Poets bring out emotion during inaugural event
The inaugural Poetry Slam proved to be a popular event.
VIERA VOICE Jill Blue
Local poets read their original works at the inaugural Poetry Slam held April 5 at The Avenue Viera Books-A-Million.
The event was sponsored by the Viera Voice and Space Coast Poets.
The performers were judged by members of Space Coast Poets for their delivery, message, poetic style and audience appeal.
“Several people came to watch and take in the novelty of it all,” said Jill Blue, the publisher of the Viera Voice. “After the event, they asked when the next one would be.”
Future events are planned.VV
Eastern Florida State communications professor Janna Schledorn of Space Coast Poets presented prizes and certificates to the top three winners:
God’s Waiting Room
by Catherine Arra
When I retire and move to Florida, I’m going to float on two neon pool tubes, visor in place, towel securely clipped to lounge.
Hey, whatta ‘bout those poor slobs up there in New York & Jersey buried up to their asses, 4 degrees — Geez almighty, do we have the life or what?
I’m going to set the weather app to Chicago, Detroit, Buffalo. Ha!
I’m going to sniff out early bird specials and say,
Whatta meal, I have to tell ya. That cup of soup, I mean, more like a bowl or you can get a nice salad, always fresh an’ a choice of entrée with three sides, not the usual two, dessert, coffee … oh, an’ yeah, a drink, yeah, a real bar drink an’ all for 9.99. You believe it? Was outta this world, let me tell ya, an’ I’m tellin’ ya, that steak, it just melted in my mouth an’ the wife she had the tilapia — nice an’ fresh, she said, grilled just so not all dried out.
When I retire and move to Florida, I’m going to have it my way.
Whatta life, I’m tellin’ ya. Worked 40 stinkin’ years for this.
Nah, an’ I ain’t gonna notice your little baby lizard sunnin’ on the terrace an’ I didn’t feel bad when I took off the end of its tail — I mean, what the hell — it was an accident.
An’ I don’t give a frig about that bird noise, oh excuse me … songs. Just close the damn door. Whatta ya always talkin’ at me about the sun risin’ an’ fallin’ makin’ the edges of livin’ an dyin’?
For Chrissake, go write a poem or somethin’.
Me, I’ll just wait here for the old reaper, enjoyin’ myself, an’ when the bastard shows up, I ain’t gonna give him the right time of day neither.
by Faye Eichholze
by Andre S.