 2008, the FlagSlam poets asked me to feature. That marked the end of Lane's involvement with the adult slam as he turned to Brave New Voices, the youth slam teams, and one for which there was more grant money to be had to run the nonprofit. I made a point to fill the void for all ages slams in the Verde Valley, first hosting a team slam at the Old Town Center for the Arts in Cottonwood, then later starting the Sedona Poetry Slam in 2009.

By 2009, the civil war had become a cold one; he didn't attend or support any of my events and I didn't attend or support any of his; the exception being one Sedona Poetry Slam featuring a former 2001 teammate, Josh Fleming, which he attended but did not speak to me.

I stylized the Sedona Poetry Slam to be what NORAZ Poets had began as, and opposite of what it evolved into. I wanted Sedona Poetry Slam to be open to all without regard to poets' personal lives, democratic, supportive both artistically and financially, and I set the ground rule that under no circumstances would I make any profit from poetry slams. All money from the slam returns to the poets via prize money, feature poets' pay, or team registration. In the intervening years, I heard stories from other poets and arts organizers about questionable financial and personal behavior; money or support for programs promised, then retracted, then promised again, then retracted or renegotiated, and various poets in Northern Arizona had falling outs over projects he supported then backed off from.

Lane also began to refer to himself as Ya'ir, a Hebrew word meaning "he who enlightens," and putting "Christopher" into quotes. Lane was raised Catholic, but had become a Buddhist by the time I met him in Sedona. He converted to Judiasm before marrying his wife, but the name change was a bit much. I mean, we used to make fun of poets with stage names, going so far as suggesting he starting slamming under the stage name "Moniker" and I start slamming as "Pre-10-Shus" (pretentious). Toward the end, I suppose someone in the scene should have seen the decline, but his charisma just made him seem like he was getting more and more eccentric.

On Aug. 19, 2012, at 7:05 a.m., Lane was pronounced dead at his home from benzodiazepine and narcotic intoxication, according to the Coconino County Medical Examiner's Office. I received word from a mutual friend later that morning and got a copy of the autopsy in September. Reading an autopsy is a odd experience -- an antiseptic description of a person's body you once used to share conversation and meals.

I always expected that at some point, Lane would have apologized and our years of enmity would have come to an abrupt end. I'm not vindictive without cause and I'm quick to forgive when I believe in the sincerity of an apology. With his accidental overdose, we never had the luxury of repairing our friendship, but deep down I always thought it was inevitable.

The civil war -- a melodramatic title but one I like, being a poet -- did make me into a better organizer and public figure simply because I tried to be his opposite. In the end, knowing him longer than nearly anyone outside of his family, and seeing both his light side and dark side, I feel like I knew him better than most and I hope in the end, he respected me as only a rival could. Coming to terms with his death was difficult because few people understood what having a sincere arch-rival or arch-nemesis is like. One mutual friend asked if I felt like Superman, Batman, or Obi-wan Kenobi hearing Lex Luthor, the Joker or Anakin Skywalker had died, but another said it was more like Iron Man and Captain America: we were rivals and didn't get along, but in the end, we were on the same side, promoting poetry and inspiring other poets to take the stage.

That poem will one day be written.

Saul Williams on November

There are a few Greats in poetry slam every slammer should see in the flesh at least once. Marc Smith. Mike McGee. Derrick Brown. Shane Koyczan. Patricia Smith. Marty McConnell. Rachel McKibbons. Beau Sia. Taylor Mali. and Saul Williams.

Considering Saul Williams lives in Paris now, I figured the nearest I would ever get would be some book tour in the late 2030s when I could afford the airfare and time off to hop a suborbital shuttle and catch him at some little theater in the Sorbonne.

Instead, he came to Phoenix and performed a feature at Lawn Gnome, the bookstore performance space owned by my old friend and FlagSlam teammate Aaron Johnson.

He performed new poems as well as his signature poems, ", said the Shotgun to the Head," "Sha-Clack-Clack," "Black Stacey" "S/he" and a big portion of "The Dead Emcee Scrolls."

I got all my books signed, too.

November Election

As a news junkie, I was obsessed with the 2012 elections, both on the state and national levels. I interviewed Congressional District 1 Democratic primary candidate Wenona Benally Baldenegro, Republican primary candidate Doug Wade and the eventual winner, Ann Kirkpatrick.

I installed Nate Silver's 535 app so I could watch the daily poll changes as they came across every morning.

