Love Like A Scar, Part II

Love Like A Scar: Part II
or
She Bit Me In the Face
or
When She Says, "Don't Move, Trust Me," Don't Fucking Move

and now the poem:

she cut me above right eyebrow
scar shimmers still fresh red
she is always with me
below the surface

in decades hence
when the biographer asks, tape rolling,
who marred my brow,
I plan to lean back and with straight face
declare the flesh wound
a sniper bullet
from the Euro-American War of 2035
as I dashed from demolished home
to cinderblock shelter
carrying Mighty Mike McGee B-side bootlegs

or maybe Battle of Satin Hill shrapnel
during the Second American Civil War
dodging landmines on the eastern front near Kansas City
rescuing a microphone once used by Derrick Brown
molecules of his saliva clinging to the mesh
long after he is but two stars left of the North American moon

I saw draftee boys drop like flies
to restore the Republic
while I was on a mission to clone the lost poets
into Founding Fathers and Mothers
so they could draft a new Constitution
that could be read in 3:10
and yet bring a tear to the eye

the biographer will write down “madman”
because fiction will have overtaken me by then

the truth of this scar
is hard to explain
but humorous to declare:
“my girlfriend
bit me in the face”

it was no unrestrained passion
nor a tryst turned to domestic violence
but rather innocent:
she, perched above me
on a Saturday afternoon,
so eager to cuddle
she could not wait to hold me
she told me not to move
as she collapsed wrestling match-style

of course,
I moved

and tooth struck brow
tearing open skin

she cut me
leaving a mark of her inhabitance
proof she reached deeper than touch
left residue no shower could flush away

if lightning strikes me dead
between back door and laundry room —
or Babel reprises
and one Tuesday morning
we forget the sounds of English —
or poems worldwide
so intensely hold human passion they spontaneously ignite
explode all the words they’re unable to speak
burn notebooks and shoeboxes to cinders —
if memory just ... evaporates —
I’ll still have the scar
evidence for the Grand Jury
that I was guilty of loving her
my carefully constructed alibi evaporates in the face of habeas cicatrices

more than poems or photographs
the scar of her marks me
in mirrors,
in the reflection of car windows
the snap of portraits
the mark a centimeter wide
that could tear open like a zipper
on a beaten-up, used childhood toy
and spill out my stuffing

I am unable to amnesia her away
when Alzheimer’s settles in to play a hand of bridge
nurses and other patients will quietly ask
“Mr. Graham, how did you earn that scar?”
and I’ll repeat the details as best I know them
a thousand times,
each one again anew

no matter how misanthropic I may become
as these hands wrinkle in the coming decades
this mark whispers witness
that I was touched once —
let a lover past my front stoop
through my bedroom doorway
where she evaded resistant arms
wrapped her Canadian limbs
around my torso
and got so close
that she even tried to eat me
swallow me into her — right eyebrow first

even rendered mute by death
my corpse will speak to strangers
that she visited this skin
touched this household of dust and ash
saw the mask that I hid in
tried to open me like a can of soup
to spill out my brain and ego

she wanted nothing
but for me to hold fast and trust her
and I could not
this mark proves my doubts manifest
leaves me to forever contemplate
my near-impossibility to love someone else selflessly
the cut a battle wound
no less serious than seppuku across the belly
a shotgun blast to the ribcage
I failed in a split second
and the path of blood from bed to sink
still stains the tile grout
reiterating every morning to my toes
the eschatology of our love affair

these arms still reach out to empty air
still beg the dawn that her absence is conjectural
I haven’t washed my sheets since she left
in hopes that the smell of her in the bed
will bring her back like a bloodhound
searching the crime scene for the victims

I’ll go mad some morning
and take chisel to the tile
attempt to chip out each cell of hemoglobin
force them back into the wound
pick out all the solitary strands of her hair
embedded in the carpet
and glue them back together
use all the collected powers
of every clairvoyant and bullshit psychic in this city
to pull me back through time
return to that moment
and tell that son-of-bitch in the bed
that "when she says 'don’t move'
"you don’t fucking move
"you let her collapse into your arms like she meant to
"you hold her so tight, it hurts to exhale
"because you're pushing her heart millimeters away from yours
"you stop thinking about whether she might hurt you
"because even if she does,
"she's still here"

and as the future-me
begins to back away into the shadows
he fades away into nothing as they taught us
in all proper science-fictions,
the past-me and she
will swing arms wide into ocean waves
wash over and crash into each other
until the sheets are drenched in salt and seawater

this tiny cut
this scar to remember her by
will be last thing to fade
supernova-ing into the ash of angelsdisappearing in a twinkle like forgotten star
without even a single pair of lovers on summer grass
somewhere in the galaxy
to note its passing
and wonder, “what was that?”




It wasn't until after I had written this poem and went back to read it how the ending of this poem, while initially unintentionally, is heavily influenced thematically by Derrick Brown's "A Finger, Two Dots, Then Me," which is both one of mine and Azami's favorite poems.

(For "Love Like A Scar: Part I")

GumptionFest V packed with artists

GumptionFest V

• Fifth annual event takes place Saturday and Sunday, Sept. 11 and 12.
• Activities last all day at several venues along Coffee Pot Drive.
• Admission is free. All art and music is supplied by donation.
• All amateur and professional artists are invited to participate.
• To volunteer, participate or for more information, e-mail GumptionFest@gmail.com.

GumptionFest V packed with artists

GumptionFest V: Raiders of the Lost Art takes place along Coffee Pot Drive in West Sedona on Saturday and Sunday, Sept. 11 and 12.

Events begin at 10 a.m. both days and end after midnight. GumptionFest V will feature an art gallery displaying local art, a kids zone with children’s activities and a bouncing castle, vendors, information kiosks, and entertainment at four stages:

• Oak Creek Brewing Co.
• the outdoor stage behind Creative Flooring, hosted by Dave Harvey
• The Best of Show stage hosted by Kathy Perry of Best of Show; and
• Sedona Performers Guild’s Studio Live.

The festival features some of the most well-known names in the Sedona and Verde Valley art scene, from singer-songwriters, performance poets, rock bands, painters, sculptors and fire-spinning performance artists.

However, what makes GumptionFest unique among Arizona arts festivals is that anyone who wants to play music, perform poetry, display art or dance is eagerly invited to participate.

Talent levels are not important: participants should range from full-time professional artists and musicians and published poets to recreational artists, part-time photographers and those who pen poems in private journals.

Youth and teen artists are strongly encouraged to participate whether they aim to become professional artists as adults or just create art, write poetry or play music to pass the time.

Kick-Off Party

• The GumptionFest V kickoff party begins Friday, Sept. 10, the night before the festival, at Oak Creek Brewing Co.
  
