"The Golden Record" by Christopher Fox Graham

This audio recording of Bulgarian folk sing Valya Balkanska performing “Izlel e Delyu Haydutin,” is one of several songs on the Voyager 1 and Voyager 2 space probes.

"The Golden Record"
A poem for the Voyager 1 & 2 spacecraft

By Christopher Fox Graham

Valya Balanska

in 60,000 years
when the human race is extinct
racing at a geologic pace to fossilize ourselves
next to dinosaurs
Valya Balkanska will still be singing
she may be the last
and only voice
the galaxy knows of our species

to tell her story
I must begin at the beginning:
we all shared the same neighborhood once
when matter didn’t matter so much
but FLASH-BANG! scattered us
like children
from doors of school
on the last day before summer
some stayed close to home
while others wanted to see how far away they could run

and when they began to pick up the pieces
they clung to each other so tightly
you could feel the gravity of it all
but these rocky asteroids and gas giants
comets of ice and terrestrials covered in methane or argon
stare across the vacuum playing telephone with each other
and wonder if they’ll ever touch again

can you hear them?
they speak slow
some syllables take millions of years to finish
but out in the black
are so many lost marbles
they number a billion billion for each one of us here
they, too, were born blind in the dark
wondering, “what is this place”“
and “where did I come from?”
they cling to the nearest glowing stars
like lost children
terrified to be alone

The Voyager spacecraft, launched in 1977.

among the sea
in a stretch of nebula
on one of those marbles
unremarkable in its ordinariness
a thump-pulse of moving things speaks so fast
the planets can’t understand the gibberish
but they love the sound of it all
it reminds them of a split moment in lost memory
when we all were dancing on the head of a pinprick

those creatures, they say,
have sent ambassadors into the stars
riding radio waves in images and sounds
but we have no way to answer, just to listen
a few constructions of metal
have sailed into the dark bearing their dreams
like messages in bottles
so if they annihilate themselves
in a flash of fire
or by eating up all the matter on which they survive
something will remain to prove
there was some magic once

The Golden Record with encoded messages about how to play it,
Earth's location triangulated with 14 pulsars, and information about
the hydrogen atom to give a point of measurement reference.

on one of those lost satellites called Voyager
now 18 billion miles away from a home
it will never see again
is a golden record
and instructions to play it
so if, in eons hence
on some other marble, wiser life sprouts
and in their wild youth,
breaks the laws of gravity
they may find it floating wandering in the dark
and hear the sounds

of us

those alien discoverers may not get past the wonder
of greetings in 55 different human languages
saying in Begali “Hello! Let there be peace everywhere.”
or in Indonesian “Good night ladies and gentlemen.” and
“Goodbye and see you next time.”
after hearing “Johnny B. Goode”
they may crusade the stars
searching for Earth
and more Chuck Berry
they may listen over and over
to the perfect precision of Beethovan’s 5th symphony
or the unleased joy in the Peruvian wedding song

1½ tons of metal
weighing nothing in the ether
carries our billion conversations
every love story
every epic poem
every genocide and celebrity wedding
every nation to rise and fall
every miracle
manmade or otherwise

1½ tons of metal
carries the weight of 10,000 years of human history
on a record barely an hour long

But when they hear Valya Balkanska sing“Izlel e Delyu Haydutin,”
our evolution and extinction will not have been in vain

those alien discoverers
may not have tears

but they will know we did

they may not understand grief

but the first sound they utter afterward

will become it

they will understand
why we could not bear to be alone
when there were so many lost marbles
aching to feel footsteps
the touch of stargazing strangers
they will know there was good in us

and they may even call us 

“brothers”

to the creatures who find Voyager:

you may not have a song to mourn your dead

but as Valya’s haunting melody

and the Bulgarian pipes

retch all the sorrow of a million human generations 

into the stars one last time

you have a mourning song now

and Valya,

Valya will sing it for us

Visit GoldenRecord.org, where you can see and hear everything aboard the Voyager 1 & 2 spacecrafts.

For more information about the Voyager mission and their discoveries, click here.

Bulgarian lyrics

Излел е Делю хайдутин,
хайдутин ян кеседжия
с Домбовци и Караджовци.
Зароча Дельо пороча
Дериденските аяне,
айяне, кабадаие:
- Две лели имам в селоно,
да ми ги не потурчите,
да ми ги не почърните,
че кога флезем в селоно,
млого щат майки да плачат,
по-млого млади нивести,
дете ще в корем проплака.

Гюлсюме Делю заръча:
- Варди са, Делю, чувай са,
канят са да та примажат,
деридеренски аяне,
аяне, кабадаие:
сребърен куршум ти леят,
та ще та, Делю, удрият.
- Гюлсюме, любе Гюлсюме,
не са е родил чилякън,
дену ще Деля примаже.

English translation

Deljo the hayduk went out,
the hayduk, the rebel
with the Dumbovi and the Karadjovi clans.
Deljo gave the following orders
to the brazen-faced governors of Zlatograd:
- "There are two aunts of mine in the village.
Do not make them Turks,
do not besmirch them,
because when I come back
a lot of mothers will cry,
a lot of young brides,
and unborn children."

Gyulsume told Deljo:
- "Beware, Deljo, beware,
you are being threatened, Deljo
the Zlatograd rulers,
the brazen-faced governors,
they cast a silver bullet
for you, Deljo, to kill you."

- "Gyulsume, my love Gyulsume,
not yet is born a man
who could kill me."

Nodalone features at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, Oct. 13

Nodalone features at the Sedona Poetry Slam on Saturday, Oct. 13

Sedona's Studio Live hosts a poetry slam Saturday, Oct. 13, starting at 7:30 p.m. featuring Las Vegas poet Nodalone and hosted by Sedona poet Christopher Fox Graham.

All poets are welcome to compete for the $75 grand prize and $25 second-place prize. The prize is funded in part by a donation from Verde Valley poetry supporter Jeanne Freeland.

