Sedona Poetry Slam - 2012 season

"Scars Open Letter to Hollywood from Heath Ledger," by Marshall Soulful Jones

"Scars:
Open Letter to Hollywood from Heath Ledger"

Written and performed by Marshall "Soulful" Jones

Produced by: Hans Zimmer

Re-imagined by: Fiya Divine

If you're here
He's not
I'm not
And I'm sure you'd like to know why we're not Ill tell you ....
He loved her
And she's not here right now because of you

....Fame is a disease
We all got it We're all sharing needles with it If you're not careful

You will die before you die

I mean, look at us
NO!
NO!
Silly!
Put the suicide note down
AND LOOK AT US

Look at all the bottles on the floor
Half of these things I cant even pronounce
But
Did you notice "Xanax" reads the same forward and backward?
No?
I thought it was funny
Anyway
Apparently my apartment on Broome Street
Did not sweep enough under the rug
So now you see what you've done
Now you know how I got these scars
See, the camera keeps rolling
Like a wheel
Turning your insides
You can't have a normal life
Without a production team
With a search warrant for your bad day
How many tabloids do you think it took to ruin him, hmm?
How many gossip sites did it take?
How many lines of cocaine do you think we need to forget
That everyday we're getting farther and farther away
FROM EVERYTHING We love
Oh you thought he was acting?
Oh You think I'm not real
Oh I'm real
REEL TO REEL
And when you 're sick with fame like him
You need people like me to keep you laughing
So when the lady left with everything
I said "Why So Serious?"
Just take two Ambien
Those are good for the nightmares
Take one of these
Two of those
A whole fuckload of these


I kept the bathroom cabinets jokes coming

Because Painkillers can shove your mistakes off a balcony
And you can still smile about it
You think you know him

You don't

I was there
I was there to tell him that if were gonna go anywhere
We were gonna go out with a bang!
So WHY SO SERIOUS!?!

Marshall "Soulful" Jones

Marshall "Soulful" Jones cannot be stopped. Do not be deceived by the sultry name this poet brings pure power to the mic. His style, a fusion of raw hip-hop tenacity neo-soul vocal mastery and an excellent command of the English language. With an overflowing imagination and an arsenal of talents Soulful has a wellspring of ideas matched only by his seemingly unlimited versatility and creativity. With many voices Soulful speaks to the laymen, the scholar, the feeler and the thinker. He sees no boundaries nor limitations accepting neither label nor branding. He is always one step ahead of himself approaching poetry from new and exciting angles leaving no topic safe from his pen.

Be it the humor of today's technology, the vulnerability of true manhood or the somber conditions of African-American life Soulful desires to touch everyone.Whether slamming or simply sharing, his drive and passion for the art are apparent in his delivery and his presence.


Bio from Words With a Pulse.

Worst time to busk ... or newest Jaguar Paw song?

This Libyan scene apparently picked the worst time and place to busk ... or is recording a new Jaguar Paw song in the midst of a street battle involving heavy, high-caliber weapons fire and a touching acoustic guitar.

Jaguar Paw is a Sedona Dada punk band. The song will likely be on the forthcoming album.

Veteran Haiku

Decades after war

Old man still wears his medals

Like I will your name

"A Constellation of Scars" by Christopher Fox Graham

"A Constellation of Scars" 

By Christopher Fox Graham

only long-term lovers take the time
to ponder the origins of marks on skin

the first thing I notice are her scars:
she's a wandering tomboy
with more cuts and scrapes
than a hardbody Buick in an action film
but she's never been broken

I chart them as she sleeps so I can write poems later
these fingertips can still recall them
the way surgeons never have nightmares
about patients they save
but they’re haunted by the faces they lost

she says she wears her scars like a constellation

I chart them like Galileo
trying to map her ancestry
circumnavigating her body as if Magellan
hired me as helmsman
and only I can get us safely home

every scar has a story
the way men who ink themselves
on every square inch
from big toe to eyebrow
can name the tattoo artist
and heartbreak behind each symbol

if she let you close enough to nap with an ear on her chest
you could hear the heartbreaking discord
as her mother's violin and father's oboe
played so selfishly
they forgot they had a daughter in the orchestra
trying to make peace between the melodies
that hadn't played the same song in decades

but open wounds grow a thicker skin
and 24 years of a bleeding heart
made her impregnable
the manufacturers of castles,
SWAT team body armor
and 747 black boxes
are negotiation to duplicate her skin as a prototype

but she only answers e-mails from war orphans
and young widowers who bury their first loves
because only they understand
what she teaches:
how to survive after the world ends
and do it with a smile
and the belief that everything is still beautiful

whatever doesn't kill you becomes a cliché
and every time some failed love
broke her in half
her heart phoenixed and doubled in size
so by the time she climbed into my arms
I could climb inside her chest
as if she made herself into a hammock
by taking all the times she whispered “I love you” to a stranger
but never heard back
wove them together
so that when she met a lover
who wanted to study the stories of her scars
he would have a place to sleep between shifts

