We were there for poetry not for filling cavities, or even for getting tattoos.
One of the first things I noticed when I arrived at the Floyd Tattoo parlor, where the third Saturday Spoken Word is now held, was that Mara’s shirt matched the art hanging on the walls, so I made her pose. When it was her turn to read she wowed us with her poetry and a poetic prose piece called “After Allen Ginsberg and the Full Moon on Buddha’s Birthday. … I saw Allen once, I was 14, he read at Radford University and I was so immersed in my own lack of logic there was little conception of legend. What I recall? Recitations of Blake as he beat out the rhythm on his knees, and that he sang, and that I thought, lyrics, hmmmm.
One of the best parts of the Spoken Word tradition in Floyd is the variety of ages and writing experience of the readers. Our youngest reader delighted the group with her poems and her rhythmic style of reading. She’s the daughter of Wynter, the artist whose work was displayed.
Emcee Ben Kirkland, who is about to hike the Appalachian Trail, looked at the sign-up sheet and said, “Number 8 is always Coriander, but she’s not here.” Some of us have who have been following Corey on Facebook knew she was parasailing over the ocean. Her friend Bethlehem read a poem about cherry blossoms and another one (read from her iphone) that was written by a friend.
I have an imaginary story written about my friend Liz Stucki called “Stucki’s Cookies,” named for her baking talents. But, although Liz (also known as Mama Lizardo after the Floyd restaurant she owned for many years) has baking talents to rival any pastry chef, she no longer bakes. The multi-talented former baker still does everything else. She’s an accomplished artist, a writer and has made a living at crafts. Everyone agreed that Liz’s poem “Mrs. McNard’s Yard,” was a children’s book waiting to be illustrated (of which she is also very skilled at doing).
Greg, Rose and I also read. After the readings some of us went outside and mingled with the people gathering for Movie in the Park. I drank a beer and munched on movie popcorn with friends on the Dogtown Roadhouse porch, until the movie (A River Runs Through it) got started and we got shhhished to be quiet. No more talking. No more spoken word.