The slam is the first of the 2012-13 season, which will culminate in selection of Sedona's second National Poetry Slam Team, the foursome and alternate who will represent the city at the National Poetry Slam in Boston and Cambridge, Mass., in August. (Assuming, of course, the Mayans don't destroy the world in December 2012. Or the  Québécois in January 2013. If you thought the Mayan calendar was apocalyptic, just wait until the Québécois get their shot ....)

The local poets will share the stage with 300 of the top poets in the United States, Canada and Europe, pouring out their words in a weeklong explosion of expression.

Sedona sent its five-poet first team to the 2012 National Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C.

Nodalone

Nodalone - Shaun Srivistava - is the first featured poet of the SedonaPoetry Slam Season.
Nodalone will feature Saturday, Oct. 13.

Nodalone — born Shaun Srivastava — is a spoken word artist currently residing in Las Vegas. While quietly writing for years, Nodalone began performing his work in late 2010 in Flagstaff. Ever since, the poet has continued to bring his poems to life on stage at slams and various events throughout the country.

Preferring to use his platform to address current political, cultural and social issues, Nodalone gives a performance that captures the power of the issue with a personal and passionate style.

Nodalone is the 2011 FlagSlam Grand Slam Champion and a member of both the 2011 and 2012 FlagSlam National Poetry Slam Teams.

He prefers hugs to handshakes, and is a raging baby animal enthusiast.

Sedona Poetry Slam

To compete in the slam, poets need at least three original poems, each three minutes long or shorter. No props, costumes or musical accompaniment are permitted. All types of poetry are welcome.

The slam will be hosted by Graham, who represented Northern Arizona on six FlagSlam National Poetry Slams in 2001, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2010 and 2012.

Contact Graham at foxthepoet@yahoo.com to sign up to slam.

What is Poetry Slam?

Founded in Chicago in 1984, poetry slam is a competitive artistic sport. 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.

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 their audience with their creativity.

2013 Sedona National Poetry Slam Team

Competing poets earn points with each Sedona Poetry Slam performance between September and May. Every poet earns 1 point for performing or hosting. First place earns 3 additional points, second place earns 2 and third place earns 1.

Based on points, the top 12 poets in May are eligible to compete for the four slots on the Sedona Poetry Slam Team, which will represent the community and Studio Live at the 2013 National Poetry Slam in Boston. Poets can compete for multiple teams during a season and still be eligible to compete in the Sedona team.

For poetry slam standings, videos from past slams, and updates, visit foxthepoet.blogspot.com.

Tickets are $10 in advance and $12 the day of the event, available at Golden Word Books and Music, 3150 W. SR 89A, and online at studiolivesedona.com.

Studio Live is located at 215 Coffee Pot Drive, West Sedona. For more information, call (928) 282-2688.

GumptionFest's annual Haiku Death Match only 2 days away ....

Time to get writing, poets. The Haiku Death Match nears.

You need about 20 haiku to compete. The more, the better, however.

GumptionFest VII's Haiku Death Match, aka GF7HDM

As in past years, we will hold a Haiku Death Match, (not a "death match" per se, but a Head-to-Head Haiku Slam), at GumptionFest VII. GumptionFest VII will be Friday to Sunday, Sept. 14 to 16, along Coffee Pot Drive and State Route 89A in West Sedona.

The Haiku Death Match will be held Saturday, Sept. 15 at 5 p.m. at the Szechuan Martini Bar, on the north side of State Route 89A.

Challenge last year's champion, Teresa Newkirk,
and vie for the
Grand Prize of $17

A Haiku Poetry Slam is a competitive poetry duel that is a subgenre of poetry slam. The Haiku Poetry Slam is a prominent feature at the annual National Poetry Slam, replete with full costume for the host, in the style of former NPS hosts Daniel Ferri and Jim Nave and current NPS host Taz Yamaguchi.

At GumptionFest VII, we will attempt to hold a Haiku Death Match as similar to the NPS Haiku Poetry Slam version as possible.

Can you beat The Klute, the 2010 GumptionFest Grand Haikuster?

What is haiku?
Haiku (俳句) is a form of Japanese poetry consisting of 17 syllables in three metrical phrases of 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables.

Japanese haiku typically contain a kigo, or seasonal reference, and a kireji or verbal caesura. In Japanese, haiku are traditionally printed in a single vertical line, while haiku in English usually appear in three lines, to parallel the three metrical phrases of Japanese haiku.

What is slam haiku?
Slam haiku used in a Haiku Death Match is far simpler: Use of three or fewer lines of 17 syllables. Slam haiku can be anything from a single 17-syllable line or simply 17 words.

A standard Haiku Death Match is conducted thus:
The host randomly draws the names of two poets, known as haikusters, from the pool of competitors.
The haikusters adorn headbands of two colors: Red and Not-Red (white).
Red Haikuster and Host bow to each other.
Not-Red Haikuster and Host bow to each other.
Red Haikuster and Not-Red Haikuster bow to each other.
Red Haikuster goes first.
The Red Haikuster reads his or her haiku twice. The audience does not clap or make noise (usually, though, they laugh or vocalize, but, of course, we must pretend that this is completely unacceptable).
The Not-Red Haikuster reads his or her haiku twice. Again, the audience does not clap or make noise.
The host waits for the three judges to make their choice for winner, then signals them to hold aloft their Red or Not-Red flag.
Simple majority (3-0 or 2-1) determines the winner.
The host asks the audience to demonstrate “the sound of one hand clapping,” i.e., silence, then “the sound of two hands clapping,” at which point they can finally applaud. The mock ceremony involving the audience is half the fun.
The winning haikuster then goes first.
Depending on the round, the winner will be best 3 of 5, 4 of 7, best 5 of 9, etc., of a number determined beforehand for each round.
After the duel, Red Haikuster and Not-Red Haikuster bow to each other and shake hands. The next duel begins.
Rules for the GumptionFest VI Haiku Death Match:

• Titles: Haikusters can read their haiku titles before they read the haiku. (This gives the haikusters technically more syllables to put the haiku in context, but the haiku itself must still be only 17 syllables. While this is not “pure” Haiku Death Match rules, it’s much more fun for the audience.
  