The reelection of Barack Obama seemed more or less inevitable as the opposition put forth only mediocre candidates unloved by the party running on an anti-Obama campaign rather than putting forth a real plan for any worthwhile changes.

Gay marriage was approved in four states and recreational marijuana use was approved in two states, and while I have no vested personal interest in either, I am happy to see American move to sanity on progressive social issues.

The repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell means we're moving toward an America where I can one day go to a gay friend's wedding which will have the same legal standing a straight one. “The arc of the moral universe Is long, but it bends toward justice,” minister Theodore Parker said in an 1853 sermon. One day I will, with great difficulty, attempt to explain to my children how their country could think one group of people could be denied their civil rights based on whom they love.

I expect puzzled looks at the absurdity during that conversation.

Winning the Dylan Thomas Award in December

Mary Heyborne won the Christopher Lane Memorial Award. I won the Dylan
Thomas Award for Excellence in the Written and Spoken Word, Eric Haury
and Barbara tied for third and Josh Wiss won second place.

On Dec. 14, Pumphouse Poets and Prose in Ken's Creekside Plaza and Cocopah Bead Shop North, awarded me the Dylan Thomas for Excellence in the Written and Spoken Word. Poet Joshua Wiss won the second place Dylan Thomas award and debuted his first book of poetry "Wonder: Full Bloom." Author and poet Barbara Mayer and author Eric Haury tied for third.

Poet and playwright Mary Heyborne won the Christopher Lane Memorial Award.

The Pumphouse Prose and Poetry Project is sponsored by Gary Every, author of 11 books who acted as presenter at the readings, Dr. Elizabeth Oakes, award winning poet and former Shakespeare professor, Cynthia Tuck, owner of Ageless Pages Bookstore and Ann Fabricant, owner of Cocopah North. The project will resume reading in the spring.

Necessary Publishing

The last two days of the year, I spent in Flagstaff with Ryan Brown, Robert Gonzales, Verbal Kensington, Josh Wiss and his girlfriend Katie, Maya Hall, Evan Dissinger, working on our newest project, NecessaryPublishing, from which plan to have a 100+ page book by early-2013.

It's the culmination of all the art we're created over the last few months coming to life thanks to Verbal Kensington's motivation and organization.

That's my focus for 2013.

Christopher Lane (Aug. 5, 1972-Aug. 19, 2012)

Christopher Lane

Aug. 5, 1972 — Aug. 19, 2012

Christopher Lane, 40, of Sedona, died unexpectedly at home Sunday, Aug. 19.

Lane is survived by his wife Akasha, sons Oren, 8, and Zephryn, 3.

Founder of NORAZ, Lane joyfully worked with local high schoolers and Alzheimer’s patients spreading the healing power of poetry.

A memorial is Saturday, Aug. 25, at 5 p.m. at Indian Gardens Park. Carpooling is mandatory.

NORAZ Poets is dead?

I've been told that this has been the Web site for a while now. Is the the last vestige of NORAZ Poets dead?

Good riddance.

Gentle Poet Eyes/Slam Fencing 101

Gentle Poet Eyes
By Aaron Johnson

it's been a year since I looked you in the eyes
and like a hair club client,
I was dissatisfied.

I once considered you an artist and friend
but your ego is the new travel-size toothpaste,
keeping you from boarding the plane and flying.

you write well, for an ex-girlfriend highlight film.

the fox smells his own hole first
and you know that
talking to me was a step
to get you back to this drug cabinet we call spoken word
but I implore you to be encouraging and sincere
when you come back
think less of yourself and more for the new generation of poets
that have been listening to your ego on dvd and internet downloads
for the last five fucking years
pouring tears and words for papa's mountains,
for the dust in the corners of the room that have been inhaled like spores,
even your breakfast cereal poetry is not as soggy
as your contemporaries predicted it would
after the time test

you still have your best poetry inside those eyes
but you spent so much time with lies and "fucking with people";
masturbating -er- manipulating
but where was the poetry, the writing?
did it die in your guns, your newspaper, your red rock, your old friend on West Sedona Lane?
you may not care about my poetry, fine.
but I did care about yours:
reading your blogs, your mind;
lately, I've been bored.

they write now
because you ignited a fire in the Sedona under groundhog
and you may never grow into your adult hoodie
until you let go
of your ego

you have my attention
now what will you do with it?
your actions are louder than your words
and your eyes



