Wouldn't You Knoet?

Not that it has anything to do with this, but if you want to meet me (not beat me), I'll be hosting an event tonight at LivingArtSpace in Tulsa.

Poeformance

This is not your grandmother's poetry reading. We're going to kick out the jams and bring the crowd to its feet!

• Bill Z Poet will do Something From the Heart


• Marty Jensen will debut "Saving the Cicada, or How Powell Must Have Marvelled at His Fate."


• Featured Poet and Slam Champion Damion Shade will do a full set of verse, followed by his new band The Credits (see hip new poster, attached).

"Poetry is meant to be read -- loud."

Brought to you by the Living Arts High Poetry and Misdemeanors Committee.

Thursday October 21 at 7:30, Living ArtSpace, 3rd and Kenosha, Downtown Tulsa

[Click on through to read the poem]

Saving the Cicada (Or, How Powell Must Have Marvelled at His Fate)

I spied last night, to my delight
A jeweled bug on deck alight:
He, sheathed in silk, a wealthy arab;
On lesser pharoah's crown, a scarab.

My comrade saw no bug divine
This speck, said he, was not benign.
Debate ensued, he posed my error:
This race, he quoth, brought rosebush terror.

He vowed to slay my beetle dapper
With shock and awe of insect zapper.
Through liquor and diplomacy
I talked him down from warlike tree.

Anonce, the winged one in flight
Through open doorway did career;
Madly chasing beams of light
Around a crystal chandelier.

A yellow cat, demure, unstirred,
sat below and just observed

To excise beast from hostile house
I sought an aptly suited tool
And found a mighty net to joust
('Twas of the kind to skim the pool).

The beetle chirred and barked away
To spite my fencing cavalier.
It dodged and dived and caused to sway
The dainty crystal chandelier.

With five foot wand I swept and piked;
Perturbed the lamp with clash and rattle.
With clumsy blows I nearly liked
To dash my own collateral

The cat, bemused, remained aloof,
With tiny sabres sheathed.
At last the bug escaped, forsooth,
and toward the carpet weaved.

As a spotlight-chasing clown
I made to sweep him out the door.
But he careened not out but down;
To flash a foot above the floor.

Mistakes were made, perhaps a batch,
But fate prefers the patient:
The cat with paw the air did snatch:
Her missile cold and satient.

Despite my honor and intent
With eyeblink speed came halt the flight
Of him upon whose liberty I bent...
And instant death, by razor bite.

My mighty net was now a broom;
My ward was now a corpse.
My noble effort brought him doom:
Excessive use of feline force.

The cat, unmoved by grisly deed,
Turned on her heel and stalked away;
On spoils did not care to feed.

Outside, a swarm began to bray.