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 poetry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label poetry. Show all posts

Sunday, February 25, 2024

Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, March 9, to select three representatives to send to BlackBerry Peach National Poetry Slam's Arizona State Championships

With the fourth poetry slam of the Sedona Poetry Slam's 15th season, performance poets will bring high-energy, competitive spoken word to the Mary D. Fisher Theatre on Saturday, March 9, starting at 7:30 p.m. 

The top three poets at this slam with earn spots to compete at the BlackBerry Peach Poetry Slam's Arizona Championship, to be held at the Rebel Lounge in Phoenix in April. 

Open Slam

Anyone can compete in a poetry slam if they have poems to read and the courage to get on stage. A poetry slam is like a series of high-energy, three-minute one-person plays, judged by the audience. Anyone can sign up to compete in the slam for the $75 grand prize and $25 second-place prize. To compete in the slam, poets will need three original poems, each lasting no longer than three minutes. No props, costumes nor musical accompaniment are permitted. The poets are judged Olympics-style by five members of the audience selected at random at the beginning of the slam.

Sondraya Bradley, photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers

Slam poetry is an art form that allows written page poets to share their work alongside theatrical performers, hip-hop artists and lyricists. Poets come from as far away as Phoenix, Tucson and Flagstaff, competing against adult poets from Sedona and Cottonwood, college poets from Northern Arizona University and youth poets from Sedona Red Rock High School. 

Tempest Juliet, photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers

All types of poetry are welcome on the stage, from street-wise hip-hop and narrative performance poems, to political rants and introspective confessionals. Any poem is a "slam" poem if performed in a competition. All poets get three minutes per round to entertain and inspire the audience with their creativity.

Valence, photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers

Mary D. Fisher Theatre is located at 2030 W. SR 89A, Suite A-3, in West Sedona. Tickets are $12. For tickets, call 282-1177 or visit SedonaFilmFestival.org.

Steven Ojeda, photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers

The next poetry slams of the season will be held on 

  • Saturday, April 13, featuring Briana Grace Hammerstrom of Portland. Ore., by way of Flagstaff; 
  • Saturday, May 11; 
  • and finally on Saturday, June 8.

Lydia Gates, photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers

The February poetry slam selected three poets — Lydia Gates, Josh Wiss and Tyler “Valence” Sirvinskas — who will be representing Sedona at the All-Arizona Poetry Slam Championship in Maricopa in March.

Josh Wiss, photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers

The prize money is funded in part by a donation from Verde Valley poetry supporters Jeanne and Jim Freeland.

Email foxthepoet@yahoo.com to sign up early to compete or by the Friday before the slam or at the door the day of the slam. Poets who want to compete should purchase a ticket in case the roster is filled before they arrive. 

MC Tristan Marshell, photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers


For more information, visit sedonafilmfestival.com or foxthepoet.blogspot.com. For a full list of slam poetry events in Arizona, visit azpoet.com.


BlackBerry Peach

The top three poets will earn Sedona's three spots at the BlackBerry Peach National Poetry Slam's Arizona State Championships, sponsored by the Arizona State Poetry Society.

Three poets each from open poetry slams in Sedona, Mesa, Prescott, Phoenix and Flagstaff will compete at the 15-poet slam held by Ghost Poetry Slam and hosted by Ben “B-Jam” Gardea. 

The overall state champion will win trip sponsored by the ASPS to represent Arizona at the National Federation of State Poetry Societies' BlackBerry Peach National Slam from June 5 to 8 in Roswell, Ga.

B-Jam, photo by Sedona Poetry Slam

A regular competitor at the Sedona Poetry Slam, B-Jam is a Phoenix native, married father of three children. Gardea overcame both alcoholism and a rare hip disease that made him unable to walk. After getting sober and a total hip replacement, he had two goals: To share his poetry and and hike a mountain in Sedona. Three years later, B-Jam is the 2023 ASPS State Poetry Slam champion, ranked 10th nationally and has curated writers workshops, featured at poetry events, won a grant to publish a poetry book and is the host and producer of the popular PHX Poetry Slam.

“Poetry has changed my life and I want to be a caretaker of the artform for future generations to explore and become part of, because I know that poetry can make the most profound impact on human beings,” B-Jam said. 

B-Jam, photo by Sedona Poetry Slam

What is Poetry Slam? 

Founded at the Green Mill Tavern in Chicago in 1984 by Marc Smith, poetry slam is a competitive artistic sport designed to get people who would otherwise never go to a poetry reading excited about the art form when it becomes a high-energy competition. Poetry slams are judged by five randomly chosen members of the audience who assign numerical value to individual poets' contents and performances.

Host Christopher Fox Graham, photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers

Poetry slam has become an international artistic sport, with more than 100 major poetry slams in the United States, Canada, Australia and Western Europe. Slam poets have opened at the Winter Olympics, performed at the White House and at the United Nations General Assembly and were featured on "Russell Simmons' Def Poets" on HBO.

Stacy Eden, photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers

Sedona has sent four-poet teams to represent the city at the National Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C., Boston, Cambridge, Mass., Oakland, Calif., Decatur, Ga., Denver and Chicago.

