They showed up at Milly's 90 minutes late, married to a predetermined story line:
Young Poets Support Ron Paul
I've met many slam poets, and over the years quite a few have slept over, so I got to know them while I cooked eggs and poured coffee, perhaps trading hangover lore... I want to assure you that while they bring an impressive diversity of viewpoint, mood, dress, gender, race and - I apologize in advance - personal hygiene, as a rule most of them would fall noticeably to the left of the furtherest left-most reaches of the Democratic Party, a number of them further out than anarchists. And one or two - well, let's just say, Alpha Centuri comes to mind.
The poets are excellent communicators. Following their skirmish with MTV, they've jammed their impressive Internet communications apparatus into high gear, using their mighty weapons: poetry of course, ridicule, sarcasm, spirited anger, and t-shirts. Local slam web sites from Boston to Honolulu are sponsoring contests and offering up delicious appraisals - as fellow professional communicators - of MTV.
I love these slam poets, possibly every one of them. And they're doing the very best of what I hoped for in my post on Sunday - making excellent use of an agile communication apparatus that bypasses the bungling corporate media.
The slam poet I love the most is my son Sam. A couple of nights ago in Worcester, Mass, he won a yearly competition - the slam poets have seemingly endless competitions - to be Iron Poet. This involved bringing and writing specified poetry on the spot, to be judged using the same criteria as in the TV show, Iron Chef:
- Taste
- Presentation
- Use of the secret ingredient
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| The Iron Poet, photo by Jason |
