Last night my stalwart friend and I went to the Starry Plow to see if I could get on the list of performers. I squeaked on, using the moniker “Feral Meryl,” supplied by my friend. I recited a poem, made it to the second round, and recited another.
The first poem is x-rated, and I have to say it was perfect for the slam audience, but will leave it out here. For the second round, I recited a poem I composed for the class I took last fall, and the Wall Street Journal ran a relevant photo this morning:
You can hear it by clicking here:
I won second place and took home $30.
I think if I’d gone with “Ode to Flatulence” for my second poem, I’d have come home with first. The audience was a bit too bleary-eyed for “Democracy.”
4 thoughts on “Feral Meryl at the Poetry Slam”
Love it live!
I would love to see it in writing, too.
Feral Meryl rocks the slam!
Ok, Gina. Here it is:
Democracy is a fragile thing,
more than the nonstop ching, ka-ching,
more like heart beat than brass ring
and you never thank it, you never think it
needs tender care, not some junk store trinket,
not some bling you wear, but like breath breathing,
don’t think about it till it stops seething
up from the body that needs it, drinking
in pure air. It’s in our marrow. How much can we borrow?
High as Kilimanjaro? Ask your credit bureau
to mortgage your shadow. ‘Cause cash is the fuel for fools,
the tool we use, the muse confused
by opulence, populace, bottomless pompousness,
drones, clones, red zones, pheromones,
preposterous testosterone, Mormon jawbones
chomping at the microphone promising tomorrow.
It’s all too much, so no one gets it
no one just stands still and lets it
be, just you just me, one nation,
implacable, with liberty and syncopation
full faith and credit and world domination,
abomination the new sensation,
looking for salvation from the space station,
while lines are getting longer at the gas station.
Men in ties look so wise
back from Delphi with their intricate lies.
Pay attention, did I mention
shoes on sale, loss prevention,
how fragile the scrabble, how it all can unravel,
tower of Babel, we’re in trouble,
no jokes allowed, don’t make a fuss,
no Spock to guide us, its just us.
I’d know that voice anywhere
What you said made a stirring and jaunty song
but you could have been singing anything
it’s the power of that disembodied voice
that with my eyes closed
I can give you back your body
Oh yeah, could I borrow like say, 30bucks? Just till next ……………..
Anytime you smart alec!