Judging

Posted: September 13, 2010 in Poetry, Slam
Tags: ,

Wow… I didn’t write a single poem in July. The festival (and not being on a team) is distracting me more than I would have thought.

CONTEXT: August, 2010

I wrote this piece for the Bill Brown 1-2-3 2nd Anniversary Show.

This show is a little different from a regular slam. First off, it is in a 1-2-3 format so the first round is 1 minute poems, 2nd round 2 minute, etc.

Secondly, it is a head-to-head show, so instead of getting scores, the judges just choose which of two poets/poems they prefer and that poet moves onto the second round.

Last year I did quite well in this show. I managed to get all the way to the semi-finals before running into the brick wall that is World Slam Champion, Ian Keteku.

This year I was not so lucky. I drew Truth Is… in the first round. Sigh.

The good news is the confirmation that Truth and Beth-Ann are just about finished their move to Ottawa. They will be great additions to our community!

Anyway, here is my one-minute poem that lost to Truth Is…

    Judging

This poem goes out
To all the judges
In the audience.
Not just the ones who
Jot down scores,
Hold up placards
Or otherwise have their voices
Heard in an official capacity.
No, I am talking about those
Other judges who pass
Judgment with their stares
As our wares display for
Inspection.
The querrelous inflection
That opens up for dissection
Each hinted at indiscretion
That led to a poetic conception.
For each performance is a birth
Where we then put our
Baby on a platform
To see if it conforms
To your exacting standards.
Switch on the flood-lights
For tonight’s prize fights
To see who puts out whose lights
In the knockout of the night!
A right hook that only
Connects after ricocheting
Off the ears of those judging
To land only where they aim it.
So whether I have been
Pre-judged or post-judged
I don’t begrudge any of you.
Here I stand,
Chin exposed,
Offering up more than
My body or mind, as I can shield those.
You’ve got a rock in one hand
And love light in the other
And my soul sits encased in glass.
Now it is your time,
Pick your weapon and target
And let it fly.

“““““““““““““

The next one is written but not performed. It would have been the two minute piece at Bill Brown.

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