Slam Fencing 101
By Christopher Fox Graham

PARRY

watch thy forked tongue, poet
it's easy to be righteous from the stage
if you never put yourself on the edge of it
and risked being kicked off
by those who said they'd stand behind you
I'll still pulling out the knives
et tu, Lefty?

when I was banished,
virtuous poet,
I did not hear you advocate for my return
although your words seemly sweetly honeyed now
nor did I hear condolences
but at least you can apologize to robot porn on MySpace

did you lose my number?
not pay the internet bill?
forget my address?
at least you could remember what city I lived in
if you could get 20 inches and a photo in my newspaper

were you happy to sweep the stage clean,
honorable poet,
because with me on it
you heard shouts of "10" more often from behind the curtain
than behind the mic?

you live well, for an opportunist

don't claim I'm the only one
nor that you don't rub it in
we've all seen your cover on Flagstaff Live
and how you pointed out Nix was there too

venerable poet,
if you'd ever gotten to know me
instead of using you verse
to score cheaper dime-bags
or drawing in glassy-eyed teens awed
by the newfound allure of bald cartoon characters
you'd see what we do:
a pawn in the shadows of the rest of the board —
first the egoist before he hunted Montezuma
then the liar with his peach-flavored pride
now the esurient entrepreneur
yes, you're a chameleon, but always a sidekick
with all the Greats covering your head,
you've never felt the reign

your aims on our stages
have volunteered their simplicity
and the rest of us see right through it
present thy purpose, poet: poon, pot, or points pushes your newest stanzas
to reach the pedestals beneath our feet

since I first looked you in the eyes,
I have been dissatisfied

RIPOSTE

did I get your attention, poet?

blood a little warmer, poet?

thinking about what lines to sample in your reply?
keep reading, pondering poet

Asgard has its Loki
the Hopis have their kokopelli
NORAZ has its Reynard

the poems you see on stage,
the poems I post
are for the crowd,
the roaring throng
the points and the prize

unblemished poet, your sketch of me has always been sketchy
you're snuggled in against my chest
holding tight to an abusive father you can't seem to let go
because hating the man and the act
is easier than knowing what lurks beneath these GPEs

you'd know the ego
is, has, and will be an act
it's part of the costume
like the sport coat bedecked in buttons,
the unkempt hair,
the doublefisted whiskey,
the stories of threesomes and orgies

what makes the mess funny
is that the CFG mythology was written
by other poets, by the crowd, by the foes
rumors become facts
(I would elucidate, but I've already written
"Welcome to Show")

this is my character
my anti-hero suit
the poems stand alone
but the attitude drives poets who compete
to strive harder to win
more challenge, more effort
better poems, better poets
everyone needs a villain
if it weren't for judas, dear poet,
we'd be genuflecting to Apollo

the reports of my boundless pride are greatly exaggerated
you'd rather follow that Gospel
than get to know the man who wrote them

the proof is in my peach
peel back its layers to see that peaches … don't have any
perfectly poised posture,
vigorous ventriloquism of absurdity
and nonsense with flair scored me three 10s
while better poems of grandfather's hands, WTC jumpers, and fear of dying young
never does better than "8.9, 9.2, 9.4"
peach proves this:
1) slam is a joke
2) don't let one poem be what the world remembers of you
3) write better than this

august poet,
the poems that are "me" get scribbled on postcards,
e-mailed to distant friends,
read quietly over the phone or over coffee
folded up and hand-delivered the way true poetry should be
ways to communicate between two strangers
desperately struggling fingertips to fingertips
not a cockfight on a stage beneath three-minute lights

"where was the poetry, the writing?"
not held in the heartless digital vacuum online
if it weren't for MySpace, poet,
you wouldn't have any friends
where have I read that before?

you want my sincerity?
its always been here, in my skin, in my voice,
over a beer or coffee,
sans slam
you and I can play our roles on stage
bicker in the blogosphere
but be brothers in the real world

but you've got some steps to make
put down the keyboard and pick up the phone
hit the road to meet up
rather than hit "send"
and you've got to shed that shadow that stands over you
(remind Mr. Lane that a dick is still a dick
no matter how high it raises its head)

if you want me back
if you want me on that stage
if you want me to push the next generation of poets
to become the next generation of great poets
you've got to realize my purpose:
I must be all that they hate about poets
so they can become all they're meant to be

if they test themselves in the battle
outflank my checkmates
they'll learn the real lesson of my treatise:
if you're writing only for your three minutes in the limelight
you're wasting your life — get the fuck off the stage

learn that poetry is only the first step
in the long march of sharing ideas, stories, and lives
real poets live their poetry
slam is only a game

The Obligation of Artists: Why Christopher Lane has betrayed NORAZ Poets and poetry

What is the obligation of artists?