  
• Originality: Poets must be the sole authors of the haiku they use in competition. Plagiarized haiku are grounds for disqualification. We all love Matsuo Bashō, but he’s 300 years too dead to compete.
  
  
• On-page or memorized?: Poets can read from the page, book, journal, notepad, etc.
  
  
• Preparation: Poets can have haiku written beforehand or write them in their head while at the mic. 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.
  
  
• Quantity of haiku needed: Depends on the number of rounds. 30 haiku will likely be enough for poets who push rounds to the last haiku needed and go all the rounds, but 50 to 100 gives haikusters enough material to be flexible in competition. Most veteran haikusters have several hundred to compete with.
  
  
• Censorship: Adult themes and language are acceptable. There may be children present so you may have to deal with their parents afterward, but that’s your call.
  
  
• Register early: E-mail me at foxthepoet@yahoo.com.
  

What’s the Best Strategy to Win?

• A winning haikuster is flexible.
  
  
• If your opponent reads a serious or deep haiku, read one that is more serious or more profound, or go on the opposite tack and read something funny.
  
  
• If your opponent reads a funny haiku, read one that is funnier, or go on the opposite tack and read something serious or deep.
  
  
• If your opponent makes fun of you, make fun of yourself even bigger or make fun of them. A good head-to-head haiku can work wonders and often wins a Haiku duel. For instance, my “Damien Flores Haiku,” “Easy way to win: / Damien is 20, Officer, / and he's drunk."
  
  
• If you’re on stage and you get an idea for a haiku, feel free to write it down immediately. That might be the next round’s haiku that wins you the duel.
  
  
• Have a good time. Even if don't get past the first round, it's still a great time for all.

Slam poet Josh Wiss joins GumptionFest lineup

Saturday, Sept. 15, 9:30 p.m. @ Oak Creek Brewing Co.:

Josh Wiss, a member of the the 2012 Sedona National Poetry Slam Teams

Josh Wiss, photo by Tara Graeber

Josh Wiss is a 21-year-old poet who is bound to a lifestyle constant creativity. He attended his first poetry slam in the Fall of 2010 and has been addicted to the art form ever since.
A self-proclaimed “feeler,” Wiss lives life riding the oscillating waves of a water sign. He has dedicated his life to embracing the purity of existence and trying to transcribe experiences through a variety of expressive mediums.
Whether he is plucking ukulele strings, painting vibrant panels or pouring poetry onto pages, Josh attempts to completely envelop himself in each of his works. His poetry is raw and often reflects an optimistic side of his personality. Obsessed with bold colors and blowing bubbles, a childlike energy inhabits his performances.
Grateful to be finished with an undergraduate degree in English from Northern Arizona University, Wiss now faces the task of being a “poet in debt” with naïve excitement. He has hopes of publishing fiction, non-fiction, poetry and even graphic works in the years to come.
He has self-released four albums of his various musical projects to date and plans to continue making albums as well. The journey that will quench his wanderlust is still on the horizon. Until then you may find him buried in books or consumed by canvas.
It is his goal to help others however he can with his art under the belief that even the most personal of feelings is relatable and relative in life. Wading through waves of weird, this mind-surfer finds contentment in the simplicities of life.
Wiss was a member of the inaugural Sedona National Poetry Slam Team in 2012 and competed with his team at the National Poetry Slam in Charlotte, N.C.

Poets at GumptionFest VII

Friday, Sept. 14, 7 p.m., @ Szechuan Martini Bar:

Christopher Fox Graham, host of the Sedona Poetry Slam and member of the 2001, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2010 and 2012 Flagstaff National Poetry Slam Teams

Christopher Fox Graham, photo by Harley Deuce

Christopher Fox Graham is a poet living in Sedona, Arizona.
Beginning his performance poetry career in 2000, Graham has been a member of six Flagstaff National Poetry Slam teams, representing Flagstaff in 2001, 2004, 2005, 2006, 2010 and 2012. Graham won the Flagstaff Poetry Grand Slam championship in 2004 and 2012.
Graham was part of the Save the Male Tour, a four-man international spoken word tour in 2002 that performed in 26 states over three months.
In 2005 and 2006, Graham’s teams won the Slab City Slam at Arcosanti, the state’s poetry slam team championships.
Since 2006, Graham has been the poetry coordinator of GumptionFest, a free, grassroots arts festival in Sedona.
In 2008, he founded the Sedona Poetry Slam and became a slammaster in 2012, sponsoring the inaugural Sedona National Poetry Slam Team. Graham was a featured performer at the invitation-only 2012 Desert Rocks Music Festival.
Graham has published five books of poetry and a spoken word CD, and been published in six anthologies of spoken word and in two DVDs of Grand Slam Championships. He has been featured in two films on the
Sedona art scene.
Graham has performed poetry for MTV, The Travel Channel and at venues in nearly 40 states, Canada, Ireland and Great Britain.
His blog, FoxThePoet.Blogspot.com, features his work and those of other national poets and Sedona artists, recording more than 2,000 hits a week.

Friday, Sept. 14, 10 p.m., @ Olde Sedona Bar & Grill:

Evan Dissinger, a member of the 2012 Sedona National Poetry Slam Team.