  
• Dirty Lingo has been playing music in Sedona, the Verde Valley and the Phoenix area for several years. Influenced by The Beatles, guitarists Mike Chapman and John Hayden form the core duo.
  
  
• Captain Squeegee, from Tempe, is a seven-member progressive blend of multi-instrumentation and conceptualized orchestrations. The Phoenix New Times described the band as “‘Fantasia’ music, with lead singer Danny Torgersen making like Mickey in a swirling maelstrom of flying horns, dancing guitars, broken melodies, and mad-prophet vocalizing.”
  The band was awarded “Best Album of 2008” and “Best Hope of 2009” by webzine Progressia.

Musical Acts

• Eccentric world beat music group Amitahba includes Sedona musicians Vusi Shibambo, Andre Fearonce, formerly of The Beatnigs with Michael Franti, bassist Lindsay Buckingham, drummer Alex Ogburn, guitarist Keith Kavisic, vocalist Terry Bryant, Leah Lamat and guitarist Michael Casella.
  
  The band has a full sound made of percussion, marimba, vocals, guitar, didgeridoo, bass, drums and vocals.
  
  
• Da Ominators is led by frontman, guitarist and vocalist Dom Giazzon, a veteran of popular local bands Radio Dogma and Liquid Theory.
  
  
• Singer and songwriter Brandon Decker, musically known only as Decker, writes songs that delve into the human heart and the human condition. Not quite rock, not quite folk, his acoustic-based music draws upon a variety of influences, from Leonard Cohen to Tom Waits, from Cat Power to PJ Harvey.
  
  Decker has toured the West Coast promoting his debut album “Long Days” and is soon to release his second, full-length album.
  
  
• Hip-hop duo Double Vision is comprised of twin brothers Jonathan and Jarred Lindsay. They masterfully fuse hip-hop, rock and ska over cleverly worded, uplifting lyrics. The result is something truly distinctive.
  
  
• Born in Venice, Calif., they moved throughout the Midwest and the South as kids. Products of the hip-hop generation, they started rhyming before they were out of their Underoos. In high school, they hooked with producer Bill Blast and formed Double Vision. In 2008, they recorded their first EP, “No Explanation.” Their debut album, “Bifocal,” is reminiscent of Pharcyde and Outkast mixed with Gym Class Heroes.
  
  
• Born in Stuttgart, Germany, Ralf Illenberger started performing in 1977. His first album “Waves” was released in 1978 and nominated for the German Record Awards.
  
  Illenberger released seven European recordings during the next nine years, exploring styles that ranged from new-classical to avant-garde to progressive jazz. Through Germany’s Goethe Institute, Illenberger and guitar partner Martin Kolbe played more than 1,000 concerts during the 1980s in 40 countries throughout Europe, the Middle East, Africa and Asia.
  
  Since 1995, Illenberger has been writing and recording in Sedona releasing several more albums which garnered critical acclaim.
  
  
• Jake Payne is a singer and songwriter who plays solo acoustic folk music, as well as fronting an electric rock band. He presents a diverse repertoire of poetic and dynamic songs ranging from soft moody lullabies to all-out rock.
  
  
• Guitarist Dave Harvey and cellist Courtney Yeates will perform together.
  
  
• Self-taught singer and songwriter Adam Smith was born in Virginia, raised in Kentucky and discovered on the streets of Nashville, Tenn. He discovered the piano on his own as a 7-year-old and picked up guitar, teaching himself to play around the age of 18.
  
  Smith eventually began performing regularly at open mic nights. His visual approach to music carries through to the guitar, but with a twist.
  
  
• An improvisational music collective, Vamp Syllabus combine elements of post-rock, ambient, experimental, funk, and jazz to create a unique experience of musical exploration and discovery.
  
  There is no rehearsed material - everything is created live and on the spot. Each performance is one-of-a-kind and never repeated.
  
  The collective is led by guitarist Matthew Barlow with bassist Dylan Jung, drummer Michael Leibowitz, saxaphonist Gabriel Masterson and vocalist Kelly Cole.
  
  
• Singer and songwriter Jay Fout’s style is a combination of folk, funk, reggae, blues and jazz with a rock twist.
  
  
• Yin Yang & Zen Some, Sedona’s costume party rock band, will perform its distinctive show as a headlining act.
  
  
  
• Other groups include The Mods, from Cottonwood, Näthan Saith Gangadean, duo Nathan Trujillo and Jason Kevin, Alex Ogburn, the Gospel Fire All Stars and Poem from Phoenix.

Slam Poetry

• A series of head-to-head poetry slam competitions will be hosted by five-time National Poetry Slam competitor Christopher Fox Graham.
  
  Judges will be randomly selected from the crowd.
  
  Tucson slam poets David Rogers Luben, Mickey Randleman and Laura Lacanette, and Phoenix poets Lauren Perry and Bernard “The Klute” Schober will challenge local poets for the cash prize. To register or for more information, e-mail foxthepoet@yahoo.com.
  
  
• A Haiku Death Match takes place on Sunday, Sept. 12. A Haiku Death Match is a competitive head-to-head poetry duel. Death matches have been a prominent feature at the annual National Poetry Slam since the mid 1990s.
  
  Haiku is a traditional form of Japanese poetry consisting of 17 syllables in three metrical lines of five syllables, seven syllables, five syllables. Slam haiku need only 17 syllables; lines are unimportant.
  
  Death match competitors, or “haikusters,” need 20 to 30 haiku to compete. Poets must be the sole authors and can read from the page. Poets can have haiku written beforehand or write them in their head while at the microphone.
  
  There will be a cash prize for the winning haikusters.

Performance Art

• Abandoned Minds improve comedy troupe has been performing shows in the Verde Valley with a revolving membership for the past few years. The group brings their on-the-fly performance to entertain the crowds.
  
  
• Members of Pyroclectic will perform their fire-spinning performance art after the sun sets. The Prescott fire troupe was featured at Prescott’s annual Tsunami on the Square festival and was a member of the Fire Conclave at Burning Man 2010.

To Participate

Volunteers are also needed this year, so even those who don’t play an instrument, paint, sculpt or write poems can help and be a part of one of the largest free arts festival in Sedona.

Organizers for GumptionFest V: Raiders of the Lost Art are still looking for more visual artists, photographers, dancers and dance troupes, musicians, bands, theater groups and poets who want to be a part of the festival for either one or two days.

To participate, volunteer or contribute as a sponsor, contact GumptionFest@gmail.com or visit GumptionFest on Facebook.