First, to answer the voice within and interpret it into your expression, be it music, poetry, dance, pottery, drawing or photography.

Second, relate joy of the human experience to any and all who will listen or look. The goal is to instill in the audience of one or thousands the same feeling the artist had when they created the art.

Third, enrich one's tribe, community, nation and world though shared human expression.

When an artist loses sight of any one of these obligations, we, as artists, see a tragedy.

When an artist willingly denies these obligations in the name of self-interest or self-promotion, we, as artists, see arrogance.

When an artist, regardless of talent, would rather charge than create while still proclaiming allegiance to these obligations, we, as artists, see hypocrisy.

When an artist, especially one who leads other artists, would deny youth the talent imbued by the creator, or the muse, or simple genetics, we, as artists, see usurpation of that gift and should demand .

If a school contacts the leader of a supposed nonprofit arts community and asks for that artist and others to display that gift for youth, and is denied for insufficient funds, namely Southwestern Academy, NORAZ Poets and $800, then the leader of that organization betrays not himself, but also his talent and his personal obligation to represent those artists.

All artists are free to make money from their work, just as with any form of work. Art is labor-intensive, emotionally draining, and in some cases, even life-threatening. However, an artist's words are not all that threatened in the posh surroundings of the Verde Valley.

An it's not as though the aforementioned nonprofit has made a stand toward these three obligations, unless, of course, one were to read the organization's mission statement:

"The NORAZ Poets Southwest™ vision is to provide the community with clear and concise information about poetry events throughout the Southwest. We will empower others, by making poetry more accessible."

"We will help make our communities' quality of life better, by using poetry. We will help our communities to pursue their creative goals through program development, readings, and other performance mediums."

"But above all, we wish to give back to our communities what they have given us -- the inspiration and means to create the written and spoken word."

You betray poetry, Mr. Lane.
You betray your community, Mr. Lane.
You betray yourself.

The thirteenth step is to learn not to be an ass

This follows some recent conversation with poets in Phoenix and their views on divorce between me and NORAZ Poets via its executive director.

Following recovery, 12-steppers need to learn some love.

The addiction doesn't go away, it just changes form. For many, that underlying problem, not covered rather than dealt with, just makes them judgemental pricks. I'm all for the benefits, but I suppose that if you join a group wherein the first rule is to announce that you have no power to control yourself, you have a tendency to blindly ignore that capacity in others. That, and being "saved" from addiction bleeds over into other meanings of "saved," and thus, the gentle stumble forward into arrogant self-righteousness.

To elucidate:
It seems the shift from addiction
(I must have this drug or I can't function; no middle ground)
shifts to the 12 Steps
(I need help or I will die; no middle ground)
then to personal interaction afterward
(this person is my friend or my enemy; no middle ground)

I suppose that if these people learned moderation in the beginning with drug use, they could learn that people are not a drug - there's a whole lot of gray in human relationships.

But, I guess, just like hitting rock bottom with drugs, they have to hit rock bottom with friendships before they realize they need to attend the 12-Step Program of Not Being a Prick.

How long, Mr. Lane?

Cool Down

some say "cool down"
I say "stay warm"

some say "cool down"
I say "I'm hot, hot hot"

some say "cool down"
I say "you're being a douche-bag, mr. JB jr."

some say "cool down"
I say "you only wish you were hot"

some say "cool down"
I say "melt down"

some say "cool down"
I say "God Save the Queen"

some say "cool down"
I say "you're just scared"

some say "cool down"
I say "I'm brighter than the sun, baby"

Poetry in Arizona

I spent about an hour on the phone with Christopher Lane discussing poetry and poetry politics. He's of the same mind that there is a deep division between Phoenix-based poetry scene and exo-Phoenix regions of Southern and Northern Arizona. This has been evident over the past few years as the Northern Arizona scene has grown from a monthly slam in Flagstaff run by a pack of exiles from Phoenix, Southern California, Las Vegas, Seattle, and Texas into strong local poetry movements in Flagstaff and Prescott and smaller ones in Sedona and around Arcosanti.

Other scenes I have visited all have dashes of their local color, politics, and drama, but there is a unique isolationist exclusivity in the Phoenix scene. It's pervasive in a lot of other mediums of art as far as I can tell, but poetry is obviously my concern.

