Just When You Thought the Floyd Spoken Word Couldn’t Get Any Bigger
An overflowing crowd packed the Café del Sol for June’s Spoken Word Open Mic. With the warm glow of evening sun streaming in, the café was abuzz with a celebratory din left over from the town's Jubilee festival that day. There was pizza eating, card playing, cappuccino sipping, and socializing, but all quieted to a hush when the readers took to the stage.
Three members of the Floyd Writer’s Circle, Rosemary Wyman, Mara Robbins, and I opened the evening with poetry interpretations to Lora Geissler’s abstract art that hung on the Café Walls. Eight contributors to the new spring issue of Floyd County Moonshine shared their literary talents. Two poets visiting from Washington D.C. joined the performing line-up, along with returning members of the Spoken Word community and a couple of first time readers. 
Mara, Floyd County Moonshine’s new associate editor and acting emcee, stood on the café coffee table, projecting her voice over the crowd, welcoming them and reviewing the open mic guidelines. With twenty-eight readers of short stories, poetry, essays, and excerpts from novels and memoirs, the ten minute reading slots had to be cut back to five minutes.
The first Moonshine reader Charles Swanson, who teaches creative writing and composition at Gretna High School, followed Mara’s lead and stood on the coffee table until café owner Sally Walker arrived with the PA system that someone said she borrowed from the Floyd Country Store. Ropes of spider webs hanging …from the low log lintel … we knocked back with a stick … and Granddad made … with twigs and tobacco twine … a broom to sweep the floor, Swanson read from a poem titled "Broom" about reclaiming a barn from an overgrown tobacco patch. He also read a poem about the drinkable kind of Moonshine, which was written from a variety of voices.
“I don’t think I can shout haiku,” I said when it was my turn to share my minute of tiny poems inspired by Lora’s paintings. By the time I returned to the stage later in the evening for the four minutes remaining of my five minute slot, I was speaking into a mic. From my “Fit to Be Quipped” punch line series excerpted from my blog, I read, My husband Joe has thick curly hair. When my kids were little and Joe needed a haircut, they would tease him by calling him “Ofra” Winfrey. Now when he needs a haircut we just call him Rob Blagojevich. Although I could perfectly pronounce “Blagojevich” all through the day, when I read it on stage I needed the help of the audience to get it right.
Other Floyd County Moonshine contributors reading included Floyd Moonshine editor Aaron Moore, author Neva Bryan, Emory and Henry teacher Felicia Mitchell, Radford poet Cynthia Ring, Hollins University Creative Writing student Sharon Mirtaheri, and Floyd’s own Jayn Avery, who Mara introduced as “potter by trade and writer by impulse.” 
Before reading an excerpt from his novel Barn Blazing, Aaron told the crowd that the deadline for the summer Floyd County Moonshine is June 30. It will be an all Floyd edition, he said.
Civilizations crumbled beneath me—a plethora of insects and spiders fled beneath the swipes of the pendulating scythe. I, being a veritable voyeur, only relented at the sight of one thing: preying mantis sex. The male was much lesser in stature than the female, propped on the female’s back sitting rigid while hugging her reddish-purple thorax. She was a massive creature compared to him, beautiful in an alien sort of fashion. When they were alerted to my presence, she bore him with her and he held on. ~ From Barn Blazing by Aaron Moore
Post notes: Contributors pictured reading from Floyd Country Moonshine are Charles Swanson, Cynthia Ring, Felicia Mitchell, and Sharon Mirtaheri. Submissions to Floyd County Moonshine, a regional literary and art magazine, should be sent as an attachment to floydshine@gmail.com. Inquiries about advertising and subscriptions can also be made at that address. Copies of Moonshine are available in cafes around town for $7.












There was no drinking and driving involved in the ride from Floyd down the Pig Path into Radford. And the only moonshine proof there was to be enjoyed was in the readings from the second edition of
And when Katherine Chantal said, “What coffee is to Chelsea, tea is to me and then read “Brewing a Poem,” I told her she should take a cup with her next time for a prop.
Sitting in the wallflower chair in the far corner of the café at February’s Spoken Word night, I realized that my nerves at poetry readings are directly related to the size of the crowd that turns out. The bigger it is the bigger they are. From my corner perch I counted 45 people. This is a small town. Chairs had to be brought in from the Winter Sun Music Hall. Where is my comfy couch when I need it?
She also read an ode to life in Floyd, saying that poetry has been flowing since she’s been in here.
And did you know that Pluto was now a verb? After poet
We all sent Wolf (Abraham Cherrix) our well wishes upon hearing that he has pneumonia. 