Open letter to Dave Matthews

This is an open letter to Dave Matthews,

for those of you expecting the typical "ode to a musician" slam poem
this would be the point
where I would insert biographical references
of the Johannesburg-born guitarist,
raised in New York
who finally left South Africa to avoid military conscription

or obscure clues to his professional history,
like his honorary doctorate from Haverford College
or the anti-Apartheid theme of “Don’t Drink the Water”

this is the point where you’d expect me
to weave the names of his albums into the poem
as if I was “Under the Table and Dreaming”
just about to “Stand Up” “Before These Crowded Streets”
like I do “Everyday” before I “Crash” into “Busted Stuff”
but “Remember Two Things,”
and no they’re not “Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King”
one:
this is not one of those poems
and two:
fuck you, Dave Matthews
and not for the same reason we all hate
Hootie & the Blowfish,
no, this is personal

Dave,
the month I turned 18
I heard “Crash Into Me” for the first time
with lyrics so sharp they stung

for those of us
too shy to talk to girls
all tied up and twisted,
it was our ballad,
our song,
it gave boys like me hope
that even awkward outsiders
could find the right girl
even if we felt too creepy
to stand the sight of ourselves

Dave,
you expressed our dream
asked on our behalf
in way only you could
that they forgive us in our haste
yes, we were peeping toms
watching through the window
asking them to overlook our failures
and for both our sakes, to just
crash into us
just hike up their skirts a little more
and show the world to us

you said what we couldn’t:
“I’m lost for you;
I'm so lost for you
Touch your lips
just so I know
In your eyes, love, it glows so
I'm bareboned and crazy for you
When you come crash into me”
we felt creepy,  
but you made it sound sweet

Dave, you were king of the castle
we were the dirty rascals
and that song was our secret
I knew what the words meant
while everyone else just heard the melody

and then I met her
she loved that song, too,
and I don’t know if she felt like the girl inside
winking at us in the bushes
or she was outside with the rest of us
feeling awkward, too,
but she hiked up her skirt
and showed her world to me
and while that song played
she wanted to crash into me
wanted me to come into her in a boy’s dream

she was sweet like candy to my soul
sweet she rock
And sweet she roll
she wore nothing at all
but she wore it so well
we were tied up and twisted
they way we ought to be
I was her Dixie chicken
she was my Tennessee lamb
and we walked together
down in Dixieland
just like you said we would

but Dave,
fuck you,
that song only lasts 5 minutes 16 seconds
the longest bootleg I can find
is 8 minutes 23 seconds
and that’s not enough time to love her
she’s worth decades
but no one makes CDs that long
and I can’t put it on repeat ...

she’s too smart for that

if you had written the song to last a day
I might have held her longer than a year,
she’s tied me up tight
tied me up again
she’s got her claws into me, my friend
I’ve got my ball
I’ve got my chain
her wave crashed into me
and I’ve gone overboard

I’ve lived that boy’s dream,
I made it real and now she’s gone
you gave me hope,
but fuck you, Dave,
you never said what happens when the song ends
Just that into my heart she'll beat again
now whenever I hear those opening chords,
the song just crashes into me
knocks me overboard
leaves me drowning
in a boy’s dream

Azami at Midnight

I love her most in the midnights
when the world slips into dreamscapes
and she closes her eyes
there, the world becomes conjecture
her breathing exhales stars ... one by one
rising through windows open to the dark
they spell out her name in a language only I know
ancient and beautiful

In the daylight, I remember her skin
the way it soothes like summer rain
washes off all my unholy sins
reminds me I'm worth living for
worth all my failed stories
but, the secrets, I will only whisper when she slumbers
and only my echoes wake her

Her Arms Ancient

She feels remembered
an old trail charted in youth
and revisited in old age
when all life's victories have faded into legend
and all old sins have found their way toward absolution
she makes prayers worth reciting
as each one that spills from lips finds avenues and updrafts
of butterfly wings and hot summer breezes
to rise upward into the sky

with her
the futility of faith becomes irrelevant,
replaced by the blind hope
believed by hundreds of thousands of dead souls long buried

the press of bare skin on bare skin
develops a rhythm rock bands will spend centuries trying to capture,
the way folk tunes and sacred Latin chants did
after they replaced the beats of drums
pounded out by Cro-magnons and hominids for untold millennia before

she tastes of joy poured into skin
Arizona sun tea on a July afternoon

the reason for jaunts to the creek
or midnight hikes beneath moonlight
become understandable in her arms,
pining me whatever gravity she chooses to surrender to in the daylight

I yield my intentions
suspend resistance
become a rock for her waters to cascade over
and dream of being swept away in her currents
to taste the lips of the seas she carries us toward

GumptionFest V will hold a Haiku Death Match on Sunday, Sept. 12

GumptionFest V will hold a Haiku Death Match on Sunday, Sept. 12

When GumptionFest, Sedona's annual grassroots arts festival returns for its fifth year, one of the poetic elements for the festival will be a Haiku Death Match, returning again from last year.

The festival organizers need Haiku Death Match competitors, or “haikusters” to start writing now and have roughly 20-30 haiku each by the time of GumptionFest, Saturday Sunday, Sept. 11 to 12.

There will be a cash prize for the winning Haikusters.

A descendant and subgenre of poetry slam, a Haiku Death Match is a competitive head-to-head poetry duel. The Haiku Death Match has been a prominent sideshow feature at the annual National Poetry Slam since in the mid 1990s.

GumptionFest V will hold a Haiku Death Match as similar to the NPS version as possible. Kimonos, katanas, nunchaku and sumo diapers may be included.

The Haiku Death Match debuted at the 2009 GumptionFest and was featured in a documentary on the festival shot by director and producer Gregg Ensminger.

Haiku is a traditional form of Japanese poetry consisting of 17 syllables in three metrical phrases of five syllables, seven syllables, five syllables. Haiku in English usually appear in three lines, to parallel the three metrical phrases of Japanese haiku. Slam haiku used in a Haiku Death Match is far simpler — just 17 syllables.

Slam haiku can be anything from a single 17-syllable line or simply 17 words, such as “Haiku are easy / but sometimes they don't make sense ... / refrigerator,” “Why isn't "phonetic" spelled phonetically? / While you think, let's make out” “America is taxing my dreams / so I'm moving / to Canada.”

The Haiku Death Match ceremony is as much part of the fun as the bout itself. The host randomly draws the names of two poets from the pool of competitors. The haikusters adorn a red or white headbands and bow to each other, the host and the three randomly selected judges.

The red haikuster goes first, and reads his or her haiku twice. The audience does not clap or make noise, and then the white haikuster reads his or her haiku twice.

The host waits for the three judges to make their choice for winner, and then signals them to hold aloft their red or white flag. Simple majority determines the winner. The host asks the audience to demonstrate “the sound of one hand clapping,” then “the sound of two hands clapping,” at which point they can finally applaud. The winning haikuster then goes first.
Depending on the round, the winner will be best five, seven or nine haiku.

