Good day, fine citizens!
T’was a hot and heavy afternoon when we gathered at the Hallowed Croquet Grounds to celebrate the spoken word. The Curious Followers of the Humble Water Rat were blessed, many times blessed by a hot sweet afternoon of BITTER WORDS and the GROWLS OF THE DARK BLUES.
Your humble reporter will endeavor to paint you a picture.
Scene 1 – A fiddly combination lock, stubborn but eventually yielding as the vanguard of our little group made our way in and set to stacking chairs. Eventually, the band of poets settled in for an opening set by October’s kickass Mystery Muso Dylan Ferrier.
Dylan’s skill with the guitar and raw, uncompromising vocals heralded the beginning of the Traditional Kurilpa Open Mic.
The Reverend Hellfire kicked things off, speaking of coffee, brooding and percolating frustration, a bitter cup drained to the dregs. Next was Paul who proclaimed that Hitler was a Heavy Metal Man Gone Bad, staring mad-eyed at the heavens, a hyped out Hamlet. Sav felt concious of things gone wrong, cause and effect and eventual evaporation, while Thomas spoke of creaking boats in the mist, waiting at the oars, watching for sandbars on the last day of the holidays.
Glenn, having just returned from Planet Absurdia (led by self-polishing presidential turds), painted a smelly picture of a mad, shitty society that draws ever closer each passing day. Shane imagined Death as a Dominos Deliverer of Oblivion (with extra cheese) before Trent brawled with advertisers, then dueled with love, balancing malice and presenting a synopsis for his novella. Peter brought us to the end with a tale of the boat shed, tango-dancing, glittering water and taking chances.
Scene 2 – Post-Lunch, feature poet Fiona takes the stage.
Fiona is a longtime favorite of the Kurilpa Poets, and this time as always, her work was poignant and full-bodied. She began with a serires of short, strange sketches – on life without a head, a fondness for the first two lines, and the proper was to care for them.
She shared a beautiful poem of the life of an Iranian librettist, before discussing depression, and old dust. A ‘Recycled Netflix Poem’ was next, taken from assembled captions, and after that an erotic refrigerator poem, and the intimacy of a shared cigarette. A standout line: ‘My love is formless. My love follows no orders.’ Her work was delivered, as always, with honesty and grace. We were blessed to have her among us to share her attitude, her thoughts and her observations.
Scene 3 – Round Two of the open mic!
The Rev started us off again, speaking of suspicion, supping at our veins, inviting parasites, before Paul discussed the roots of femininity, the communal birth of nature’s fecundity. The one and only Savanu shared a fantasy of television, after which Thomas (making no apologies for bad rhymes) reminisced about the personal history of this grandfather’s pocket watch. Abbot the Maggot got his due via Glenn’s interpretation of the weekend Australian, before Shane share the history of Clarence Cliff, the feature artist of the month.
Trent shared a lot with us, starting with a poem to a loved one – poetry wrapped in flesh – before sharing his initiative to create legal, digital grafitti, accesable to all on an interactive touch-screen wall. Peter shared a song of the Baby Grand, working through the verses to share his memories. Finally, Gary spoke of Sam-I-Am and the convenient gurus – the persistence of being worn down by the idea of a flat earth.
And with that, another fine Kurilpa poets open mic came to an end.