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The Slam is over. I did not win. That was not a surprise. The Good News is, I did it. And did it well. Also I learned heaps.
- The origin of the “slam” is with the song form “Rap”. A “slam” is a poetry competition.
- Our Durham writer’s group competition rules, allowed short stories as well. I learned that stories do not fit well into the “slam” category.
- A “poetry slam” has a driving rhythm that allows the speaker to say more words in less time and build to a climax without an actual story line.
- A “slam” or “spoken word” poem usually takes a stand on an issue.
- The language is very poetical. I loved the use of words by these poets.
There were nine competitors in our “Slam” competition. Five used poetry. Two of us, the only two over 70 used short stories. All in all, it was a great experience. Will I compete next year? Only if I can write a driving poem on an issue. Since I seldom write poetry, I would need to do a pile of practising. At the moment writing poetry is not very high on my priority list.
I’ve seldom tried writing poetry. It’s not my gift. This morning, I was having my daily conversation with God. First thing after waking I like to “feed my soul” with the writing of others. I picked up James Taylor’s Everyday Psalms and checked out the Psalm 85. (set out in the lectionary for this week). I was inspired to write the following. It might be a poem. I don’t know. It doesn’t rhyme so it could be blank verse. It came from my pen in short lines. MY QUESTION IS, WHAT COULD I DO TO TURN THIS INTO POETRY? MAYBE NOTHING. This morning I feel called to share it. Please comment.
That present looks spectacular.
A gift of beauty sent from God.
And on My shelf.
Chefs know presentation is everything.
I see that gift every day.
Sometimes I turn it to catch the sunlight,
Appreciate it from a new angle.
I lift it. Check it’s weight. Even shake it.
Still the gift remains unopened.
I don’t need it.
I’ve done nothing that requires this.
Opened now, there’ll be nothing for the future.
It’s meant for someone else.
The one who believes.
But I long to open it.
If I were starving and this a gift of food,
I would surely open it.
It doesn’t disappear, or fade.
It’s always there.
Can I? Will I?
It’s my choice, always my choice.