GumptionFest’s Haiku Death Match rules:

Haikusters can read their haiku’s titles before they read the haiku. This technically gives the haikusters more syllables to put the haiku in context, but the haiku itself must still be only 17 syllables.

Poets must be the sole authors of the haiku they use in competition. Poets can read from the page, book, journal, notepad, etc. Poets can have haiku written beforehand or write them in their head while at the microphone. As long as the haiku are 17 syllables, we don’t care how, when or from where the haiku originates.

Rounds will be determined by the number of haikusters who sign up to compete. Thirty haiku will likely be enough for poets to compete in all the rounds. More haiku is always better.

Be flexible and include a mixture of serious and funny haiku. Adult themes and language are acceptable.

The Haiku Death Match will take place at GumptionFest V in the early evening on Sunday, Sept. 12.

For Haiku Death Match tips and haiku examples, visit foxthepoet.blogspot.com.

To register or for more information, e-mail host Haiku Death Match host Christopher Fox Graham at foxthepoet@yahoo.

For more information about GumptionFest IV, e-mail to GumptionFest@gmail.com.

Suspect arrested in death of David Wile

By Christopher Fox Graham
Larson Newspapers

Sedona Red Rock News © 2010

Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office deputies have found the body of former Sedona resident David Ian Wile and arrested a suspect in connection with Wile’s disappearance.

Wile, 30, a resident of Sedona from 1995 to 2006, was last seen at his home in Glendale on the morning of Aug. 14.

After Wile failed to arrive at a ballroom dance competition and photo shoot at Paragon Dance Studio in Tempe, Wile’s family in the Sedona area filed a missing person’s report with the Glendale Police Department on Aug. 17.

On Aug. 24, at approximately 12:18 p.m., a couple driving on Grand Avenue in Sun City noticed a foul smell coming from outside their vehicle, according to the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office.

Ahead of their vehicle they noticed a white truck pulling a white box trailer, with foam insulation on the rear doors. The couple followed the vehicle for a while before contacting the Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office, because they reportedly believed the decaying smell was emanating from the trailer.

Deputies were given the license plate and a general location of the vehicle. A short time later, the vehicle was stopped on 111th Avenue north of Olive Avenue, between the cities of Peoria and Sun City. Deputies made contact with the 48-year-old driver.

Sheriff’s deputies immediately reportedly smelled the foul odor coming from the trailer and asked the driver about the circumstances. He was reportedly very evasive and did not give the deputies too many details, according to MCSO.

Upon opening the trailer doors, deputies reportedly found what appeared to be a human body inside the trailer, wrapped up in a garment.

The suspect was interviewed but reportedly invoked his right to counsel and was booked on one count of abandoning or concealing a dead body and $20,000 cash bond.

The body was taken to the Maricopa County Medical Examiner’s Office for further investigation on the cause and manner of death. On Friday, Aug. 27, an autopsy confirmed the body to be that of Wile.

The Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office Homicide Unit is actively working the case. Additional charges may be pending.

A preliminary hearing for the suspect is scheduled Friday, Sept. 3.

We need you for GumptionFest 5, Sept. 11 and 12

GumptionFest 5 is coming, Saturday and Sunday, Sept. 11 and 12.
Want to perform poetry?
Play music? Showcase your art? Dance? Sing?
Wander around in a drunken stupor and point at cool things?
Sign up and participate in Sedona's biggest underground arts festival. E-mail gumptionfest@gmail.com.

Get your tickets for the Aug. 28 Sedona Poetry Slam now!

The Sedona Summer Poetry Slam will explode at Studio Live at 7:30 p.m. Saturday, Aug. 28, presenting three rounds of poetic competition as poets battle for pride and $100.

Tickets are $5 online or $10 at the door.

Home of the Sedona Performers Guild nonprofit, Studio Live is located at 215 Coffee Pot Drive, West Sedona. To buy your tickets, visit www.studiolivesedona.com.


Mesa poet Lauren Perry features at the Sedona Poetry Slam

Between rounds, the audience will be entertained with a feature performance by Lauren Perry, one of the Arizona’s best slam poets.

Perry is a wildcard poet, who hails from Elgin, Ill., but has made a nest in Phoenix. Performing on Mesa National Poetry Slam Team in 2006, 2009 and 2010, she is coming up from behind with tricks in her sleeve and sharp teeth in her smile. Not to be taken lightly, she’s been the Women of the World Poetry Slam representative twice, for Phoenix in 2009 and Mesa in 2010.

The lover and creator of ZombiErotica, this year was Perry’s crowning of Ms. Zombie Beauty Queen 2010 and she has been a returning favorite of the Phoenix Valentine’s erotic festivals.

She hopes to continue spreading the loving words that one does not have to play nice to leave a mark.

Unleashing a Tommy gun spray of fast-spoken bullets, “Monsters” is her first chapbook after releasing her debut CD “Running Backwards” in 2008 and “Horror Couture” in 2010. After eight years of rabbit feet and swearing like a sailor, Lauren Perry is brought to you be Lucky Vision in techno-color dreams.

All poets are welcome to compete in the slam.

Slammers will need three original poems, each lasting no longer than three minutes. No props, costumes nor musical accompaniment are permitted.

The poets will be judged Olympics-style by five members of the audience selected at random at the beginning of the slam. The top poet at the end of the night wins $100.

Poets who want to compete should purchase a ticket in case the roster is filled before they arrive.

The slam will be hosted by Sedona poet Christopher Fox Graham, who represented Northern Arizona on the Flagstaff team at five National Poetry Slams between 2001 and 2010. He has hosted and competed in poetry slams and open mics in Sedona since 2004.

Graham has performed in 40 states, Toronto, Dublin, Ireland, and London, and wrote the now infamous “Peach” poem.

Founded in Chicago by construction worker and poet Marc “So What?” Smith in 1984, poetry slam is a competitive artistic sport. Poetry slam has become an international artistic sport, with more than 100 major poetry slams in the United States, Canada, Australia and Western Europe.

For more information or to register, call Graham at (928) 517-1400 or e-mail to foxthepoet@yahoo.com.

See video from previous poetry slams at www.YouTube.com/FoxThePoet.

For more information about the worldwide phenomena of poetry slam, visit www.poetryslam.com.

"Enraptured" by Randy Warren

Enraptured
By Randy Warren

It seems for most my life,
we’ve been waiting for the day.
The day everything changes,
and all the bad things go away.

We had Harmonic Convergence.
Millennium came and went.
We watched for love’s emergence,
but those dates, made not a dent.

And now with 2012 a-looming,
all of us are now assuming
that we soon will go a-zooming
to our final fate.