Evan Dissinger, photo by Kelly Watts

Acrylic tattooed skateboards, the sound of concrete waves crashing, rock ’n’ roll to pass the time, marijuana cigarettes, and candle light dinners eaten alone.
Evan Dissinger like to paint and laugh in kinetic conversations.
He enjoys watching Atlas shoulder tomorrows promises, no sun rise should be taken for granted.
Dissinger and his cat, Azula, both smile at serendipitous psychedelic situations. He doesn’t believe in cops, bosses or politicians, some call that anarchism, He calls it having a fucking heart that beats. He believes in being honest, especially if it means being wrong, self-reliance is a product of self-responsibility.
Joe Strummer said his motivation to wake every morning was the ability to think. That gift is the one certainty we have in this life, the simple knowledge that we are here, right now, everything else should be subject to question.
Dissinger is infatuated with the human experience. There is no wrong way to live life as long as you can recognize fleeting moments of true lucid beauty.
Don’t check out early, there are great stories and warm coffee here, there is no way the next life will be as vivid visceral.
Live as if this were a dream and nothing can stop you from knowing who you are.

Saturday, Sept. 15, 5 p.m., @ Szechuan Martini Bar:

4th annual Haiku Death Match

The GumptionFest VII Haiku Death Match is open to all attendees of GumptionFest VII.

What is haiku?

Haiku (俳句) is a form of Japanese poetry consisting of 17 syllables in three metrical phrases of 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables.
Japanese haiku typically contain a kigo, or seasonal reference, and a kireji or verbal caesura. In Japanese, haiku are traditionally printed in a single vertical line, while haiku in English usually appear in three lines, to parallel the three metrical phrases of Japanese haiku.

What is slam haiku?

lam haiku used in a Haiku Death Match is far simpler: Use of three or fewer lines of 17 syllables. Slam haiku can be anything from a single 17-syllable line or simply 17 words.

What are the Haiku Death Match rules?

• Titles: Haikusters can read their haiku titles before they read the haiku. (This gives the haikusters technically more syllables to put the haiku in context, but the haiku itself must still be only 17 syllables. While this is not “pure” Haiku Death Match rules, it’s much more fun for the audience.
• Originality: Poets must be the sole authors of the haiku they use in competition. Plagiarized haiku are grounds for disqualification. We all love Matsuo Bashō, but he’s 300 years too dead to compete.
• On-page or memorized?: Poets can read from the page, book, journal, notepad, etc.
• Preparation: Poets can have haiku written beforehand or write them in their head while at the mic. 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.
• Quantity of haiku needed: Depends on the number of rounds. 30 haiku will likely be enough for poets who push rounds to the last haiku needed and go all the rounds, but 50 to 100 gives haikusters enough material to be flexible in competition. Most veteran haikusters have several hundred to compete with.
• Censorship: Adult themes and language are acceptable. There may be children present so you may have to deal with their parents afterward, but that’s your call.
• Register early: E-mail Christopher Fox Graham at foxthepoet@yahoo.com.

Saturday, Sept. 15, 7 p.m., @ Szechuan Martini Bar:

The Klute, a member of the 2002, 2003, 2005 and 2006 Mesa National Poetry Slam Teams, the 2008, 2009, 2010, 2012 Phoenix National Poetry Slam Team, a two-time National Poetry Slam semi-finalist, and winner of the 2010 GumptionFest Haiku Death Match

The Klute, photo by Jessica Mason-Paull

The Klute, aka Bernard Schober, competed at the National Poetry Slam six times, for the Mesa Slam Team in 2002, 2003, 2005 and 2006, and the Phoenix Slam Slam Team in 2008 and 2009, 2010 and 2012. He has led two of those teams to the NPS semi-final stage, ranking him among the best of the best nationwide. He was also the Mesa Grand Slam champion in 2005 and 2010.
Standing more than 6 feet tall and always bedecked in
a black trench coat, the Klute is hard to miss. When
poetry escapes his lips at full blast, he’s hard not to hear.
In an era when most artists and poets shy away from confronting politics, the Klute stands apart.
He has earned a reputation for in-your-face political commentary and over-the-top humor targeting Neo-Conservative politicians, crass laissez-faire commercialism and Goth subculture.
Originally from south Florida, The Klute writes almost exclusively in free verse, making his poetry conversational and relevant to even those who see poetry as something to avoid.
Standing more than 6 feet tall and always bedecked in a black trench coat, the Klute is hard to miss. When poetry escapes his lips at full blast, he’s hard not to hear.
The Klute has released three poetry chapbooks, “Escape Velocity,” “Look at What America Has Done to Me” and “My American Journey,” which prompted a cease and desist order from the attorneys of former Secretary of State Colin Powell.
“Despite the heat, [The Klute] wears a black trench coat almost everywhere he goes and if the setting permits, he’ll blast through enough slanderous commentary to make Andrew Dice Clay blush,” according to Phoenix 944 Magazine. “Today, his addiction for getting in front of the microphone and spitting out everything from a Dick Cheney haiku to a long-winded prose on race car driving to the late Hunter S. Thompson is as strong as his love for vodka and absinthe. If anyone’s seen ‘The Klute’ in action, they’d know it. If they haven’t, they must.”

Saturday, Sept. 15, 9:30 p.m. @ Oak Creek Brewing Co.:

Ryan Brown, a member of the the 2008, 2009, 2010, 2012 Flagstaff National Poetry Slam Teams, and 2008 National Poetry Slam semi-finalist

Ryan Brown, photo by Tara Graeber

Born twenty-three years ago in Phoenix, Arizona, Ryan Brown has been writing and performing poetry in Northern Arizona for nearly five years.
After discovering Flagstaff’s FlagSlam in 2007, Brown began writing poetry with a small group of like-minded young people, eventually taking over as the slam’s Slammaster in the fall of 2008. That year, the Flagstaff poetry scene saw features such as Gypsee Yo and Andrea Gibson hit Flagstaff stages for the first time, reinvigorating a slam community that pulled poets from Northern Arizona University, Sedona, and Phoenix to create one of the largest consistent poetry slams in Arizona.
After slamming at his first National Poetry Slam in 2008, Brown began to focus his writing more on the ideals of community, social networking, and the ever-cliché but always boundless topics of love, intimate relationships, and human connection.
Teaming up with Frank O’Brien on Flagstaff nationals teams in 2008, 2009, and 2010, Brown worked on herb and coffee farms in Hawaii in late 2010, eventually coming back to NAU to get an English degree with the class of 2012. The
FlagSlam took place at Sundara Boutique for the 2011-12 season, thriving in an all-ages scene that draws upwards of 75 people on a schoolnight, poets flocking from miles away.
Currently the Flagstaff Slammaster, Brown’s passion for poetry and poetic expression can be rivaled by his love of baseball, skateboarding, and patio conversations with a few good friends, or a couple of brothers.
He cites John Cartier, Frank O’Brien, Jessica Guadarrama, Aaron Johnson, and Josh Wiss as his biggest influences, both in poetry and in life, and would like to give a shout-out to his pug-terrier Pip, whom he passed on to another family before taking off to Hawaii.
Peace, homie.