Still, after all this time, Northern Arizona still seems more embracing than Phoenix. After slams and events in Flagstaff, almost without exception, poets and fans would congregate at one cheap restaurant or another and not discuss poetry, but just hang out. The same can not be said for Phoenix, with few exception.

Northern Arizona has a sense of community about it that Phoenix hasn't contained for me. There, I felt like a real contributing member of a group, but Phoenix is too big, too spread out, too disconnected for the same sensation. Despite never having lived there, I have felt more artistically connected to Sedona and Prescott and even Arcosanti than Phoenix and it's suburbs. Perhaps its the general facelessness of the city itself, or the permanently transient population, but I still feel like a permanent exile here. Even though I've spent 2/3 of my almost 3 years of slam in Phoenix, I'm still "Christopher Fox Graham from Flagstaff". I don't care about the title, but there is a mindset behind it.

Part of it is benefit; I like being on the fringes sometimes, but even when I want to be in a group or community, it feels like it's forced. Events, meetings, and gatherings down here quite honestly feel false or half-assembled, or are put together last minute, or the rules change at the last minute, and not everyone shows up, leaders included. Again, I'm sure part of that is the general layout of the city and the sheer size of it. But bottom line, in Prescott and Flagstaff, when an event goes down, everyone shows. That's very reassuring when trying to build a community.

I guess it comes down to the fact that if one missed an event or a gathering, one truly felt missed. I've never felt missed in Phoenix.

I'm not asking for a ego-boosting rock-star worship; who gives a fuck? I hate that shit anyway, it makes me uncomfortable when some audience member compliments my work, then stands there. I never know what to say. If you like it, applaud, buy a book (if I'm selling one), come to the next event, and go home and write something, dammit.

There should be no special treatment; just fair treatment.

There's a different mood in Northern Arizona too. A certain independence, even from the past or other factors. Last time Josh Fleming and I slammed in Prescott and Host and Slam Master Dan Seaman was announcing future events, he mentioned Keith Breucker and David Escobedo as members of Save the Male, but not Josh and I to avoid influencing the judges. I was told that Danny Solis came to the Arcosanti Slam hoping to be on Brandy Lintecum's Phoenix team but Dan Seaman denied him because Danny Solis wasn't from Arizona. It wasn't malicious; it was the rules. He invited him to calibrate but not compete. As long as I've known him, Dan Seaman has always supported the arts but both stuck to his guns and his rules. Danny Solis may be good and have been an "Old Guard" Slammer but he wasn't from Arizona, end of story, that's the rule. Other SlamMasters in Arizona haven't been as fair to their own rules nor as unbiased, most notably Brandy Lintecum and to a point Nick Fox. As such, I have a deep respect for Dan Seaman. Likewise, Christopher Lane doesn't offer any special treatment of the poets at his slams.

Northern Arizonan audiences, poets included, also seemed happy to have poets read. There's a desire to swallow the out-of-towners, whether touring or not, that Phoenix doesn't have.

Most unsettling is that there seems to be an underlying contempt for exo-Phoenix art scenes on both a scene-wide and individual level, as though Northern Arizona and Tucson is the boonies when them local-yokels fuck cousins, don't bathe, and write poetry on the side. But Phoenix isn't Rome and I've seen some great work come those scenes. Maybe it's the youth of their scenes that makes them so inclusive. I don't see any of that "Old Guard" mentality up north that I seen in Phoenix. Northern Arizona poets also see slam as more of a game. I always do. But at slams in Prescott and Flagstaff, I've never had to plan a strategy; winning didn't really matter. You were just happy to have a captive audience. But in Phoenix and Mesa (or Sedona and Arcosanti wherein Phoenix poets were included) there's a desire to win that outweighs the game. Slam is verbal chess, not WWII. It's a joke and a crapshoot. In a sport where we pick 5 random people who've never seen spoken word before, how can anyone take a slam seriously?

I think it's more of a challenge to write something well and perform it well and have a good time doing it. I like the brutality of a tight cutthroat bout, but it's nice to read at a slam and have other poets critique or compliment someone's work as though it's admirable. It just feels good to have an audience, especially peers, pay attention to one's work.

Perhaps its the legacy of Eirean Bradley still in the veins or something deeper. Who knows?

But when someone asks what scene I hail from, I don't say Mesa or Phoenix or even Tempe. Usually, I just say "Arizona" because none of the other titles fit.

Go figure.