I studied her scars like a crime scene
trying to figure out which cuts were misdemeanors
and which were alibis for felonies

until I came across the last one
on which she had written in invisible ink,
that only glowed when I kissed her
drunk with love
“there is no mystery to solve, boy,
I just wanted someone to come this far”

by then I learned her scars so well
that if they sang musical notes
I could play her like a symphony in the dark
the strings of her arms hummed work songs
learned alongside peasants in El Salvador
the percussion of her feet
beat bass rhythms of the wandering road
snare-drumming stories to mark the miles
between hitchhiking pickup spots
the brass of her legs intoned harmonies with strangers
like she was rearranging the stars
as if Rigel, Mintaka and the Horsehead Nebula
separated by thousands of light years
had any clue we call them Orion
and that in the bed of a pickup truck
in an empty parking lot
she and I use that unexpected relationship
between irrelevant clumps of hydrogen
to ignore the sheer absurdity
of how strangers become lovers
to kiss for the first time

“you see,” she says
“why I wear these scars like a constellation”
shooting stars scar the face of Sagittarius
or cut Hercules in half
but once they fall to Earth
it's as if they never happened
and no matter how many broken satellites
may scar the sky in your brief lifetime
we are just the dust of stars
condensed into living stories
the burning suns that make up these limbs
have been on fire for eons

shooting stars only last a second
but you can wish on these scars
until we swirl together as stardust
and burn bright as sun

2010 Southwest Shootout Poetry Slam


Group piece recorded live at The Kessler Theater in Oak Cliff on June 12, 2010, The poets are, from left, Christian Drake, Damien Flores, Joe Romero and Jessica Helen Lopez

"They Held Hands" at GumptionFest VI Poetry Open Mic

Christopher Fox Graham performs the poem "They Held Hands" at the GumptionFest VI Poetry Open Mic on Saturday, Sept. 17, 2011. The poem was written in 2003 for the 200 people who jumped or fell to the deaths from the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001.

Happy Dirt plays "I Got It On With the P.E. Teacher" at GumptionFest VI

Happy Dirt plays "I Got It On With the P.E. Teacher" at the Oak Creek Brewing Co. stage at GumptionFest VI

Vamp Syllabus at GumptionFest VI

Photo by Beth Robbins Nelson

Vamp Syllabus with Mike Leibowitz, left, Dylan Jung, Matt Barlow and Philip Robbins playing GumptionFest VI on Saturday, Sept. 17, 2011.

"So Beautiful" sung by Amelia Melody

Amelia Melody, daughter of Jason Vargo and Amy Lienhart sings the song "So Beautiful" at GumptionFest VI athe Best of Show Stage on Saturday, Sept. 17, 2011.

If the Beastie Boys Were Narcoleptic Haiku

Teresa Newkirk performs the best (and most painful) haiku at the third annual GumptionFest Haiku Death Match. Teresa went on to win the haiku slam.

Need more inspiration before GumptionFest's third annual Haiku Death Match?

GumptionFest VI's Haiku Death Match, aka GF6HDM

As in past years, we will hold a Haiku Death Match, aka Head-to-Head Haiku Slam, at GumptionFest VI: Return of the Art. GumptionFest VI will be Friday to Sunday, Sept. 16 to 18, along Coffee Pot Drive in West Sedona.

The Haiku Death Match will be held Sunday, Sept. 18 at 3 p.m. at the Best of Show Stage, on the corner of Yavapai and Coffee Pot drives.

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

More haiku to inspire you:

first, five syllables
then seven more syllables
five more, then you're done

Your mom's so ugly
she makes onions go cry
ha,ha ha, ha ... burn.