Randy Morris, photo by David Jolkovski/Larson Newspapers

Wednesday, October 5, 2022

Sedona Poetry Slam returns to Mary D. Fisher Theater on Oct. 15

After the successful return of slam poetry to Sedona in September, the Sedona Poetry Slam returns to the stage on Saturday, Oct. 15, starting at 7:30 p.m. 

Performance poets will bring high-energy, competitive spoken word to the Mary D. Fisher Theatre. 

A poetry slam is like a series of high-energy, three-minute one-person plays, judged by the audience. Anyone can sign up to compete in the slam for the $75 grand prize and $25 second-place prize. British-born Village of Oak Creek poet Roger Blakiston, a first-time slammer, out-scored some of the best slam poets in the state to win the top prize in September. 

Roger Blakiston

To compete in the slam, poets will need three original poems, each lasting no longer than three minutes. No props, costumes nor musical accompaniment are permitted. The poets are judged Olympics-style by five members of the audience selected at random at the beginning of the slam.

Lydia Gates

Slam poetry is an art form that allows written page poets to share their work alongside theatrical performers, hip-hop artists and lyricists. Poets come from as far away as Phoenix, Tucson and Flagstaff, competing against adult poets from Sedona and Cottonwood, college poets from Northern Arizona University and youth poets from Sedona Red Rock High School. All types of poetry are welcome on the stage, from street-wise hip-hop and narrative performance poems, to political rants and introspective confessionals. Any poem is a "slam" poem if performed in a competition. All poets get three minutes per round to entertain and inspire the audience with their creativity.

Valence

Mary D. Fisher Theatre is located at 2030 W. SR 89A, Suite A-3, in West Sedona. Tickets are $12. For tickets, call 282-1177 or visit SedonaFilmFestival.org.

The upcoming poetry slams of the season will be held Saturdays, Nov. 12, Dec. 10, Jan. 28, April 1 and May 13.

The prize money is funded in part by a donation from Verde Valley poetry supporters Jeanne and Jim Freeland.

Email foxthepoet@yahoo.com to sign up early to compete or by the Friday before the slam or at the door the day of the slam. Poets who want to compete should purchase a ticket in case the roster is filled before they arrive. 

For more information, visit sedonafilmfestival.com or foxthepoet.blogspot.com.

B-Jam

What is Poetry Slam? 

Founded at the Green Mill Tavern in Chicago in 1984 by Marc Smith, poetry slam is a competitive artistic sport designed to get people who would otherwise never go to a poetry reading excited about the art form when it becomes a high-energy competition. Poetry slams are judged by five randomly chosen members of the audience who assign numerical value to individual poets' contents and performances.

Poetry slam has become an international artistic sport, with more than 100 major poetry slams in the United States, Canada, Australia and Western Europe. Slam poets have opened at the Winter Olympics, performed at the White House and at the United Nations General Assembly and were featured on "Russell Simmon's Def Poets" on HBO.

Sedona has sent four-poet teams to represent the city at the National Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C., Boston, Cambridge, Mass., Oakland, Calif., Decatur, Ga., Denver and Chicago.

Josh Wiss

Wednesday, December 29, 2021

Sedona Poetry Slam kicks off 2022 with a slam on Jan. 15

With 2021 in the rearview and 2022 on the horizon, the Sedona Poetry Slam enters its 14th year of performance poets bringing high-energy, competitive spoken word to the Mary D. Fisher Theatre starting at 7:30 p.m. Saturday, Jan. 15.

Damien Flores, of Albuquerque, performs at the Sedona Poetry Slam in November. A published author and teacher, Flores was the guest featured poet between competitive rounds.

A poetry slam is like a series of high-energy, three-minute one-person plays, judged by the audience. Anyone can sign up to compete in the slam for the $75 grand prize and $25 second-place prize. 

To compete in the slam, poets will need three original poems, each lasting no longer than three minutes. No props, costumes nor musical accompaniment are permitted. The poets are judged Olympics-style by five members of the audience selected at random at the beginning of the slam.



Slam poetry is an art form that allows written page poets to share their work alongside theatrical performers, hip-hop artists and lyricists. 

Poets come from as far away as Phoenix, Tucson and Flagstaff, competing against adult poets from Sedona and Cottonwood, college poets from Northern Arizona University and youth poets from Sedona Red Rock High School. 

Kate Martin, of Flagstaff, performs at the Sedona Poetry Slam in November.

All types of poetry are welcome on the stage, from street-wise hip-hop and narrative performance poems, to political rants and introspective confessionals. Any poem is a "slam" poem if performed in a competition. All poets get three minutes per round to entertain and inspire the audience with their creativity.

Mary D. Fisher Theatre is located at 2030 W. SR 89A, Suite A-3, in West Sedona. Tickets are $12. For tickets, call 282-1177 or visit SedonaFilmFestival.org. 

The Sedona Poetry Slam held two competitions in October and November. The upcoming poetry slams of the season will be held Saturdays, March 5, featuring Bernard "The Klute" Schober, of Phoenix; April 23; and Saturday, May 14.

The prize money is funded in part by a donation from Verde Valley poetry supporters Jeanne and Jim Freeland.