Sunday, Sept. 16 5:45 p.m. @ Szechuan Martini Bar:

Tara Pollock, a member of the 2012 Flagstaff National Poetry Slam Team

Tara Pollack, photo by Tara Graeber

Tara Pollock has been writing poetry since she was a young girl, and performing poetry on and off throughout her adult life.
She is excited to have the opportunity to be on Flagstaff’s 2012 National Poetry Slam Team. She seeks to inspire, liberate, and uplift through her words.
The creative force of poetry has been a catalyst for her personal evolution, as well as providing a medium through which she has come to know herself more deeply, and to share herself with her community. She is currently finishing her Biology degree at Northern Arizona University with plans to attend Southwest College of Naturopathic Medicine in the fall of 2013.
When she is not knee deep in books, pens, and paper, she can be found teaching yoga, hiking, dancing or cooking.

Sunday, Sept. 16, 9:30 p.m. Olde Sedona Bar & Grill:

Dan Seaman, longtime Prescott are poet and founder and host of the Slab City Slam, Arizona’s state poetry team championship from 2001-2007

Dan Seaman is a performance poet and fire dancer

Dan Seaman is a second-generation Arizonan who was encouraged to continue writing poetry … despite the obvious physical contradictions of his overtly masculine appearance and furrowed brow.
His work has been described as “realistic romanticism”… and his voice, as “an undertow of emotion”.
Dan was also a co-founder of the 2001-2007 Arizona State Championships held at Arcosanti, diligently planning, hosting, managing and overall making sure the best weekend of poetry is the state lived up to it’s pedigree …

Fourth annual Sedona Haiku Death Match at GumptionFest VII, Sept. 15

GumptionFest VII's Haiku Death Match, aka GF7HDM

As in past years, we will hold a Haiku Death Match, (not a "death match" per se, but a Head-to-Head Haiku Slam), at GumptionFest VII. GumptionFest VII will be Friday to Sunday, Sept. 14 to 16, along Coffee Pot Drive and State Route 89A in West Sedona.

The Haiku Death Match will be held Saturday, Sept. 15 at 5 p.m. at the Szechuan Martini Bar, on the north side of State Route 89A.

Challenge last year's champion, Teresa Newkirk,
and vie for the
Grand Prize of $17

A Haiku Poetry Slam is a competitive poetry duel that is a subgenre of poetry slam. The Haiku Poetry Slam is a prominent feature at the annual National Poetry Slam, replete with full costume for the host, in the style of former NPS hosts Daniel Ferri and Jim Nave and current NPS host Taz Yamaguchi.

At GumptionFest VII, we will attempt to hold a Haiku Death Match as similar to the NPS Haiku Poetry Slam version as possible.

Can you beat The Klute, the 2010 GumptionFest Grand Haikuster?

What is haiku?
Haiku (俳句) is a form of Japanese poetry consisting of 17 syllables in three metrical phrases of 5 syllables, 7 syllables, 5 syllables.

Japanese haiku typically contain a kigo, or seasonal reference, and a kireji or verbal caesura. In Japanese, haiku are traditionally printed in a single vertical line, while haiku in English usually appear in three lines, to parallel the three metrical phrases of Japanese haiku.

What is slam haiku?
Slam haiku used in a Haiku Death Match is far simpler: Use of three or fewer lines of 17 syllables. Slam haiku can be anything from a single 17-syllable line or simply 17 words.

A standard Haiku Death Match is conducted thus:
The host randomly draws the names of two poets, known as haikusters, from the pool of competitors.
The haikusters adorn headbands of two colors: Red and Not-Red (white).
Red Haikuster and Host bow to each other.
Not-Red Haikuster and Host bow to each other.
Red Haikuster and Not-Red Haikuster bow to each other.
Red Haikuster goes first.
The Red Haikuster reads his or her haiku twice. The audience does not clap or make noise (usually, though, they laugh or vocalize, but, of course, we must pretend that this is completely unacceptable).
The Not-Red Haikuster reads his or her haiku twice. Again, the audience does not clap or make noise.
The host waits for the three judges to make their choice for winner, then signals them to hold aloft their Red or Not-Red flag.
Simple majority (3-0 or 2-1) determines the winner.
The host asks the audience to demonstrate “the sound of one hand clapping,” i.e., silence, then “the sound of two hands clapping,” at which point they can finally applaud. The mock ceremony involving the audience is half the fun.
The winning haikuster then goes first.
Depending on the round, the winner will be best 3 of 5, 4 of 7, best 5 of 9, etc., of a number determined beforehand for each round.
After the duel, Red Haikuster and Not-Red Haikuster bow to each other and shake hands. The next duel begins.
Rules for the GumptionFest VI Haiku Death Match:

• Titles: Haikusters can read their haiku titles before they read the haiku. (This gives the haikusters technically more syllables to put the haiku in context, but the haiku itself must still be only 17 syllables. While this is not “pure” Haiku Death Match rules, it’s much more fun for the audience.
  
  
• Originality: Poets must be the sole authors of the haiku they use in competition. Plagiarized haiku are grounds for disqualification. We all love Matsuo Bashō, but he’s 300 years too dead to compete.
  
  
• On-page or memorized?: Poets can read from the page, book, journal, notepad, etc.
  
