Poetry in MOtion

It is National Poetry Month. I almost missed it. Dang! The good news is it is only half over. I saw a poster for the Late Seating series, at Actors Theatre, they are having a poetry related show to celebrate National Poetry Month. If it wasn't for that, I might've missed it completely. Poetry means a lot to me, you see, I am married to a poet. She got her degree at the Naropa Institute in Boulder, Colorado, where she studied with Allen Ginsberg, William Burroughs, Gregory Corso and Anne Waldman among others. I believe poetry brought us together. Our first non-date was at the launch party for her book, "Filmmaking", which was held at the Head Injury Clinic in Berkeley. If that is not a perfect metaphor for poetry, I don't know what is. That is the beauty of poetry, if you look, there is poetry everywhere. At the Head Injury Clinic, at the bus stop, at the intersection of curiosity and certainty. See, that's poetry right there. Open your eye's, close your mouth and find your voice. Oop's! More poetry. (It's hard to turn it off once you get going.)

I must confess I don't know much about the event. (Don't let that stop you!) But from what I understand there is a group of poets from something called, InKy, which, from a cursory reading of the poster as I walked out of the coffeeshop, is a local group dedicated to poetry. Kudos and salutations! To my new InKy friends! That is also the beauty of poetry, you have all these friends you've never even met. I'm not sure about the name though, I think it's probably a metaphor for blood, sweat and ink. All mixed together to make a bitches brew out of emotional reportage, ennui and cranial leakage. And tears! Must not forget the tears. Tears and the gnashing of teeth are the particle accelerators in the supercollider of the poesy machine. The Ky is probably for Kentucky, and they are in Kentucky! This can't be a coincidence. It can't! But poets are tricksters and magicians sometimes, so who knows, maybe it's is a riddle wrapped in a metaphor wrapped in a simile. The good ones make it look so easy.

So rise up and find the poet within!

(cue the saxophone, I feel a poem coming on):

Cavity Resonator

Words are my weapon,

my heart is unarmed

You wear your smile like a loincloth,

snapped and dragged

through the fire of our desire.

DESIRE!

DESIRE IS!

DESIRE WANTS!

DESIRE GIVES!

DESIRE WETS THE BED!

Our connection is electric

Our love is combustible

Graphite awareness

Blinkered comfort

Sing the music of lawnmowers.

So go to Actors Theatre, go the rooftops, go to the street corners but mostly go to the depths of your souls.

Let us raise our goblets on high, and toast the goddess Erato! Our lover, our mistress, our shared muse. And let us drink from the rivers of her mystery and swim in the pools of her symbolism. Her lifeblood is our poetic nectar! Let us suckle at the breast of her perfection, and let us snuggle in the vicinity of her divinity! She gives us life and we are her humble servants!

MAKE ART, MAKE LOVE, MAKE POETRY!