Dancing with the stars,
you left, on a gust of wind...
I used to hold you.
-- Jade Maestas

Solitary crow
atop tree's bare bones
standing watch on shore.
-- C.J. Almeten

Leaves fall and twigs snap
Branches sway and trunk decays
But the roots stay strong
--Tim Yu

Tropical Whirlwind
Rain lash and wind blows non stop
moving off and gone
-- Edward J. Neary

Email Subject Line Haiku
Viagra again!
Can there really be that much
Penile dysfunction?
-- Colleen A. Mayowski

Email leaves the leaves
on the trees; it connects and
saves our world at once
--Sarah Hatch

A sucker is born
every minute they say
which keeps SPAM alive.
--Kris Dougherty

GumptionFest's third annual Haiku Death Match nears, so start writing

GumptionFest VI's Haiku Death Match, aka GF6HDM

As in past years, we will hold a Haiku Death Match, aka Head-to-Head Haiku Slam, at GumptionFest VI: Return of the Art. GumptionFest VI will be Friday to Sunday, Sept. 16 to 18, along Coffee Pot Drive in West Sedona.

The Haiku Death Match will be held Sunday, Sept. 18 at 3 p.m. at the Best of Show Stage, on the corner of Yavapai and Coffee Pot drives.

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

Having trouble creating haiku? You can try this, Everypoet.com's Haiku Generator. While the haikus fit the 5-7-5 format, some are incoherent, but others form some creative images. You could take the suggestion and make something better, too. A few:

unaided laughter

sagging stones ringing cows scowl

intently riding

razors blush, pumpkins

emerge frigidly, mist

jingles, ruby hums

rippling limply, cow

excretes, lion ringing cheap

dolphins emerge

bewitched hyena

emerges loudly, heron

saddens, stream moaning

dumb cruel sick birch slides

blindly, retreating, moving

cruel enemy hides

thundershower cries

cries, hobbling

inanely, drily

firstborns spray, breasts leap

hardening, moping, archly

lewdly, decaying

There are 7.62 duodecillion possible combinations, or 7,620,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 which would take 241,463,229,142,900,600,806,144,953,988,900 years to read if you clicked one per second.

National Poetry Slam 2011 cypher, Mark Palos, Slam Free Or Die

Poet Mark Palos from Slam Free Or Die, (Manchester, N.H.), performs during a cipher at on the street in Cambridge, Mass., during the 2011 National Poetry Slam, Aug. 8-14 - after the Cambridge Police politely advise the poets to not applaud or cheer.

Shot in on the street outside 496 Massachusetts Ave., Cambridge, Mass.

National Poetry Slam 2011 cypher, poet #7

A poet in a cypher from 2011 National Poetry Slam, Aug. 8-14.

Shot in on the street outside 496 Massachusetts Ave., Cambridge, Mass.

If you can help me identify the poets in some these clips, please comment.

National Poetry Slam 2011 cypher, poet #6

A poet in a cypher from 2011 National Poetry Slam, Aug. 8-14.

Shot in on the street outside 496 Massachusetts Ave., Cambridge, Mass.

If you can help me identify the poets in some these clips, please comment.

National Poetry Slam 2011 cypher, poet #5

A poet in a cypher from 2011 National Poetry Slam, Aug. 8-14.

Shot in on the street outside 496 Massachusetts Ave., Cambridge, Mass.

If you can help me identify the poets in some these clips, please comment.

National Poetry Slam 2011 cypher, poet #4

A poet in a cypher from 2011 National Poetry Slam, Aug. 8-14.

Shot in on the street outside 496 Massachusetts Ave., Cambridge, Mass.

If you can help me identify the poets in some these clips, please comment.

National Poetry Slam 2011 cypher, poet #3

A poet in a cypher from 2011 National Poetry Slam, Aug. 8-14.

Shot in Le Meridian Hotel, Cambridge.

If you can help me identify the poets in some these clips, please comment.

"They Held Hands," for those who fell from the World Trade Center

"They Held Hands"

For the 200 people who jumped or fell to the deaths
from the World Trade Center on Sept. 11, 2001.

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

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

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

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

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

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

but they were not thinking about psychology
they were not thinking about terrorism
the debate about responsibility,
retalaiation,
wars, flags, and Patriot Acts
can wait until September 12th
this morning belongs to them
because they did not have a tomorrow
the true terror of that morning
is to know what they were thinking
as they decided then whether
to burn
or to fall
now, imagine having that conversation
with the stranger
sitting next to you:
The barricade at the door is on fire
the extinguisher is empty
we are blinded by the smoke
and on the windowsill of the 92nd floor
we wait until flames lick our clothes
before we lean forward
and choose that moment to fall
others who fell were scrambling
or screaming or on fire
but we held hands as we fell

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

I don’t know if they felt “mystical”
I know it takes
1 …
2 …
3 …
4 …
5 …
6 …
7 …
8.54 seconds to fall 1,144 feet

just enough time to say a prayer
or regret a memory
or ask forgiveness
or say goodbye
or wonder how the sky can be so perfectly blue
on such a beautiful morning