  
• Preparation: Poets can have haiku written beforehand or write them in their head while at the mic. 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.
  
  
• Quantity of haiku needed: Depends on the number of rounds. 30 haiku will likely be enough for poets who push rounds to the last haiku needed and go all the rounds, but 50 to 100 gives haikusters enough material to be flexible in competition. Most veteran haikusters have several hundred to compete with.
  
  
• Censorship: Adult themes and language are acceptable. There may be children present so you may have to deal with their parents afterward, but that’s your call.
  
  
• Register early: E-mail me at foxthepoet@yahoo.com.
  

What’s the Best Strategy to Win?

• A winning haikuster is flexible.
  
  
• If your opponent reads a serious or deep haiku, read one that is more serious or more profound, or go on the opposite tack and read something funny.
  
  
• If your opponent reads a funny haiku, read one that is funnier, or go on the opposite tack and read something serious or deep.
  
  
• If your opponent makes fun of you, make fun of yourself even bigger or make fun of them. A good head-to-head haiku can work wonders and often wins a Haiku duel. For instance, my “Damien Flores Haiku,” “Easy way to win: / Damien is 20, Officer, / and he's drunk."
  
  
• If you’re on stage and you get an idea for a haiku, feel free to write it down immediately. That might be the next round’s haiku that wins you the duel.
  
  
• Have a good time. Even if don't get past the first round, it's still a great time for all.

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

Christopher Lane

Aug. 5, 1972 — Aug. 19, 2012

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

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

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

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

Sending David Blair to Burning Man

While I normally find burning poetry a sacrilege, I am sending a copy of “Detroit (while I was away)” by David Blair with Azami for her to burn at the Temple of Juno when she leaves for Burning Man in about an hour.

Fly high above Black Rock City, Blair. May the ashes reach Detroit, your beloved city.

Fa una canzone senza note nere
se mai bramasti la mia grazia havere.
Falla d'un tuonó ch'invita al dormire,
dolcemente, dolcemente facendo la finire


Blair performs "Detroit"
Producer: Connie Mangilin, Philip Lauri
Camera: Sean Redenz
Editor: Steven Oliver

David Blair
Photo by David Lewinski Photography

“Detroit (while I was away)”
By David Blair

Even though I know the air hangs
like a dead dog’s ass over River Rouge,
I still miss you. Your fenced in gardens
filled with sustenance and Saturday

evening draped over a back alley porch.
The September stench that creeps
slow as a Woodward bus on Sunday.
Black tires crawling in summer heat.

Your acoustic guitars and amplified hair.
Your rows of long thin buildings,
arranged on a young man’s head.
Last time I saw you, a woman stood

on a corner conducting traffic.
Her own sunken opera.
A crack pipe baton. Car horns joined
in like a bad man cruising a dream.
She stood on the stage of Cass and Mack

dying to reach Joy Rd. The moon left
its spotlight on a backdrop of burnt buildings.
Yellow police tape posed like velvet rope.
Do Not Cross.

A picket line of teens careened down Cass
past broken glass that spread
like urban sprawl, a Diego Rivera mural
painted across the DIA wall.

Another time I saw you,
steam barreled out of your manhole covers
like you were about to explode. A soul imbibed
forty ounces of courage so it could head back to the axle plant

on Lynch Road, Jefferson or some other
conveyor belt street that gets everyone moving
in step like a Temptation line dance.
22 ounces of sweat and iron hidden in a bathroom stall.

Away from the plant tours and fat cats,
shop stewards and snitches. I remember you
old friend. I’m in another city now.
But Martin Luther King St. always looks the same.

It just doesn’t intersect with Rosa Parks,
12th Street where ‘67 fires started,
named for a woman who chose you beyond
a boycott in Montgomery, then rode

the front of that big old dog
straight home to you Detroit, I love you...

from your basketball sun, that hangs in the sky
then falls, only to bounce back up tomorrow. Down
to your alligator shoes. I’ll kiss you on the river.
Meet you in the middle of a suitcase and wonder

do you think of me this way...?
Do you even know I’ve gone? Say my name, Detroit.
I pray you claim me. A small town boy.
Born in New Jersey, but made in Detroit.
My heart beats like tool and die for you.
like horse power and pistons for you,
while mechanized, lumpenized robot
zombies haunt Mack Avenue.

Here they come, a gang of buildings in tank tops,
Mack Trucks in do rags, marching
down to Hastings Street.
Though I never knew you back when
you wore your onyx necklace
like a tire around your neck, I witness

the aftermath. Dipping your blue black hands
in electric currents of music and art. The circumference
of Outer Drive. Moross and Joy.
Paris of the Midwest they called you.

And every time ‘67 fires or Halloween came around,
you lived up to it. The year I was born, you blew up.
I heard it. I came when I could. I’ve never left.
I stay, even when I go. Chosen heart.
Adopted town. From Belle Isle to Eight Mile.

Chocolate city where the mothership landed.
Late night downtown and the peacocks are out
on Fourth Street, calling to billboards
that hover over highways, telling stories to streetlamps.
The moon is a plate full of soul food, Mexican food.
Pierogies and paczkis. Kafta and curry
We mix and separate, mix and separate.

Each Prentis stoop is a garage rock chord
strummed and banged, like a car mechanics sledge.
A man screams beneath the Ambassador bridge.
Another drums on plastic tubs for tourists.
“Will work for food” is a piece of poetry
scribbled on an art house wall.

Festival wizards, Saunderson, Atkins and May.
The Big Three. De trois, of three.
Black panthers, white panthers and Lions, oh my.
Tight boys in rock pants, the hustlers in Palmer Park.
Lovers, thugs and blues men with axes
sharp enough to cut down another forced overtime shift.
The sun dresses flowing like the Detroit River. Supremely
turning, bending with the weight of the city. Detroit,

your beautiful hair woven women, putting on gloves
and grabbing tools next to me on the assembly line,
teaching me what perseverance and being a brother is
all about. Overtime fists clocking. These are the hands
that braid hair and lock dread, cook meat that falls
right off the bone into fat, black pots of collards working harder
and harder...
and harder still...

