slam

So every sunday night there is open poetry in downtown Bryan at a little place called Revolution's. I have gone twice now, and have to say it is the neatest thing I've found here. Revolutions is quite hippie, and the poets are inspiring and often angst-ridden. I'm not very angst-ridden, but going there does make me want to write again. The angst isn't exactly what inspires me, but their passion does. I wrote this the other night after the poetry slam.



I don't know if I can show this, but what's inside insists I grow this
see poetry sometimes if flows but sits and stutters as is stops beneath my nose
and yet it's seething, no one knows this
but when I see what's left in me I wanna show this
to he who watches me and wonders:
is she bleeding deep beneath that placid core?

you see the struggle lies within though I feel it's not for you to break or bend
because these trifles that I tickle with my mind just will not mend
if left alone

but see they're small the things I think on
and maybe all the time I can't go wrong with leaving them to dissipate away

but I want to participate in action and react to any passion
that arises as my thoughts await the day
for anticipation of revolution however small deserves some resolution
even if it just stumbles out through fumbling words you say.