Category Archives: Beatnik Poetry Slam

Beatnik Poetry Slam – So Cool, It’s Downright Cold.

Today’s Music: Hank Mobley – Soft Impressions
Days Til Spring: 19!!!

Famed Aborignal Didgeridoo player Jedda Biralee strides to the stage resplendent in his reflective grey double breasted Armani suit.
Because didgeridoos are cool.
Anyway, Jedda draws his 12 foot didgeridoo with him, fitting it into into the carved dingo holders, the upturned mouth resting atop a sandstone representation of Wayamba, the turtle. The house lights dim as the spotlight stabs through the cloud of patchouli oil and clove cigarettes, drilling through the steam of designer espresso and picks out a man dressed in black ski jacket, black ski pants, black scarf, thick black glo- Look, he’s covered head to toe because he’s freezing, and his clothes are all black, ok?
Anyway, Jedda blows a low heart-thrumming tone through the Didgeridoo as El Guapo comes to the stage…

Sparkling, reflecting, dazzling
shards of light that bounce
across my eyes.
My breath belabored as I
of your
So overwhelmed.
So dwarfed.
When will it end?
Will it ever end?
I can’t see an end.
I lean into you…
as I shovel the damn snow…

Beatnik Poetry Slam: Covered

Today’s Music: Gerry Mulligan – Soft Shoe

“Welcome to the fall season of Beatnik Poetry Slam. As a reminder, please, no cell phone calls during the slam. Though really, when was the last time anyone used a cell phone to make a call? Seriously, of all the features on my phone, the calling one is probably used least next to- What? Oh, sorry…
Anyone, welcome, and we hope you enjoy.”

Luciano Lovetro strides to the stage in his red crushed velvet smoking jacket and takes his place next to the acoustic-electric rainstick.

El Guapo mounts the dais. The smoke from his clove cigarette loops around the twirled ends of his chai-tea scented mustachio. He slides his Ray Ban Wayfarers to the tip of his nose and begins.

The eyes and 'stache of a poet. A strange, strange poet.

The eyes and ‘stache of a poet.
A strange, strange poet.

lie on the battlefield.
The wind
blows over them both.
One shivers
His pale hand reaches out
He finds
the edge
the thread
the corner
The blankets now covers them both.
But the battle has just begun.

Beatnik Poetry Slam – Rise Inside

Today’s Music: Ben Webster – Solitude

If he was La Guapa, El Guapo would look like this. But with a goatee.

If he was La Guapa, El Guapo would look like this.
But with a goatee.

The swirl of steam escapes the triple espressos,mingling with the wisps of smoke from lavender cigarettes, the waves parting as El Guapo saunters to the stage of the dimly lit room. His black felt beret matching his black wool suit matching his (mostly) black goatee matching his black Ray Ban sungla-
El Guapo turns his tripping into a smooth “I meant to do that” hop and twirl, removing his sunglasses and hopping on stage.
He nods to Sufjiannan Eisenberg on the electric glockenspiel, and takes his place in front of the mic.
A pinpoint spotlight lifts him out of the dark, slowly expanding to illuminate his presence on the stage…

I thrust in my arm as you close around me.
You clench.
I clench.
You open, parting with a whisper as you swallow me whole.
Gently, I press against your button.
You sigh, then rush
With me
*pling plink*
Together we ride
I feel it coming…
There it is-
You shudder, then come

I step off the elevator.


Beatnik Poetry Slam – Vacation

Today’s Music: Iggy Pop – The Passenger

Feel the intensity of poetry. And my porkpie hat.

Feel the intensity of poetry.
And my porkpie hat.

*Zildjian Clevis whips two shiny silver spoons from his pockets, one in each hand. He moves them both to his right hand, and slowly at first but gaining speed, clacks, plunks and drums them together in a rising crescendo of madness, then-
*El Guapo strides to the stage, clove cigarette in hand, travel brochures overflowing his pockets, ostrich feather rising from his porkpie hat

He takes a long drag on the cigarette, the scent of cloves and fresh cut glass permeating the coffee house. He nods to Zildjian*

The car…
The steed.
Gleams in the sun in the driveway.
We sort…
We stuff.
Everything in its appointed place.
The water…
The snacks.
The GPS as a beacon.
Our clothes…
Our toys.
To accompany us on our way.
We journey…
Ever onward.
The road unrolls before us.
The miles…
The hours.
Quiet companionship interrupted by a question:

“Did you lock the front door?”

We turn around…

Beatnik Poetry Slam – Travelin’ Man

Today’s Music: Sandra Boynton – Cows

*El Guapo, resplendent in an ironic Hawaiian shirt strides to the mic*
“Beats and Birds, Dudes and Dames, Tonight I’d like to introduce the famous Ray Kroc, providing musical accompaniment on the cowbell.”
*The man on the back of the stage looks surprised. He rushes up to El Guapo, and (covering the mic), they have a brief but heated conversation. Ray drops back offstage and begins pulling something. El Guapo hangs his head and shakes it before returing to the mic.*
“Apparently there was a miscommunication.” *He glares at Ray who is now smiling, positioned alongside a Holstein.* “He’ll be playing the…cow.”

*The spotlight focuses on El Guapo*

The traveling man
Goes places others only dream.
Some bring laughter,
Others make him scream.

But when he comes back
(for he’ll always return)
One question
Continues to burn

He asks once *moo* more,
That Travelin’ Man
“Does anyo*MOOOOO*ne know…

Where I am?”


Dig it.