But I for one am truly hoping
that we all can stop our moping
and begin our fruitful groping
for another date:

The Rapture.

For those of you who aren’t aware,
the Rapture is that last day where
the dead will rise up from their graves
and all good Christians will be saved!

Their bodies will evaporate,
their mortals souls will elevate.
The trumpets sound,
and all around ... there’ll be no Christians to be found.

And what becomes of all the rest?
Those poor souls who just “did their best”,
and spent their Sundays sleeping in,
and actually enjoyed their sin?

Well, first we’ll form the cleaning crews
collecting jewelry, clothes and shoes,
and other things, too much to mention,
the Christians dropped in their ascension.

And then there’ll be a global pause,
a massive dropping of the jaws,
as all us sinners comprehend
that what for some has been the end
for us is only the beginning
of a Golden Age of Sinning!

A cheer will sound around the Earth,
to herald humankind’s rebirth!

We’ll walk buck-naked down the street!
Have intercourse with those we meet!
We’ll do hard drugs in public spaces,
sloppy grins upon our faces!

We’ll never go to work again!
If China wants to win, it can!
Economy, esch-monomy,
we’ll now have our autonomy!

A new world springs up overnight
where we’ll just have no need to fight.
We’ll finally have our world peace
once everybody gets a piece!

A fun and happy global nation
with no need for masturbation.
Though that action will continue,
but for show, in public venues!

Folks will feel good all the time!
They’ll give up on the social climb.
With no one left to judge our actions,
life will be pure satisfaction!

Money will just be green paper.
Credit cards become pan scrapers.

Ecstasy will be the norm,
As we expand to our true form!

... and yes, one day, far down the line
there will from heaven come a chime
as Christ himself descends upon us
to lay his massive trip upon us.

Hopefully we’ll make him see
that all throughout eternity
all of God’s creatures, great and small
just want to smile, and have a ball!

And even though we only prayed
on accidents while getting laid,
or trying to help our sports team win,
perhaps He’ll see that all our sin
was just us trying to be God too,
and act like God appeared to do

by being all things, dark and light.
Keeping the peace...helping the fight.
Robbing one man to pay another.
Hating Mom...and loving Mother.

We’ll ask Christ, can we take the blame,
when his own Dad made up the game?
And set up rules in contradiction
to our human predilections?

How could we expect to win
when God made us to lust for sin?

Perhaps then Christ will see our side
and come to Earth where He’ll reside
and live amongst us as an equal
and help us write the bible’s sequel!

“The Bible Two – The Fun Begins!!!”
Where it’s all good, and no one sins,

and everything is all okay,
and everybody gets their way,
and every day is Saturday.
and everybody, straight or gay

just laughs and sings and plays all day,
and never once
bothers to pray.

Because it’s all just really good,
and everyone feels like they should
and Paradise is here and now
and no one ever wonders how.

So yes, I’m waiting for the day
when Rapture takes them all away.
Until then, I’ll just watch the sky
and listen for the trumpet’s cry

And hope that when that day does dawn,
and we can finally get it on,
that one commandment we employ:
“Thou shalt always, be in Joy”

Copyright 2010 © Randy Warren

According to his bio, Randy Warren is an ascended master of the material illusion. He has come to Earth to assist in smoothing the transition into the new age. While here, he enjoys many forms of expression, including poetry. Feel free to contact him and offer him money for his myriad talents.

"T.S. Eliot's Lost Hip Hop Poem" by Jeremy Richards

T.S. Eliot's Lost Hip Hop Poem
By Jeremy Richards

Let us roll then, you and I,
the evening stretched out against the sky
like a punk ass I laid out with my phat rhymes.

The eternal footman is no one to fuck with.
Alas, he shall bring the ruckus.

You think that you can step
to this, and Lo, I hear your steps like Lazarus
echoing through my soul.

Bring the bass.

Straight out of Missouri,
Harvard University in your face.
I've got ladies in waiting all over
the place, singing each to each;
do I dare eat a peach?

You are damn right I’ll each a peach.
Who shall stop me, with my Prufrock hip hop
non-stop, clippity clop, clippity clop
I hear the horses carrying the wassailers,
I'm ready to impale their ears with my rhymes
rolling off of my parched tongue
the way trousers roll off my ankles.

I get it done better than John Donne.
Pound for pound, like Ezra Pound,
no other literati around can confound
the post-Victorian quickness I bring
to the microphone, though I shall die alone.

But not before I rock the house.
Watch me douse you in my eternal flames
of a freaky-ass style, my crew has the flow
with European tangent, Kto vahsh otsiets saychoss--
the Russian for Who's your daddy now.

For I will tell you.
That I have scuttled across the floors of ancient clubs,
and yea, knowing that you may never return,
I will tell you this:
That I have been over to a friend's house
for dinner, and lo, the food was not any good.

The macaroni, soggy. The peas, mushy.
And the chicken tasted of wood,
like the wooden coffin I've created for myself;
if this is going to be that kind of party
I will stuff my desire in the mashed potatoes.
But I tell no lie, I will show you fear
in a handful of hip hop,

making your body rock, your soul shudder,
your utter disbelief when the old school,
the ancient school, returns
from dusty book covers and scorned lovers
to reign again on the open poetry mic.
Bring the pathos! Bring the pathos!
You wannabe MCs just can't stop...

...'till human voices wake us,
and we back the fuck up

into eternity.

Copyright © Jeremy Richards

Jeremy Richards is a writer, actor, and radio host living in Seattle. His work appears widely, including in “The Spoken Word Revolution Redux,” The Poetry Foundation, McSweeney's, The Morning News, Rattle, and on National Public Radio's “Morning Edition” and “All Things Considered.”

In tours and competitions, Richards was a two-time member of Seattle's National Poetry Slam team, a three-time winner of the Bumbershoot Poetry Slam and was invited to perform on HBO's Def Poetry.

His new collection, “An Inaccurate Theory of Everything,” was recently released from Destructible Heart Press.