Lydia Gates, of Flagstaff, performs at the Sedona Poetry Slam in November. The slammaster of the Flagstaff Poetry Slam, Gates took second place.

Email foxthepoet@yahoo.com to sign up early to compete or by the Friday before the slam or at the door the day of the slam. Poets who want to compete should purchase a ticket in case the roster is filled before they arrive.

For more information, visit sedonafilmfestival.com or foxthepoet.blogspot.com.


What is Poetry Slam?

Founded at the Green Mill Tavern in Chicago in 1984 by Marc Smith, poetry slam is a competitive artistic sport designed to get people who would otherwise never go to a poetry reading excited about the art form when it becomes a high-energy competition. Poetry slams are judged by five randomly chosen members of the audience who assign numerical value to individual poets' contents and performances.

Poetry slam has become an international artistic sport, with more than 100 major poetry slams in the United States, Canada, Australia and Western Europe. Slam poets have opened at the Winter Olympics, performed at the White House and at the United Nations General Assembly and were featured on "Russell Simmons' Def Poets" on HBO.

Sedona has sent four-poet teams to represent the city at the National Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C., Boston, Cambridge, Mass., Oakland, Calif., Decatur, Ga., Denver and Chicago.



Saturday, September 11, 2021

"They Held Hands" On the 20th anniversary of the Sept. 11, 2001 attacks

"They Held Hands"
For the 200 people who jumped or fell to the deaths
from the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001,
and the 2,977 victims.


On a commonplace Tuesday morning,
not unlike that Sunday morning
60 years before, destined for infamy
they held hands as they fell

It was a working Tuesday
a date on the calendar
a morning like the morning before
but now they found themselves
standing on the window sill
of the 92nd floor
overlooking the city
and they felt weightless

They were not thinking
about the cause-and-effect history
of textbooks and CNN sound bytes
they weren’t debating the geopolitical ramifications leading up to that morning
he had decaf
she had a bearclaw and an espresso
and they talked about Will & Grace

jets impregnated buildings with infernos
and now the fire was burning
and the smoke was rising
and it was getting hard to breathe
even after they smashed the window out
the inferno was swelling
it had reached their floor
their stairwells were gone
and the options now
were to burn
or to fall

when the human animal realizes death is inevitable
psychologists say we want control
over those final moments
choosing suicide over surrender is a healthy reaction
because we choose to accept annihilation
rather than letting it choose us

So on one side
is unbearable heat
roaring flames
acrid smoke
and screams of the suffering
On the other side
fresh air
suicide is the final act of free will
that keeps the consciousness intact
even as it is destroyed

but they were not thinking about psychology
they were not thinking about terrorism
the debate about responsibility,
retaliation,
wars, flags, and Patriot Acts
can wait until September 12th
this morning belongs to them
because they did not have a tomorrow

the true terror of that morning
is to know what they were thinking
as they decided then whether
to burn
or to fall
now, imagine having that conversation
with the stranger
sitting next to you:
The barricade at the door is on fire
the extinguisher is empty
we are blinded by the smoke
and on the windowsill of the 92nd floor
we wait until flames lick our clothes
before we lean forward
and choose that moment to fall
others who fell were scrambling
or screaming or on fire
but we held hands as we fell

survivors of falls from extreme heights report
that falls are slow-motion transcendence
and the experience is almost “mystical”

I don’t know if they felt “mystical”
I know it takes

1 …

2 …

3 …

4 …

5 …

6 …

7 …

8.54 seconds 

to fall 

1,144 feet





just enough time to say a prayer
or regret a memory
or ask forgiveness
or say goodbye

or wonder 
how the sky

can be so perfectly blue

on such a beautiful morning

Thursday, July 15, 2021

Tennessee teacher fired for showing students this poem “White Privilege” by Kyla Jenee Lacey

 


What the Author of the Poem “White Privilege” Thinks of a Teacher Getting Fired for Showing It to His Class

“I know that it was just a terrible excuse for their discomfort,” said Kyla Jenee Lacey.
Kyla Jenee Lacey
Last month in Tennessee, social studies teacher Matthew Hawn was dismissed from his position after having his students read an essay by Ta-Nehisi Coates and watch the video of “White Privilege,” a poem written and performed by Kyla Jenee Lacey. 

The school board claimed their decision was rooted in “several inappropriate terms” used in the poem, but Lacey has good reason to be skeptical of that claim.

Hawn’s firing happened within the current uproar about kids being taught about America’s long history with racism, currently (incorrectly) labeled as critical race theory. This was only the latest time Lacey’s poem, which you can watch below, has gone viral. I spoke with Lacey about her poem’s fame, how she uses experiences with racism as fuel for her work, and finding her power. 

A history major who is now a writer, performer, actor, painter, comedian, and poet, she garnishes her exquisite observations about racism with the occasional “fuck.”

Wednesday, January 20, 2021

“The Hill We Climb” by Amanda Gorman at the 2021 presidential inauguration


"The Hill We Climb"
By Amanda Gorman
Poem recited at Joseph R. Biden's Inauguration, Jan. 20, 2021

When day comes, we ask ourselves,
where can we find light in this never-ending shade?
The loss we carry,
a sea we must wade?