...so step on, Detroit,
dribble and shoot,
pass and play,
struggle and fight,
darken and light,
drive and impel,
riot and quell, pick the steel burrs
off the cross members at the front of the Jeep Cherokee.
Look what we have made you. Steam and steel.
Still, that’s how hard I love you.

David Blair
Sept. 19, 1967 -- July 23, 2011

David Alan Blair “Blair”, age 43, born Sept. 19, 1967, passed away Saturday, July 23, 2011. David grew up in Newton, N.J., but came to call Detroit his adopted home. He is the son of Hildegard Blair and Herbert Blair.

Blair was an award-winning, multi-faceted artist: poet, singer-songwriter, writer, performer, musician, community activist and teacher. In the words of Metro Times journalist Melissa Giannini, “Blair focused his work on the hope that rises from the ashes of despair.”

A 2010 Callaloo Fellow and a National Poetry Slam Champion, his first book of poetry, Moonwalking, was recently released by Penmanship Books. Blair, as a solo artist, and with The Urban Folk Collective, self-released more than seven records in the last ten years. His most recent album, The Line, with his band The Boyfriends, was released in 2010 on Repeatable Silence Records.

Throughout his life, Blair performed at venues, large and small, across the nation and around the world. He was nominated for seven Detroit Music Awards, including a 2007 nod for Outstanding Acoustic Artist. He was named Real Detroit Weekly Readers Poll’s Best Solo Artist and The Metro Times Best Urban Folk Poet. In 2007, he won the Seattle-based BENT Writing Institute Mentor Award.

As well as being the recipient of numerous awards, he taught classes and lectured on poetry and music in Detroit Public Schools, The Ruth Ellis Center, Hannan House Senior Center, the YMCA of Detroit, and at various universities, colleges and high schools across the country.

Blair has friends and fans on almost every continent. He will be greatly missed by the loved ones he left all too early. He is preceded in death by his father, Herbert Blair. He is survived by his mother, Hildegard (Smith), siblings Herbert Blair (who resides in Pennsylvania), Tony Blair (New Jersey), Walter Blair (Florida), Joy Blair Swinson (New Hampshire) and many nieces, nephews, cousins, aunts and uncles.

And every raindrop falling from the sky

is like a tribute to the blue skies following behind,

And every raindrop falling to the sea

is like a testament to a new life that will come to be.

~Blair

Kevin Holmes features at Sundara on Aug. 25

Touring slam poet Kevin Holmes features at Sundara Boutique & Gallery, 22 East Route 66, Flagstaff, at 7 p.m., Saturday, Aug. 25.

Kevin Holmes is the Santa Cruz Slammaster, Team Coach, and Anchor Poet.

Kevin led the first Santa Cruz slam team to a 3rd place finish at the 2010 National Poetry Slam's Group Piece finals. In 2011, as a poet coach, he returned to NPS to tie for 5th. 


Kevin Holmes (famed Santa Cruz Slam Poet) Came up with Dusty Rose to Feature at the Chicoslam. Flmed April 15, 2010 in 1080i HiDef
 
Before co-founding the new Santa Cruz Slam, Kevin's surreal political commentary somehow won a 2009 Berkley finals and took a top 20 finish at the Individual World Poetry Slam. Kevin enjoys homemade deep fried tofu, Doctor Who, and dry gin.

Kevin has been involved with the University of California Santa Cruz's campus slam team since 2004 as poet and then a coach. In 2009 his coaching pressed the UCSC team to a 2nd place finish at the Collegiate Union Poetry Slam Invitational.

When not lingering around dimly lit rooms with microphones, Kevin works with special needs students.

Kevin Holmes' winning poem at Tourettes Without Regrets. Filmed and edited by Zero Coordinate Inc.

Fifty Years of Exploration to Our Neighboring Planets

The first attempts to reach Mars (1960) and Venus (1961) failed, yet triumph followed quickly. Of the nearly 200 solar, lunar, and interplanetary missions depicted on this map, most have been Earth's closest neighbors. As rocketry, navigation, and imaging have become ever more capable and reliable, the planets and many of their moons have been examined in detail. The New Horizons mission to Pluto is under way, as is the MESSENGER mission to Mercury. Others not yet launched, perhaps not yet dreamed, await. --National Geographic

"Unrequited Love Poem" by Sierra DeMulder

Sierra DeMulder performs "Unrequited Love Poem" in St. Paul, Minnesota.

In addition to winning the 2009 and 2010 National Poetry Slams with Saint Paul, Sierra DeMulder ranked 9th at the Individual World Poetry Slam, 11th at the Women of the World Poetry Slam and coached MacAlester College to Final Stage at College Union Poetry Slam Invitational2010. She was awarded Best Female Poet at CUPSI 2009 and in January 2010, her first full-length manuscript, "The Bones Below: Poems by Sierra DeMulder," was published in 2010 by Write Bloody Publishing. She released her second book, New Shoes on a Dead Horse, in 2012, coincidentally on my birthday, March 12.

Sierra DeMulder on tumblr

Video by A Poem Observed // Button Poetry

Poetry Observed is committed to producing high quality videos of performance poetry, off the stage. The first series features Twin Cities-based poets and was produced in collaboration with Button Poetry.

"Snakes & Bees," group poem by Slam New Orleans

The poem, "Snakes & Bees," that sent Slam New Orleans on to win the 2012 National Poetry Slam. The team scored a 27.7, 0.4 higher than the second-place team and SNO never looked back.
The poets are, front row, left to right, Kataalyst, Tarriona Tank Ball and Sha'Condria ICon Sibley with Akeem Martin in the back.