Jeremy Richards' website
Jeremy Richards' Livejounral

"Unsolicited Advice to Adolescent Girls with Crooked Teeth and Pink Hair" by Jeanann Verlee

Unsolicited Advice to Adolescent Girls with Crooked Teeth and Pink Hair
By Jeanann Verlee

When your mother hits you, do not strike back.
When the boys call asking your cup size, say A, hang up.
When he says you gave him blue balls, say you’re welcome.
When a girl with thick black curls who smells like bubble gum stops you in a stairwell to ask if you’re a boy, explain that you keep your hair short so she won’t have anything to grab when you head-butt her.
Then head-butt her.
When a guidance counselor teases you for handed-down jeans, do not turn red.
When you have sex for the second time and there is no condom, do not convince yourself that screwing between layers of underwear will soak up the semen.
When your geometry teacher posts a banner reading: “Learn math or go home and learn how to be a Momma,” do not take your first feminist stand by leaving the classroom.
When the boy you have a crush on is sent to detention, go home.
When your mother hits you, do not strike back.
When the boy with the blue mohawk swallows your heart and opens his wrists, hide the knives, bleach the bathtub, pour out the vodka. Every time.
When the skinhead girls jump you in a bathroom stall, swing, curse, kick, do not turn red.
When a boy you think you love delivers the first black eye, use a screw driver, a beer bottle, your two good hands.
When your father locks the door, break the window.
When a college professor writes you poetry and whispers about your tight little ass, do not take it as a compliment, do not wait, call the Dean, call his wife.
When a boy with good manners and a thirst for Budweiser proposes, say no.
When your mother hits you, do not strike back.
When the boys tell you how good you smell, do not doubt them, do not turn red.
When your brother tells you he is gay, pretend you already know.
When the girl on the subway curses you because your T-shirt reads: “I fucked your boyfriend,” assure her that it is not true.
When your dog pees the rug, kiss her, apologize for being late.
When he refuses to stay the night because you live in Jersey City, do not move.
When he refuses to stay the night because you live in Harlem, do not move.
When he refuses to stay the night because your air conditioner is broken, leave him.
When he refuses to keep a toothbrush at your apartment, leave him.
When you find the toothbrush you keep at his apartment hidden in the closet, leave him.
Do not regret this.
Do not turn red.
When your mother hits you, do not strike back.

Copyright © Jeanann Verlee

I met Jeanann Verlee for the first time this year at the 2010 National Poetry Slam in St. Paul, Minn. I didn't speak with her much, but I saw her before this poem with the NYC-louderARTS Team in a black box theatre during the second bout on the first night. Most awesome poem.

Jeanann Verlee is an author, performance poet, editor, activist, and former punk rocker who collects tattoos and winks at boys. Her work has been published and is forthcoming in a variety of journals, including The New York Quarterly, FRiGG, PANK, decomP, Danse Macabre, and The Legendary, among others. Her poems have also been included in various anthologies such as “Not A Muse: The Inner Lives of Women” and “His Rib: Poems Stories and Essays by Her.” Verlee’s first full-length book of poems, Racing Hummingbirds (Write Bloody Publishing, 2010), earned the Independent Publisher Book Award Silver Medal in Poetry.

She has represented New York City three times at the National Poetry Slam under two of the most highly-regarded poetry performance series in the nation: Urbana Poetry Slam and The louderARTS Project. Verlee was the highest-scoring individual poet at the 2008 National Poetry Slam Finals, was the 2009 NYC-Urbana iWPS Champion, and represented NYC-louderARTS at the 2010 Women of the World Poetry Slam. She co-curates the Urbana Poetry Slam reading series at the Bowery Poetry Club and serves as writing and performance coach for this three-time NPS Championship venue. She has performed and facilitated workshops at schools, theatres, bookstores, dive bars and poetry venues across North America.

Educated in theatre performance and creative writing, Verlee was co-author and performing member of national touring company, The Vortex: Conflict, Power, and Choice!, has been commissioned by universities for a number of guerrilla theatre events spotlighting domestic violence under MSCD’s Theatre for Social Change, and was a charter member of New York City’s annual Spoken Word Almanac Project. A fan of letter-writing campaigns and constructing protest signs, Verlee is also an ardent animal rights and humanitarian activist who has organized and participated in numerous social actions.

Her first poem was drafted in pencil on the inside cover of a collection of Grimm’s Fairy Tales at the age of 7. She won her first writing contest for a short story at the age of 11 and in the same year became the youngest recipient of Parade Magazine’s Young American Ambassadors prize for an essay contest. Hoping to echo S.E. Hinton’s young author milestone, Verlee was determined to write a novel by the age of 16. With three drafts completed by the autumn of her 15th year, she almost reached her goal. Instead, however, found herself blindsided by the insurmountable distraction of tattooed boys, the perpetual chore of dying her mohawk pink, and a life-altering diagnosis of bipolar disorder. A hardcopy of the unfinished manuscript remains in a fireproof safe in her studio apartment.

She lives in New York City with her best pal (a rescue pup named Callisto) and a pair of origami lovebirds. She believes in you.

"Immigrants" an SB 1070 satire poem by Randy Warren

"Immgrants"
By Randy Warren
performed at the Sedona Poetry Slam in June

The other day, right here in Arizona,
I made a point for America.

I knocked on the door of the Gonzalez family.
(I had to wait until 6, because they all work)
When the door opened, I unfurled my proclamation.

It spoke of God, and Country, and Destiny,
and a bunch of other shit that sounds good,
and feels good to say.

I indicated to the Gonzalezes
the fresh American flag
I had just planted in their lawn.

A brand-new flag,
with 53 bright and shining stars.

Star 51 stood for Puerto Rico, of course.
Star 52, for the pending statehood of Halliburtistan.
And star 53, I explained to the Gonzalezes,
represented the very land on which we stood.
The recently annexed, half-acre state
of South Arizona.

Well, they immediately became angry,
(as their kind are prone to do),
but I was prepared.

I explained to them,
as patiently as I could,
that God works in ways mysterious to Man,
even to the white man. It’s true.

I explained how God’s plan
is invisible to us,
and like all things invisible
it can only be seen when it touches things,
moves things.

Like how Wonder Woman’s jet
can only be detected
when you see the birds dodge out of the way.

Well, the Gonzalezes were unfamiliar with Wonder Woman,
but I had made my point:

Because I was there to take their land,
it must mean that God sent me.
Otherwise...how did I get there?

I stumped’em with that one.

Right on cue the van pulled up
to take them all home to Mexico
where they could be with their families.

Well for some reason that set them off.
The father starts yelling,
saying we’d better get off his property.

His property.

It’s that sense of entitlement,
that really gets to me.

I explained to him,
in the most simple terms I could,
that this was not his property,
and that he and his family were squatting on government land.

He began to get violent,
(another weakness of his people),
and we were forced to Tase him.

This upset his wife and children,
who became agitated,
and we were forced to tase them.

They were zip-tied together and loaded onto the truck.

And yes it was messy,
and I always hope things will go so much smoother.

But you just can’t teach,
those who refuse to learn.

That’s why God invented the Taser.

I must say,
it boggles the mind,
that these people are so reluctant to go back home.

I mean, if Mexico is really so bad,
how come so many people vacation there?

I pray on that, I do,
and even God seems to have no answer.

Even God, has no answer.

As for the Gonzalezes, they are fine.

Though they were jailed for trespassing and resisting arrest,
we got them out on a work-release program.