We've braved the belly of the beast
We've learned that quiet isn't always peace
And the norms and notions
of what just is
Isn’t always just-ice

And yet the dawn is ours
before we knew it
Somehow we do it
Somehow we've weathered and witnessed
a nation that isn’t broken
but simply unfinished

We the successors of a country and a time
Where a skinny Black girl
descended from slaves and raised by a single mother
can dream of becoming president
only to find herself reciting for one

And yes we are far from polished
far from pristine
but that doesn’t mean we are
striving to form a union that is perfect
We are striving to forge a union with purpose
To compose a country committed to all cultures, colors, characters and
conditions of man

And so we lift our gazes not to what stands between us
but what stands before us
We close the divide because we know, to put our future first,
we must first put our differences aside
We lay down our arms
so we can reach out our arms
to one another
We seek harm to none and harmony for all

Let the globe, if nothing else, say this is true:
That even as we grieved, we grew
That even as we hurt, we hoped
That even as we tired, we tried
That we’ll forever be tied together, victorious
Not because we will never again know defeat
but because we will never again sow division

Scripture tells us to envision
that everyone shall sit under their own vine and fig tree
And no one shall make them afraid
If we’re to live up to our own time
Then victory won’t lie in the blade
But in all the bridges we’ve made

That is the promise to glade
The hill we climb
If only we dare it
Because being American is more than a pride we inherit,
it’s the past we step into
and how we repair it

We’ve seen a force that would shatter our nation
rather than share it
Would destroy our country if it meant delaying democracy
And this effort very nearly succeeded

But while democracy can be periodically delayed
it can never be permanently defeated

In this truth
in this faith we trust
For while we have our eyes on the future
history has its eyes on us
This is the era of just redemption
We feared at its inception

We did not feel prepared to be the heirs
of such a terrifying hour
but within it we found the power
to author a new chapter
To offer hope and laughter to ourselves
So while once we asked,
how could we possibly prevail over catastrophe?
Now we assert
How could catastrophe possibly prevail over us?

We will not march back to what was
but move to what shall be
A country that is bruised but whole,
benevolent but bold,
fierce and free

We will not be turned around
or interrupted by intimidation
because we know our inaction and inertia
will be the inheritance of the next generation
Our blunders become their burdens
But one thing is certain:
If we merge mercy with might,
and might with right,
then love becomes our legacy
and change our children’s birthright

So let us leave behind a country
better than the one we were left with
Every breath from my bronze-pounded chest,
we will raise this wounded world into a wondrous one
We will rise from the gold-limbed hills of the West,
We will rise from the windswept Northeast
where our forefathers first realized revolution
We will rise from the lake-rimmed cities of the Midwestern states,
we will rise from the sunbaked South
We will rebuild, reconcile and recover
and every known nook of our nation and
every corner called our country,
our people diverse and beautiful will emerge,
battered and beautiful

When day comes we step out of the shade,
aflame and unafraid
The new dawn blooms as we free it
For there is always light,
if only we’re brave enough to see it
If only we’re brave enough to be it


Amanda Gorman is a 22-year-old American poet and activist from Los Angeles. Gorman's work focuses on issues of oppression, feminism, race, and marginalization, as well as the African diaspora. Gorman is the first person to be named National Youth Poet Laureate. She published the poetry book "The One for Whom Food Is Not Enough" in 2015.

This is good wordplay:
"And the norms and notions
of what just is
Isn’t always just-ice" 
Gorman used the finger quotes and slowed down at "just is" so the non-poets listening could see what she was doing with "just is"/"justice". (0:32)
It's a serious and sincere take on the word that reminds me of the far less serious, satirical wordplay of Taylot Mali's "How to Write a Political Poem": "Injustice isn't injustice it's just in us as we are just in ice."
I'm glad Gorman wasn't subtle; politicians aren't poets and need the help.


This is also a great section:
We the successors of a country and a time
Where a skinny Black girl
descended from slaves and raised by a single mother
can dream of becoming president
only to find herself reciting for one
It acknowledges the historical significance of the moment, but has a subtle dig that a Black girl, which could arguably be read as Harris or simply herself is not president.
But it also plays off the end of the previous stanza 
Somehow we've weathered and witnessed
a nation that isn’t broken
but simply unfinished
 i.e., for a Black girl only reciting for a president and not being sworn in as president, the American dream of equality, personified as a Black woman becoming president, therefore remains "unfinished."
This "falling short" line, though, sets up the next portion: 
And yes we are far from polished
far from pristine
but that doesn’t mean we are
striving to form a union that is perfect
All in all, great structure.

I liked Gorman more than both of Obama's poets (Richard Blanco and Elizabeth Alexander) and Clinton's second, Miller Williams. Maya Angelou in 1993 is still my favorite because it was a great performance and she was freakin' Maya Angelou.
I hope there were a lot of little girls who saw Gorman read and want to be up on that dais as either a poet or one of the two people getting sworn in.

