Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Invictus – by William Ernest Henley (1849 – 1903)

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

Tonight we went to attend another Poetry Slam put on by the Full Moon Poets. We were there last year and enjoyed it very much.

This year I was one of the five judges. I was judge number three, the one that was booed most of the time for giving the low scores – in case you are reading that and you were there.

Again, I was impressed with the quality of the work. This contest was again a battle of the two giants, Rudy Francisco and Corey Taft. Corey recited the last work of the day: “Say Anything to Me” and he took the only score of  the night of a perfect 50, five judges all with a perfect 10. Corey is amazing. Rudy won the contest by a tenth of a point ahead of Corey. I was a little disappointed because Rudy used his poem “Stripping” as his number two work, even though he had used it last February when he also won. I deducted a half a point for that. Most of the other judges do not appear to have known or noticed that — of course, you had to have been there last year to know.

If you ever have a chance to see a poetry contest, or if you live in the San Diego area and can go to the poetry slam, do it. You will be surprised how much your expectations will be exceeded by the experience and the quality of the work you will witness.

Job well done, all 17 contestants. It was an honor to listen to you.

Last night we went to the “Poetry Slam,” a poetry competition put on by a local group called the Full Moon Poets.

I expected a few quirky and bookish people sit and read sentimental stuff. I was way off. The La Paloma in Encinitas, an alternative movie theater, was at least half full with spectators and contestants. There were 20 competing poets, who each had three minutes to recite their original poems. The poets all presented their own material. There were judges, andout of the 20 contestants, seven winners went to a second round, and four more to the final round. Then there was a 1st, 2nd and 3rd place, cash prizes collected church style, albeit in large popcorn buckets from the audience.

OK, there were about ten so-so poets. I could have done as well as any of them. Then there were another 5 or so pretty good ones,  with clever material, either funny, or thought provoking, or outlandish in some way or other. For instance, there was one older man who had a poem about an older man taking a piss at a bathroom in a casino, I kid you not. It was graphic, but in the end, it actually worked. Talk about creativity.

Then there were about five or so superb poets. Their writing, their creativity, their imagery, and finally,  their powerful delivery just blew me away. I have never been in a situation where the delivery of a poem was a powerful experience. I have written many a poem over  the years, and I have always considered myself pretty good at it. Many times I have felt sorry for myself  that my poems are  just that, poems and they can’t really convey emotion very well to audiences. A poem written in a book is just words on paper, that was my excuse. I always wished I had more musical skill, because then, rather than writing a poem, I could write a song, and then play it with a guitar or piano; now I could convey emotion. Now I could send a message.

How wrong I was with my attitude. After last night, I know that reciting a poem can be ever so powerful as a song. The two winners, number two Corey Taft,  and number one Rudy Francisco, are both very young men in their early to mid twenties, and they are consumate professionals in their art. It is an adventure to watch them recite one of their poems, it is something you don’t forget.

Rudy Francisco has one of his poems on his MySpace (above) site so you can get a taste. Corey Taft’s style is entirely different, but utterly refreshing. He should post some work, too.

I was blown away. This event exceeded my expectation by several orders of magnitude.

Am I going to attend the next slam? Hell yes.