And God, in his infinite love and wisdom,
has made the sweetest lemonade,
from this sour mess.

The Gonzalez family,
you will be happy to hear,
is now the official landscaping team,
of the great state,
of South Arizona.

As federal prisoners they get paid a few dollars each day,
which from a public-funds standpoint is recession-friendly.

And they get to feel the pride of a hard day’s work,
a pride that I hope they pass on to their children.

So once again, God’s will is manifest
with a minimum of violence.
Praise the Lord.

You know,
some nights I sit out on my patio,
and I watch the sun set over this great nation.

I think of how our european ancestors struggled
to leave their homelands,
and come to this new frontier,
in hopes of finding joy, and freedom, and prosperity.

How they left everything behind
with nothing but a dream.
The American Dream.

And when I think,

of all our people sacrificed
to come to this great land,
well, it just turns my stomach,
to think that we could lose it all
to some damned immigrants.

Thank you,
and praise God.

Copyright 2010 © Randy Warren

According to his bio, Randy Warren is an ascended master of the material illusion. He has come to Earth to assist in smoothing the transition into the new age. While here, he enjoys many forms of expression, including poetry. Feel free to contact him and offer him money for his myriad talents.

"A Simple Poem" by Emanuel Xavier

A Simple Poem
By Emanuel Xavier
from "Bullets & Butterflies: queer spoken word poetry"

I want you to continue writing
because I will not always be around

With lips that will never touch mine
read your poems out loud
so that the words are left engraved on the wall
make me feel your voice rush through me
like a breeze from Oyá

I want to hear about Puerto Rico
about sisters with names like La Bruja
about educating youth about AIDS
I want to hear about life in the Boogie Down Bronx
surviving on the Down Low
don't leave out stories about men
you have loved and still love

I want you to write poems that you will never read
press hard on the paper so that the ink runs deep
hold the pen tight so that you control the details
prove to me that I inspire you
reveal yourself between the lines
hear my praise with each flicker of the candle
Write a poem for me

Do not choose a fresh page from a brand new journal
use paper that has been crumbled and tossed
thrown out by a spineless father only to be recycled
Save a tree for future poets to write under

Rewrite me into someone more attractive
stronger than life has made me
make me tough and sexy, aggressive like a tiger
stain the pages with cum, lube, the arousal you find
at the sight of naked boys, draw me sketches
bring the words to life with images
make me a man with this poem

Read it in front of the audience
with hidden messages just for me
be real and tell me why
I am only worth a haiku

Your epics are meant for others
I already know,
use red ink to match the blood from these wounds
with brutal honesty
let me die with your last sentence

Then resurrect me with rhyme
read from your gut
let me hear the wisdom of mi abuelo in your voice
let me find my father in you
remind me of all the men that left me broken promises

In your eyes I want to see a poem
when you bring me to tears
with painful memories
buried beneath your thick skin

Between teeth gapped like divas,
I want to hear quotes from books
I never read

Make me believe you want to be a poet

Make my heart break,
tell me why you could never love me
with just a few words
leave me lost and insecure
feel the admiration of others
bask in their desire
forget that I am there

Pound your fists in the air with passion
go off about politics, poverty, machismo and hate
scream poems that don't give a fuck
about traditions, slamming or scores
save your whispers for those who make love to you

Write a poem for me that makes me want to puff a joint

A poem that loses control
unafraid to be vulnerable
for once just make me believe
it is all worth letting go
when the smoke clears
I will understand
the reason
I am just another face
in the crowd

I want you to continue writing
because I will not always be around

Copyright © Emanuel Xavier

Emanuel Xavier is an American poet, spoken word artist, author, editor, literary events curator, and actor born and raised in the Bushwick area of Brooklyn, N.Y. He is a significant voice to emerge from the Nuyorican poetry movement using political, sexual and religious themes throughout his work. His background is Puerto Rican and Ecuadorian.

He self-published his debut poetry collection, Pier Queen, in the fall of 1997 through his own independent publishing house, Pier Queen Productions.

Signature poems such as "Bushwick Bohemia," "Deliverance," "Every Latino," "Nueva York" and "Tradiciones" helped him gain notoriety in New York City's underground arts scene.

In 1998, with the support of Willi Ninja and spoken word poetry icon Bob Holman, Xavier founded the House of Xavier and created the annual Glam Slam competition. Held once a year, first at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe and then at Bowery Poetry Club, the poetry slam competition featured four open categories such as Best Erotic Poem in Sexy Underwear or Lingerie.

Winners of each category received a trophy and went on to compete for the Grand Prize title of Glam Slam Champion. The event aspired to bring together poetry slams and ball culture in a unique and vibrant contribution to the downtown arts scene.

In 2008, after a decade of staging the annual House of Xavier's Glam Slam spoken word poetry competition in NYC, he passed the torch over to Basque/Spanish performance poet, Ernesto Sarezale, who introduced the event to a London audience at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern in the United Kingdom.

The poetry collection "Americano," his first official publication, was released by Suspect Thoughts Press in 2002 and helped establish Xavier as a figure in the people of color literary arts movement with signature poems such as "Children of Magdalene", "Nearly God" and the title poem.

In 2005, Suspect Thoughts Press published "Bullets & Butterflies: queer spoken word poetry," a collection Xavier edited. The anthology featured the work of 13 openly queer spoken word artists and new work by the editor himself including: "Legendary", "Outside" and "A Simple Poem." He has been featured on television on Russell Simmons Presents Def Poetry on HBO, In The Life on PBS and hosted several editions of Out At The Center on Manhattan Neighborhood Network. He also appears in the Wolfgang Busch documentary "How Do I Look."

In 2005, he co-starred in his first acting role in the independent feature film, The Ski Trip. In 2008, he appeared in The Cult of Sincerity, which later aired on PBS. In 2008, an invitation-only online literary journal sponsored by U.N. Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organization included him as a contributor to an international project. He was also invited to select finalists for Best Gay Erotica 2008.

In the fall of 2008, Floricanto Press published "Mariposas: A Modern Anthology of Queer Latino Poetry," a collection which he edited featuring the work of 17 fellow queer Latino poets. This would be one of the first books ever to gather the work of openly queer poets from the Latino community.

In 2009, his poem, "Urban Affection", was commissioned by a private collector of Walt Whitman memorabilia for the 190th birthday anniversary of Whitman.

In spring of 2009, Rebel Satori Press published a revised 10th anniversary edition of his semi-autobiographical novel, "Christ Like." The novel description is as follows: Mikey is a spirited but self-destructive survivor of sexual abuse, a gay Latino native New Yorker caught somewhere between Catholic guilt and club kid decadence looking to fit in as part of a family. Instead, Mikey delves into a demimonde of petty thieves, prostitutes, and pushers. Haunted by a father that Mikey has never met, a difficult childhood, recurring nightmares, the reality of death, and Christ, the story unfolds through the ’80’s and ’90’s following him on his journey through a fascinating world filled with Santeros, transsexuals and voguing queens.