Other Inauguration Poets:



"The Gift Outright"
by Robert Frost
Poem recited at John F. Kennedy's Inauguration, Jan. 20, 1961
(Frost had intended to read "Dedication: For John F. Kennedy's Inauguration," but couldn't read the paper due to the glare from the snow, so 2:40 into, gave up and switched to "The Gift Outright," which he had memorized. At age 86 in 1961, he was the oldest poet to read at in inauguration)

The land was ours before we were the land’s 
She was our land more than a hundred years 
Before we were her people. She was ours 
In Massachusetts, in Virginia, 
But we were England’s, still colonials, 
Possessing what we still were unpossessed by, 
Possessed by what we now no more possessed. 
Something we were withholding made us weak 
Until we found out that it was ourselves 
We were withholding from our land of living, 
And forthwith found salvation in surrender. 
Such as we were we gave ourselves outright 
(The deed of gift was many deeds of war) 
To the land vaguely realizing westward, 
But still unstoried, artless, unenhanced, 
Such as she was, such as she will become.


"On the Pulse of Morning"
by Maya Angelou
Poem recited at Bill Clinton's Inauguration, Jan. 20, 1993

A Rock, A River, A Tree
Hosts to species long since departed,
Marked the mastodon,
The dinosaur, who left dried tokens
Of their sojourn here
On our planet floor,
Any broad alarm of their hastening doom
Is lost in the gloom of dust and ages.

But today, the Rock cries out to us, clearly, forcefully,
Come, you may stand upon my
Back and face your distant destiny,
But seek no haven in my shadow.
I will give you no hiding place down here.

You, created only a little lower than
The angels, have crouched too long in
The bruising darkness
Have lain too long
Face down in ignorance.
Your mouths spilling words

Armed for slaughter.
The Rock cries out to us today, you may stand upon me,
But do not hide your face.

Across the wall of the world,
A River sings a beautiful song. It says,
Come, rest here by my side.

Each of you, a bordered country,
Delicate and strangely made proud,
Yet thrusting perpetually under siege.
Your armed struggles for profit
Have left collars of waste upon
My shore, currents of debris upon my breast.
Yet today I call you to my riverside,
If you will study war no more. Come,
Clad in peace, and I will sing the songs
The Creator gave to me when I and the
Tree and the rock were one.
Before cynicism was a bloody sear across your
Brow and when you yet knew you still
Knew nothing.
The River sang and sings on.

There is a true yearning to respond to
The singing River and the wise Rock.
So say the Asian, the Hispanic, the Jew
The African, the Native American, the Sioux,
The Catholic, the Muslim, the French, the Greek
The Irish, the Rabbi, the Priest, the Sheik,
The Gay, the Straight, the Preacher,
The privileged, the homeless, the Teacher.
They hear. They all hear
The speaking of the Tree.

They hear the first and last of every Tree
Speak to humankind today. Come to me, here beside the River.
Plant yourself beside the River.

Each of you, descendant of some passed
On traveller, has been paid for.
You, who gave me my first name, you,
Pawnee, Apache, Seneca, you
Cherokee Nation, who rested with me, then
Forced on bloody feet,
Left me to the employment of
Other seekers—desperate for gain,
Starving for gold.
You, the Turk, the Arab, the Swede, the German, the Eskimo, the Scot,
You the Ashanti, the Yoruba, the Kru, bought,
Sold, stolen, arriving on the nightmare
Praying for a dream.
Here, root yourselves beside me.
I am that Tree planted by the River,
Which will not be moved.
I, the Rock, I the River, I the Tree
I am yours—your passages have been paid.
Lift up your faces, you have a piercing need
For this bright morning dawning for you.
History, despite its wrenching pain
Cannot be unlived, but if faced
With courage, need not be lived again.

Lift up your eyes upon
This day breaking for you.
Give birth again
To the dream.

Women, children, men,
Take it into the palms of your hands,
Mold it into the shape of your most
Private need. Sculpt it into
The image of your most public self.
Lift up your hearts
Each new hour holds new chances
For a new beginning.
Do not be wedded forever
To fear, yoked eternally
To brutishness.

The horizon leans forward,
Offering you space to place new steps of change.
Here, on the pulse of this fine day
You may have the courage
To look up and out and upon me, the
Rock, the River, the Tree, your country.
No less to Midas than the mendicant.
No less to you now than the mastodon then.

Here, on the pulse of this new day
You may have the grace to look up and out
And into your sister’s eyes, and into
Your brother’s face, your country
And say simply
Very simply
With hope—
Good morning.


"Of History and Hope"
by Miller Williams
Poem recited at Bill Clinton’s Inauguration, Jan. 20, 1997

We have memorized America,
how it was born and who we have been and where.
In ceremonies and silence we say the words,
telling the stories, singing the old songs.
We like the places they take us. Mostly we do.
The great and all the anonymous dead are there.
We know the sound of all the sounds we brought.
The rich taste of it is on our tongues.
But where are we going to be, and why, and who?
The disenfranchised dead want to know.
We mean to be the people we meant to be,
to keep on going where we meant to go.

But how do we fashion the future? Who can say how
except in the minds of those who will call it Now?
The children. The children. And how does our garden grow?
With waving hands—oh, rarely in a row—
and flowering faces. And brambles, that we can no longer allow.

Who were many people coming together
cannot become one people falling apart.
Who dreamed for every child an even chance
cannot let luck alone turn doorknobs or not.
Whose law was never so much of the hand as the head
cannot let chaos make its way to the heart.
Who have seen learning struggle from teacher to child
cannot let ignorance spread itself like rot.
We know what we have done and what we have said,
and how we have grown, degree by slow degree,
believing ourselves toward all we have tried to become—
just and compassionate, equal, able, and free.

