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!!!

didgeridoo
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?
Sheesh.
Anyway, Jedda blows a low heart-thrumming tone through the Didgeridoo as El Guapo comes to the stage…

*WvWvWvWvWvvvv*
Sparkling, reflecting, dazzling
shards of light that bounce
*VzVzVzVzVz*
carom
explode
across my eyes.
My breath belabored as I
*zVzVzVzVzVzV*
breathe
inhale
exhale
of your
*ZwZwZwZw*
all…
encompassing…
domain…
*zvzvzVWVWVWvWvWzWzWZwvwv*
So overwhelmed.
So dwarfed.
When will it end?
vwvwvwvWVWVWz*
Will it ever end?
I can’t see an end.
I lean into you…
*vwz*
as I shovel the damn snow…
*ZVZVZVZVWVWVWVWWZWZWZWZ*

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.


Bodies
lie on the battlefield.
*shkkkkkkkk*
The wind
blows over them both.
*shshshshshshsh*
One shivers
naked
unprotected
abandoned.
*shk-k-k-k*
His pale hand reaches out
searching
questing.
*shwiahhhhhhshwwww*
He finds
the edge
the thread
the corner
*shkahshwk*
And
*shhhhwwwwww*
Yanks.
*SHKAW*
The blankets now covers them both.
*shwkshwkshwk*
But the battle has just begun.
*shhhhhhh*

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-
*thud*
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.
*plink*
You open, parting with a whisper as you swallow me whole.
Gently, I press against your button.
*plooonk*
You sigh, then rush
With me
Inside
You
*pling plink*
Faster…faster..faster.fasterfaster
*plinkink*
Higher…higher..higher.higherhigher
*PLUNGGGGG*
Together we ride
Up.
Up.
I feel it coming…
*plingplingPLONGplunk*
There it is-
DING!!!
*pling*
You shudder, then come
To
A
Halt.

I step off the elevator.
*plang*

Coool….

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-
silence…*
*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*

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

“Did you lock the front door?”
*chk-chk-chk-chrak*
Crap.

We turn around…
*plink*

Beatnik Poetry Slam – Travelin’ Man


Today’s Music: Sandra Boynton – Cows

hipster-cow
*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.
*moo*
Some bring laughter,
Others make him scream.

But when he comes back
*moOOo*
(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?”

*moo*

Dig it.

Beatnik Poetry Slam – Ice


Today’s Music: Stan Getz – Autumn Leaves

You can see his inner Beatnik hidden in the ruffles.

You can see his inner Beatnik hidden in the ruffles.


Tonight’s special guest Marvin Suggs, resplendent in a very sparkly vest, stands behind the Mupphaphone, mallet at the ready.
Who knows what excitement giddy-ifies his brain? No one can tell from his expression, as he is a consummate performer.

The stage goes dark. A single burning diamond white LED picks out El Guapo as he strides to the microphone, his beret cutting a swirling path through the cloud from his clove cigarette.

Ice

The desolate wind
*ow*
blows
through my
*ow*
soul.
*OW*
The scrub trees of the plain
*ow OW Ow*
shiver
*owowow*
with remorse.
*Owwwwww*
I huddle deep
*OOOoowwwwWWW*
within
*ouch*
my
*oh*
own skin.
*oWowOW*
Even though it
*owwwww*
is
*ow*
Spring.
*OWowOW*
The wind is a reflection
*owOWow*
of the dark.
*OwOwOw*
The polite
*ooooow*
considerate
*owow*
dark…
*Owwwwowowow*
I
*ow*
blame
*OW*
Canada.
*OWOWOWOowowoW*

Coooooool…

And for those of you unfamiliar with the Muppaphone:

Beatnik Poetry Slam: Revolution


Today’s Music: Cassandra Wilson – You Move Me
Note On Today’s Music: This might not be to everyones taste (heavy jazz), but man, does she know how to set a mood! Hope you like it.

Dig it, Daddio.

Dig it, Daddio.


The lights dim as our beatnik poet shuffles across the stage, lime green spotlight highlighting his clove cigarette and Ramones t-shirt (with Jessica Simpsons face decaled over the band members and a tag line “Irony: It’s what’s for dinner” on the bottom).

In the corner, noted South American drummer Cervez Cerveza holds court over a wide array of noisemakers, stainless steel brushes held at the ready.

The first slam “cigarette drag” of the new year. All about *cough* the resolution *wheeze*. And the Revol*hack*ution. *wheezehackcough*.
So lets ge*hackwheezecough*t hip to the scene, cool cats! *wheezecoughcoughcoughhack*
Medic!

*The yellow spot pierces the haze of patchouli to light up our beatnik. Soft greens soften the hulking image of Cervaz*

Revolution

We live together for years
Same old, same old…
tshk tshk
We
cook
tshhhhhhhhh
We
clean
tshhhhhh bang
We
laugh
fwa boom
But trouble lurks beneath.
*maraca rattle*

It starts in the eyes
A tightening, a darkening, a stare
fshhhhhhTOK
Something is not right.

Another night
We undress for bed
ssssstsh
Clothes in the laundry bag gently placed.
The floor clear.
Except
For
My
Socks
ting
“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?
BADUM
The revolution has begun.
*shaking rain stick*