We were short on chairs and long on readers at November’s Spoken Word Open Mic. A record-breaking twenty readers performed to an overflowing enthusiastic crowd. Rose and the crew at the Blackwater Loft did a great job accommodating the last minute change in venue (due to a concert in the hall adjacent to the Café Del Sol where we regularly meet) and the unprecedented evening's turnout.
Cara Williams, the magazine’s art director, was also in the house.
My husband Joe brought a contingency of five from the
Her brother and fellow YAC member, Cameron, talked about The Earthsong Teen Meditation Retreat and recited a poem he wrote while on retreat there this past the summer. 

A couple plays a game of Shogi, a man works at his laptop, a tourist stretches out on the 
He comes back from the bathroom when she was in the middle of the story. Surprised to hear his name being mentioned, he sheepishly says, “Is that you, Miss Spangler?”
She explains that she had just walked in the café to work on her poems and saw the Spoken Word announcement sign on the door and so stayed to participate.
We could see the sun set from the Café Del Sol comfy couch at September’s Spoken Word. It filled the café with a golden glow and shone on early readers at the open mic. A few of us were slightly overdressed in fancier than normal clothing, having come from our friend 





The monthly
Contrary to Tom Ryan’s
Fitting of that title, I read a seven minute essay of the 

He spent part of the night in the café and part next door at the YAC Variety Show, where a skit he had written was being performed.
Two first time readers braved the mic.
This story was published in The Floyd Press on May 1, 2008. It was also featured on the newspaper's website 
He lives on the second highest mountain peak in Kentucky, second in height only to another peak that he can see from his home, which is being strip-mined, he explained. … As close to heaven as you can get … Why doesn’t God complain … Call the cops … he read. Webb told the group, “until they stop mountain removal, I’m going to read this poem at every reading.” 
The 7-9 time-slot stretched on to 10:30, with several new readers, a full house of attendees, and a line-up that resembled a Spoken Word variety show. After Greg opened the evening with a reflective essay about photographs and memories, Mara (pictured left) and I shared our very different

There was lime green, kelly green, olive, and teal represented at the third Saturday
The said book was used as a prop, the four leaf clover was waved in the air, and the word shamrock was mentioned. 
Extra chairs were carried in from the Winter Sun hall to accommodate the overflow crowd for February’s Spoken Word at the
He stood as he told the audience that he’s recently started a writer’s workshop for short story writing. The short story he read about an airplane crashing into a yard was well received by listeners.
At one point Sally, Café Del Sol owner and spoken word MC, asked for a vote to determine if people wanted the lights kept on or if they wanted a candlelight atmosphere. 
~ Third Saturday Spoken Word at the Café Del Sol 7-9
She read another one about loving the NFL and later insisted that part was true. But she is not Greek as another line in another poem stated.
“Did you find one you like?” I asked Phil, father of our youngest spoken word reader, Mars. 

Mara put Elliot’s name on the sign up sheet for one of the ten minute slots because we planned to read a few of his poems. When Sally got to his name, she spoke faintly and questioningly, “Elliot?” while scanning the audience as if she was looking for a ghost.
My life is structured around seasons and holidays in the same way I imagine an elementary school teacher’s might be. Every month I look for seasonal graphics and clip art to adorn the
(which will appear in November’s Museletter) to Catherine Pauley’s garden. Catherine, a well known artist and long time high school teacher, is director of Floyd’s Old Church Gallery. Her garden is a wild spot cultivated with an artist’s eye in amongst the open and rolling hills by the Pauley well drilling business office. It was started by Catherine with the help of her husband after her battle with breast cancer over ten years ago. Since then, her husband has passed on, and recent additions to the garden have been in memory of him.
she said she had nothing new to read. I encouraged her to read something old. She did, but she also read a new piece that she ended up writing after all, after taking a walk and being inspired by the fall colors. 
In the end I’m like Rosa Parks … I don’t want to get up and go where I’m told … I work just as hard as any other poet … and I write from where I sit … Colleen
She’s also a new Floyd blogger and you can read her poem in its entirety on her blog
“You can come read your poems here anytime,” Sally said into the mic after Chelsea faced her addiction with odes to her dark potent master. 