All this in the hands of children, eyes already set
on a land we never can visit—it isn’t there yet—
but looking through their eyes, we can see
what our long gift to them may come to be.
If we can truly remember, they will not forget.

"Praise Song for the Day"
by Elizabeth Alexander
Poem recited at Barack Obama’s Inauguration, Jan. 20, 2009

Each day we go about our business,
walking past each other, catching each other's
eyes or not, about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise. All about us is
noise and bramble, thorn and din, each
one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem, darning
a hole in a uniform, patching a tire,
repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere,
with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum,
with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.
A farmer considers the changing sky.
A teacher says, Take out your pencils. Begin.

We encounter each other in words, words
spiny or smooth, whispered or declaimed,
words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark
the will of some one and then others, who said
I need to see what's on the other side.

I know there's something better down the road.
We need to find a place where we are safe.
We walk into that which we cannot yet see.

Say it plain: that many have died for this day.
Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,
who laid the train tracks, raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce, built
brick by brick the glittering edifices
they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle, praise song for the day.
Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,
the figuring-it-out at kitchen tables.

Some live by love thy neighbor as thyself,
others by first do no harm or take no more
than you need. What if the mightiest word is love?

Love beyond marital, filial, national,
love that casts a widening pool of light,
love with no need to pre-empt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle, this winter air,
any thing can be made, any sentence begun.
On the brink, on the brim, on the cusp,

praise song for walking forward in that light.


"One Today"
by Richard Blanco
Poem recited at Barack Obama’s Inauguration, Jan. 20, 2013
 [At age 44, he was the younger poet to read at inauguration until 22-year-old Amanda Gorman read in 2021]

One sun rose on us today, kindled over our shores,
peeking over the Smokies, greeting the faces
of the Great Lakes, spreading a simple truth
across the Great Plains, then charging across the Rockies.
One light, waking up rooftops, under each one, a story
told by our silent gestures moving behind windows.

My face, your face, millions of faces in morning’s mirrors,
each one yawning to life, crescendoing into our day:
pencil-yellow school buses, the rhythm of traffic lights,
fruit stands: apples, limes, and oranges arrayed like rainbows
begging our praise. Silver trucks heavy with oil or paper—
bricks or milk, teeming over highways alongside us,
on our way to clean tables, read ledgers, or save lives—
to teach geometry, or ring-up groceries as my mother did
for twenty years, so I could write this poem.

All of us as vital as the one light we move through,
the same light on blackboards with lessons for the day:
equations to solve, history to question, or atoms imagined,
the “I have a dream” we keep dreaming,
or the impossible vocabulary of sorrow that won’t explain
the empty desks of twenty children marked absent
today, and forever. Many prayers, but one light
breathing color into stained glass windows,
life into the faces of bronze statues, warmth
onto the steps of our museums and park benches
as mothers watch children slide into the day.

One ground. Our ground, rooting us to every stalk
of corn, every head of wheat sown by sweat
and hands, hands gleaning coal or planting windmills
in deserts and hilltops that keep us warm, hands
digging trenches, routing pipes and cables, hands
as worn as my father’s cutting sugarcane
so my brother and I could have books and shoes.

The dust of farms and deserts, cities and plains
mingled by one wind—our breath. Breathe. Hear it
through the day’s gorgeous din of honking cabs,
buses launching down avenues, the symphony
of footsteps, guitars, and screeching subways,
the unexpected song bird on your clothes line.

Hear: squeaky playground swings, trains whistling,
or whispers across café tables, Hear: the doors we open
for each other all day, saying: hello / shalom,
buon giorno / howdy / namaste / or buenos días
in the language my mother taught me—in every language
spoken into one wind carrying our lives
without prejudice, as these words break from my lips.

One sky: since the Appalachians and Sierras claimed
their majesty, and the Mississippi and Colorado worked
their way to the sea. Thank the work of our hands:
weaving steel into bridges, finishing one more report
for the boss on time, stitching another wound
or uniform, the first brush stroke on a portrait,
or the last floor on the Freedom Tower
jutting into a sky that yields to our resilience.

One sky, toward which we sometimes lift our eyes
tired from work: some days guessing at the weather
of our lives, some days giving thanks for a love
that loves you back, sometimes praising a mother
who knew how to give, or forgiving a father
who couldn’t give what you wanted.

We head home: through the gloss of rain or weight
of snow, or the plum blush of dusk, but always—home,
always under one sky, our sky. And always one moon
like a silent drum tapping on every rooftop
and every window, of one country—all of us—
facing the stars
hope—a new constellation
waiting for us to map it,
waiting for us to name it—together

Tuesday, October 13, 2020

Remembering Sedona poet Jack Egan (March 1, 1934 - Oct. 11, 2020)

Jack Egan read poetry at the Sedona Poetry Slam a few times; I was able to capture him on video at the Sedona slam on Dec. 3, 2011. His "Up" poem became legendary.

He wrote me a few letters to the editor and press releases, all about his work with charities and the St. Vincent de Paul Society. When he popped in to drop these off, I always encouraged him to come and slam.

