Patricia Holman

Like ghost, they tend to emerge from the dark Dark shadows of the stage, that is until the spotlight comes on And all fear subsides, anticipation swallowed up from the echo of a mic Words rolling off tongues like tumble weed A quick feed from the audience with feets rumbling beneath the floor Sounds like open mic night, Nuyorican, Urban Word This is how we SLAM On brisk nights in stuffy cafe's Packed with ambitioners, lost souls, and raw talent Places like this always amazed me or intimidated me, one Spoken word is the evil twin of written work Placing writers like myself between a rock and hardplace For the first time, I feel forced to speak, rather than let my writing speak for me As I watch these extra-terrestrial poets move with a rhythmical sway from left to right Lifting their feet like horses Lifting their hands like priests They look towards the sky, as if they're looking for healing I wonder what goes on in their mind when they're up there On that stage, in front of that crowd It's like they're in another dimension, stepping outside of themseleves You can see them pull their skin off right in front of you And all I can do is sit there Stunned and amazed at the bravery and the skill of these poets To take their most intimate journal entries, And scream it to the world What brought me here? I'll never understand I'll never understand, how some poets are just So Damn Good