"Oil Dealers & Deepwater Part II – Étouffée" redux

Part II – Étouffée

the last thing he remembered
was her étouffée
the way shrimp and chicken
could fall apart in his mouth
the texture of onion,
the soft burn of the bell pepper,
the crunch of celery
the way a drop of saffron
could flavor a whole meal
for a moment
after the alarm sounded
after the shock of fear subsided in his spine
he was there again
in her Baton Rouge kitchen
surrounded by the smell of her labors

he had seen a blowout on another rig
before BP
before Deepwater Horizon
everyone jumped to their posts
did their jobs
and when all was said and done
insurance wrote off the damage
and they thanked heaven no one got hurt

for a moment
he flashed back to that rig
hoped it would repeat

and as the rumble rose
his eyes dimmed
the world fell away from focus
and he could taste  her étouffée in his throat

the moment was too quick to prepare
he saw the faces of the men around him
he had seen them all today on the rig —
they were 11 roughnecks who would go home
when the job was over
they were strangers before the rig
and they would be afterward
they always wanted to be forgettable
for a roughneck,
to have one’s name known
means you’ve fucked up
you screwed the boss’s daughter
you carelessly killed a man
or you died on a rig

they were 11 men
whose names would be remembered:
Jason Anderson
Aaron Dale Burkeen
Donald Clark
Stephen Curtis
Gordon Jones
Roy Wyatt Kemp
Karl Kleppinger
Blair Manuel
Dewey Revette
Shane Roshto
Adam Weise
no longer forgettable


when it came
the rip roar of steel and crude
swallowed in a sun
the last thing he remembered
was her étouffée
the last thought
was the smell of Cajun cooking
the feel of her arms around him
as the bowels of the earth
those billions of animals
compressed into oil
buried for millions of years
saw the sky again
released the rage of imprisonment
ignited into fire
rose into the sky
carried his disintegrated memories
with them
rising like steam
from a cooking pan
of her étouffée


the earth hemorrhaged billions of gallons
like a head wound
across the Gulf
to her, it was bloodstain


denied his body,
she collapsed
the first time she touched the oily surf
prayed that somewhere in the black crude
there was some drop of him
some molecule of her husband
the size of a saffron seed


after she walked home
barefoot from beach across the bayou
she refused to wash
the oil would fall away
but he would hold her
sink into her skin
flavor her like saffron
she has no gravesite to visit
but she can smell him in the kitchen
any time she cooks étouffée

Deepwater Horizona victims
Jason C. Anderson, 35, Midfield, Texas, father of two.
Aaron Dale Burkeen, 37, Philadelphia, Miss., married, father of two (14-year-old daughter Aryn and 6-year-old son Timothy), died four days before his 38th birthday.
Donald Clark, 49, Newellton, La., married to Sheila Clark.
Stephen Ray Curtis, 39, Georgetown, La., married and had two teenagers. Taught his son to hunt and play baseball and was active in his church.
Roy Wyatt Kemp, 27, Jonesville, La., married to Courtney Kemp.
Karl D. Kleppinger Jr., 38, Natchez, Miss., U.S. Army veteran of Operation Desert Storm, enjoyed NASCAR and cooking barbecue. Married with one son, Aaron.
Gordon L. Jones, 28, Baton Rouge. Wife Michelle Jones was nine months pregnant with their second son when he died.
Keith Blair Manuel, 56, Gonzales, La., father of three (Kelli Taquino, Jessica Manchester and Ashley Jo Manuel). Engaged to Melinda Becnel. Had season tickets to Louisiana State University baseball and football games.
Dewey A. Revette, 48, State Line, Miss., married with two daughters. Had been with Transocean for 29 years.
Shane M. Roshto, 22, Liberty, Miss., married to Natalie Roshto, father of 3-year-old Blain Michael.
Adam Weise, 24, Yorktown, Texas. During time off, the former high school football star spent time with his girlfriend, hunted deer and fished from his boat.

Oil Dealers & Deep Water Part I - redux

Part I – Oil Dealers*

drive the needle deeper
we need this to fuel us
drive it deeper
till it hits
suck it out like Mother Nature
was givin’ a blowjob
it hurts, yeah, but hurts more
when we don’t have none



used to have our own,
but never enough
I found some pure stuff
bought it cheap
right next door
who knew the neighbor was a dealer?
had to go under the water
not so easy and finding it in the dirt
but don’t matter none
once it goes in
you don’t think about where it came from



got it pure and cheap
got it from B.P.
always trust a Limey, I say
they talk like us and don’t do no wrong



drive the needle deeper
we need this to fuel us
drive it deeper
till it hits
suck it out like Mother Nature
was givin’ a blowjob
it hurts, yeah, but hurts more
when we don’t have none



we don’t trust the Saudi dealer anymore
he’s got too many issues
beats his wife for speaking out
little brothers always bitchin’
’bout how we smack ’em around
Saudi thinks we like him
but we won’t even know his name
if he didn’t have any



his crew don’t trust us none
last time we went there
one o’ them ragheads
left us with a bloody lip
knocked over a few towers in our neighborhood
but we done fucked him up good



we only go to the Saudi for this junk
when we’re desperate
— and when we’re armed, rollin’ with our boys
got to show ’em who’s boss
if you want a fair deal



had some homegrown
but it’s gone bunk
always need more
if we’re going to make it ride
and if it runs out
we still got the Saudi
he’s eager to deal
if he don’t sell to the Chinaman first
but if he do
we’ll just go back with bigger guns
bleed him dry till he’s done
maybe go visit the Chinaman
sure, he packs heat
and rides with his boys
but I think we can take him
We’re ’Mericans,
and we don’t take no shit
John Wayne wasn’t no pussy
we're bad motherfuck'rs



drive the needle deeper
we need this to fuel us
drive it deeper
till it hits
suck it out like Mother Nature
was givin’ a blowjob
it hurts, yeah, but hurts more
when we don’t have none



spill a little, no big deal
always more where this came from
if you lose control
let it flow, let it burn
give Mother Nature a facial
it hurts, yeah, but hurts more
when we don’t have none

*All BP satire logos from www.logomyway.com