Twice, when interstate lotteries reached record high levels, he came to the Sedona newsroom and told me he bought a ticket, gave me a copy and said he agreed to split it with me should we win the jackpot.

He will be missed.

Jack Egan performs in the first round of the Sedona Poetry Slam on Dec. 3, 2011

Jack Egan performs in the second round of the Sedona Poetry Slam on Dec. 3, 2011

Jack Egan performs "Up" in the third round of the Sedona Poetry Slam, 12-3-2011. Great poem, and with audience participation, too.


Jack Egan

March 1, 1934 - October 11, 2020


John Egan, 86, of Sedona, Arizona, passed away Sunday, October 11. "Jack" to his many friends was born in the Rogers Park neighborhood of Chicago on March 1, 1934.

As a teenager, he worked as a busboy to earn money to pay his tuition to Loyola Academy High School. A bright student and talented runner, he was awarded a scholarship to Loyola University of Chicago where he earned a degree in English while running sprints and relays on the track team. Such was his success as a runner that he was inducted into the Loyola University of Chicago Hall of Fame in 1980.

More importantly, at Loyola he met the love of his life, Mary Kay.

After graduating college, Jack served in the U.S. Navy for four years as a bombardier/navigator spending time on the USS Ranger (CV-61) aircraft carrier and was married. After his service, Jack returned to teach English at Loyola Academy. After a year of teaching, he took a sales job to support his growing family.

Jack was transferred from Chicago to Southern California while working for Avery Label Corporation. He had a very successful career in sales working for several companies. He lived in Whittier, Calif., and then Newport Beach. Along the way, he and Mary Kay had four children.

In 2010, Jack moved to Sedona to enjoy the beautiful Red Rocks and to be close to family. After a long illness, Jack passed away peacefully at home surrounded by his loved ones.

He is survived by his wife of 61 years. He was predeceased by his son Kevin, survived by his daughter Jennifer, his sons Dan and Martin and his three grandchildren.

A celebration of life will be planned for a later date. Consider making a donation to St. Vincent de Paul conference in his honor.

Wednesday, March 4, 2020

“Secretariat” by Christopher Fox Graham, with thanks to Wayne Henry

“Secretariat”

by Christopher Fox Graham,
with thanks to Wayne Henry

my daughter has a big heart
as big as a horse
she was born that way
you can see it in the way she hugs
the way she waves to anyone
the way she sprints at full gallop
when she sees her mother or me at the end of a day
the way she says “bye bye”
bringing joy to strangers who may never see her again
they may not
because my daughter has a big heart
she was born that way

we knew we were going to love her
from the moment we knew we were pregnant
she was going to have a big heart
full of love
because we were full of love for her
we wanted nothing more than to have a daughter
half her mother, half me
we could raise in the way we were not
free of judgment
or useless tradition
a wild horse,
untamed and untamable

in the days before she was born
we found she had big heart
too big
we heard an unusual murmur
caught by the ultrasound
a hiccup of the heart
too big for her tiny chest
larger than it should be
anterior ventricular aneurysm
a bulge where the muscles of a valve
had not yet formed
not strong enough to beat her little heart on its own
and maybe would never

my wife could carry her to term but after that
the labor could rupture her heart
could tear it after birth
or it could gallop like a thoroughbred then

     … just stop …

for no reason and not beat again

six days in intensive care,
six hours in an MRI
we took her home
a probe attached to her chest we had to change daily
when we put her down to sleep
we were not sure if she would wake up
we checked on her hourly
to make sure she was still alive
still breathing,
her heart beating like the hooves of a Clydesdale

but this creature,
half me,
half her mother
was full of love
though she did not know the word
but she taught it to us
our hearts swelled to carry the burden hers could not

she has a big heart
as big as a horse
she was born that way
and she has survived
because she has a big heart like Secretariat
whose mighty heart
was three times the size of a normal horse

it should have killed him
all that passion and desire to win,
to race
to succeed,
pushing him down the track
around the curves

at the Kentucky Derby
each leg faster than the last
winning in under two minutes


at Preakness
where he started last and leaped ahead so famously
they made a statute of him doing it


at Belmont Stakes
where he won the Triple Crown by 31 lengths
the widest margin in racing history

he had a big heart
he was born that way
he did not stop and she will not
because she has a big heart
she was born that way

so if you meet her
and she waves, wave back
say bye when she leaves
because you may not see her again
and not because she's gone
but because she’s so far down the track
so far ahead of us
you cannot see her
just the dust she's left behind
get to know her now,
because I don't know where she's headed
but she'll arrive
long before the rest of us
because my daughter
she has a big heart
she was born that way





Wednesday, August 21, 2019

Sedona Poetry Slam on Sept. 7 features The Klute, Bill Campana, Patrick Hare

The Sedona Poetry Slam returns for its 11th year bringing high-energy, competitive spoken word to the Mary D. Fisher Theatre on Saturday, Sept. 7, at 7:30 p.m. The slam kicks off the 2019-2020 season with three featured slam poets who are among the best in Arizona’s history.