Xavier has received the Marsha A. Gomez Cultural Heritage Award, a New York City Council Citation and is a 2008 World Pride Award recipient. In 2009, he was named one of the "25 Most Influential GLBT Latinos" by Mi Apogeo. He performs regularly throughout the United States as a spoken word artist and has also featured internationally in Buenos Aires, Argentina, Guayaquil, Ecuador, and Ghent, Belgium.

"Legendary- The Spoken Word Poetry of Emanuel Xavier", a spoken word/music collaboration with producer, El David, was released in the Winter of 2009/2010 featuring the bonus track, "Legendary (The E-Mix)." "Legendary (The Re-Mixes)" was released Spring 2010 by Hades Music on Masterbeats featuring remixes by Michael Hades, Tim Letteer, Lorant Duzgun, and El David.

If Jesus Were Gay & other poems was published by Rebel Satori Press in Spring 2010.

Emanuel Xavier's website

"Over and Over" by Michael R. Brown

"Over and Over"
By Michael R. Brown

An aging poet and teacher born in 1940,
who fought against Vietnam at home
and for civil rights in the cities,
have I increased my chances next life
of coming back as a holy man, a woman, a gazelle?

That is progress on this wheel—
although most of us are stuck in millennial rounds
as mud-carrying coolies, mastodon bait,
spinning mill spindle girls, charcoal makers,
fast food clerks notching paper crowns for spoiled kids.

Born in 1840 I took a day and a half to die at Shiloh,
parched, blind, baked in dry rough wool, basted in my blood.

In 1740, fevered on a foul ship in foreign waters,
driven by a cutting lash to climb high spars,
I lost my grip in a yaw and fell to the wooden deck,
smashing my skull like an egg.

In Bavaria in 1640 it took me two weeks to die from blood
poisoning when an oxcart crushed my leg
and animal shit entered my blood.

In 1540 a Cossack stomped me because he was drunk and I
was not.

In 1440 large black blood-filled globules burst the skin
of my underarms and groin.

In 1340 an Asian horseman took my head for scimitar practice.

In 1240 Christians trampled me in the road.

In 1140 a fever within a week of birth.

1040 at birth.

940 at birth.

840 at birth.

740 I can't remember.

640 I can't remember.

But you can't even remember that I lived.

I was a pitch blender in the Phoenician trade,
a blood stain under a pyramid block,
scattered bones in the earth of a Yangtze dam,
torn by sharks after a typhoon,
somebody's idea of dog food.

Once in a distant historical instant, I was lifted
on murmured prayers and adored, the precious future
of a group of cousins who valued their families as much as sunlight,
but that was only in a small out-of-the-way place
before what you call civilization.

Copyright © Michael R. Brown

I met Michael R. Brown when the Save The Male Tour visited Cambridge, Mass., for a feature at the Cantab Lounge. Our feature was on par, and the slam was average, but the open mic still ranks as one of the best open mics I have ever seen.

This poem was one that I remembered specifically and in 2008, as asked Brown for a copy to show my friend Nika Levikov because I couldn't find it in any of Brown's books. He e-mailed it to me.

I worked with him at the 2003 National Poetry Slam as bout manager to one of the bouts he hosted. Incidentally, that bout was where I met Delrica Andrews and "Granma Dave" Schein from the Baltimore National Poetry Slam Team, who are wholly awesome people.

Michael R. Brown has been called the "the Jerry Garcia of performance poetry" by WBUR/NPR, "ein Dichter und Weltenbummler" by Die Welt, and a "rascal-artist-angel-wonder .. .at the same time" by Paul Stokstad of "Poets at 8." Michael R. Brown has published his poetry, fiction, travel articles and columns in wide-ranging periodicals all over the world. His fourth book of poetry, "The Confidence Man," was published by Ragged Sky in 2006.

In May 2007, Brown and his partner Valerie Lawson moved to Robbinston in Down East Maine, the easternmost point in the USA, where they have been granted the editorial and publishing privileges for Off the Coast, a poetry journal founded by Arlene and George V. Van Deventer 14 years ago.

Brown has returned to teaching, now at Shead High School in Eastport. As a correspondent for the local paper, The Quoddy Tides, his beat is the Passamaquoddy reservation at Pleasant Point. He has also returned to the theater, acting in the Stage East production of It's a Wonderful Life and directing the Magnificent Liars Company in Mafia on Prozac.

Brown holds a Ph.D. in English and Education from the University of Michigan. His dissertation was a literary history of the poetry of the Harlem Renaissance directed by Robert Hayden. For 45 years he taught in high schools and universities from the South Side of Chicago to South Korea.

In 1999, he won the first Ronald J. Lettieri Award for Teaching Excellence at Mount Ida College. Brown was a finalist in the 1991 individual competition of the US National Poetry Slam.

In 1991 he held the first poetry slam in Stockholm, Sweden, and lectured on African American Literature at Stockholm University.

In 1992 he organized the US national slam, and he was on the Boston slam teams that won the US Championship in 1993 and finished third in 1995. In 1998 he won the 6th International Slam in Amsterdam. Brown won the open slam at the 2000 Provincetown Poetry Festival, and he was the hit of the 2001 Rockland Jazz and Blues Festival in New York. He has performed his poems from Jerusalem to Taipeh, Republic of China, and Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada, to Key West, Fla. For 13 years he hosted the Boston poetry slam at the Cantab Lounge, Cambridge.

Brown was co-producer of The Culture of Peace, an international exhibit of art and poetry organized under the UN mandate for a decade of the Culture of Peace. This project has created an art and poetry exhibit and resulted in four exchanges of poets between Ireland and Massachusetts. He is general secretary of the Poetry Olympics, first held in Stockholm in 1998.

Brown's first published poem appeared in the first issue of Beyond Baroque (1969). Recently published poems have appeared in "Sensations, 100 Poets Against the War," and "Spoken Word Revolution Redux." Forthcoming will be poems in the Sacred Fools anthology "Legendary" and a biker anthology to be published by Archer Books in San Francisco. Brown conducts workshops in writing and performance. He has several times performed his poem "Chorus" as part of Beat Cafe, an original ballet choreographed by former Joffrey dancer Anthony Williams. He appeared in the documentary film SlamNation.

In the past five years he produced and directed shows by the Off-Broadway Poets and Dr. Brown's Traveling Poetry Show, an ensemble who perform their own poetry in theaters. His full-length play, The Duchess of York,was a finalist in the Cape Cod Playwrights' Competition.