The Klute

The Klute, photo courtesy of Jessica Mason-Paull
Bernard “The Klute” Schober is the most recognizable voice from Arizona on poetry slam’s national stage. He grew up along the shores of the Atlantic Ocean on Palm Beach, Fla., where he cultivated a love of sharks to become an activist for shark preservation through the medium of spoken word. He has had the privilege of deep sea diving with those fantastic fish, from the Great White sharks of Isla Guadalupe, Mexico, to the reef sharks of Egypt’s Red Sea coast.

Klute has represented Sedona, Mesa and Phoenix and at the National Poetry Slam 10 times between 2002 and 2014 and has opened for spoken word superstars such as Saul Williams and Amber Tamblyn. He has been the featured performer in such legendary venues as Vancouver’s Cafe Deux Soliels and New York City’s Bowery Poetry Cafe.

His first spoken word CD “Reading the Obituaries Over My Dead Body” and his first book, “Klutopocrypha,” were released by Brick Cave Books. He published a book of shark-themed poems “Chumming the Waters” in 2016. His second book of shark poems “Cap’n Klute’s Ocean Almanac” is illustrated by Arizona artists Gary Bowers and Jan Marc Quisimbing and 100% of book sales go to shark conservation nonprofits.






Bill Campana

Bill Campana is a 1955 model who has outlived his warranty.  He has three books of poetry out with Brick Cave Media: “Said Beauty to the Blues,” “The Ragtime of Modern Living” and “flotsam and gomorrah (parlour tricks and other mysteries).”

He currently hosts the open mic portion of the Caffeine Corridor Poetry Series on Grand Avenue in Phoenix.

He has a high school diploma but has no idea where the hell it is.

Campana has competed with the Mesa National Poetry Slam Team multiple times on the national stage and is known as the loudest voice in poetry slam.



Patrick Hare

Patrick Hare, photo courtesy of David Tabor
Patrick Hare was a member of three Mesa National Poetry Slam Teams.

Hare was a pioneer in the field of poetic sarcasm before the age of snark.

Hare has hosted more than his fair share of poetry events and featured at nearly every venue in the Phoenix Valley.

The poetic trio will perform between the competitive rounds of the regular poetry slam.

A poetry slam is like a series of high-energy, three-minute one-person plays, judged by the audience. Slam poetry is an art form that allows written page poets to share their work alongside theatrical performers, hip-hop artists and lyricists. All types of poetry are welcome on the stage, from street-wise hip-hop and narrative performance poems, to political rants and introspective confessionals. Any poem is a “slam” poem if performed in a competition. All poets get three minutes per round to entertain and inspire the audience with their creativity.

All poets are welcome to compete for the $75 grand prize and $25 second-place prize. To compete in the slam, poets will need three original poems, each lasting no longer than three minutes. No props, costumes nor musical accompaniment are permitted. The poets are judged Olympics-style by five members of the audience selected at random at the beginning of the slam.

Poets in the Sedona Poetry Slam come from as far away as Phoenix, Tucson and Flagstaff, competing against adult poets from Sedona and Cottonwood, college poets from Northern Arizona University and youth poets from Sedona Red Rock High School.

Mary D. Fisher Theatre is located at 2030 W. SR 89A, Suite A-3, in West Sedona. Tickets are $12. For tickets, call 282-1177 or visit SedonaFilmFestival.org.

The poetry slams of the season will be held Saturday, Sept. 7; Friday, Nov. 1; Saturday, Jan 25; Saturday, March 28; Saturday, April 25; and Saturday, May 23.

The prize money is funded in part by a donation from Verde Valley poetry supporters Jeanne and Jim Freeland.

Contact host Christopher Fox Graham at foxthepoet@yahoo.com to sign up to slam early by Friday, Sept. 6, or arrive at the door by 7 p.m. Sept. 7 to sign up the day of the slam. Poets who want to compete should purchase a ticket in case the roster is filled before they arrive. The Sedona Poetry Slam will be hosted by Graham, who represented Northern Arizona on 12 FlagSlam National Poetry Slams in 2001, 2004-06, 2010 and 2012-18. Graham has hosted the Sedona Poetry Slam since 2009.

For more information, visit sedonafilmfestival.com or foxthepoet.blogspot.com.

What is Poetry Slam?

Founded at the Green Mill Tavern in Chicago in 1984 by Marc Smith, poetry slam is a competitive artistic sport designed to get people who would otherwise never go to a poetry reading excited about the art form when it becomes a high-energy competition. Poetry slams are judged by five randomly chosen members of the audience who assign numerical value to individual poets’ contents and performances.

Poetry slam has become an international artistic sport, with more than 100 major poetry slams in the United States, Canada, Australia and Western Europe. Slam poets have opened at the Winter Olympics, performed at the White House and at the United Nations General Assembly and were featured on “Russell Simmon’s Def Poets” on HBO.

For seven years, Sedona sent a four-poet team to National Poetry Slam, held in different cities around the United States every August. Sedona sent its first team to the 2012 NPS in Charlotte, N.C., its second to the 2013 NPS in Boston and Cambridge, Mass., and its third and fourth to Oakland, Calif., its fifth to Decatur, Ga., its sixth to Denver and its seventh to Chicago.

The Sedona National Poetry Slam Team, chosen in May, will represent the city at national events around the country in 2020.