Holli Garrido Julie D.

Hicks 20 February 2012 Response 4 Piedmont Poetry Slam There is no greater feeling than going home and settling back into a favorite city spot. Krankies coffee in Winston-Salem was once an abandoned building claimed by squatters and raised into a combination coffee shop, art gallery, and performance area. Between the books and board games available for anyones enjoyment and the employees that are always nice and personable, there is nothing not to love about this place. I have been a regular since my early high school, and I plan to keep going back as long as I am in the area. I am not the only traveler here tonight, instead I am joined by a full house of excited people here to enjoy the Piedmont Poetry Slam. I recognize a few faces, but the nice thing about Krankies is they always seem to be drawing in new customers and audience members. I have been to slams here before, and it is a great experience. These poets pour their thoughts, fears, hopes, and ideals out on stage for our eager ears to soak up and absorb into our souls. We clap multiple times for each poet and cheer no matter the length or topic of the piece. This is truly a place to feel at home, accepted, and almost an escape from the much crueler outside world. In Krankies, we can call connect and revel in the commonly forgotten motto of free speech. Mostly serious poetry from the usual team of slam poets is perfectly interspersed with comical haikus from the local host Bob, a man clad in his usual type of clothes; tonight his long grey ponytail hangs next to his suspenders and

bright t-shirt. The contrast in content keeps everyone yo-yoing between entertained and heartbroken, with plenty of food for thought in between. Choosing two poets to focus on was about as hard a decision as anyone could make, but something about Avery just struck me. He was quiet, dressed in all black, with a full beard and piercing eyes that communicated more than anything else about his face. He walked on stage with a tattered leather bound journal in hand, an artifact that has all but died away in recent years and was therefore refreshing to see. His voice was thick and resonating so that the microphone hummed for a moment after each hard hitting line. He had not so much a southern drawl but an old sound to his voice, as if he was in fact a traveling man that had seen more than he was ready for at his age. His poem focused on questioning, well, everything. Why are we here and what is the point of it all? What is wrong with humanity these days and are we even in control of it anymore. His old soul appearance matched his personality as he attacked social media such as Facebook, twitter, and tumblr; blaming us for giving away our power to these technological sources and leaving us dumb and helpless when it comes to controlling our own lives. His topic definitely struck me, bringing to light my fears and anxieties about what all of this means. What is the big picture, the meaning of life and how do I live to the fullest? I try to make the most of every day and accomplish what I need to, but poems like this plant small seeds of doubt that I could be doing more. If we as humans really are giving up our control than how do we fix it? Hoping to find some answers to my questions, or perhaps find out a little bit more about this fascinating poet, I asked Avery a few questions after his performance, and he was more than willing to oblige. He speaks fast, but his eyes were always fixed on me, almost searching for something, but what? He began writing poetry to bring light to general injustice, a shedding of innocence, and the natural human impulse to question everything. He wants to know why things

are, and how humans have become so jaded. When Avery performs as well as when he writes he is hoping to share his own thoughts with others and warrant a response, provoke thoughts so that they can realize what he has come to conclude. Avery writes predominately for himself, to get his ideas out of his head and onto paper, if you dont write for yourself, than whats the point? he finishes. As it turns out Avery is a UNC Charlotte Alumni, graduated with a BFA in Illustration, though quite unlike myself he is not a fan of the university or the surrounding community. I didnt ask much more, not wanting to pry but also because the next poet was approaching the stage. When I asked for a picture he seemed eager to oblige, but did not attempt a smile. Just turned, looked right into the camera, into me, and click. In a world more influenced by technology and the media than ever before, it really brings to question what Avery was describing. Are all of these improvements really for our own betterment, or are we giving up parts of our humanity without even realizing it? As more social interaction is done online and through the phone, perhaps it really is time to take a step back and reconnect with the real people sitting all around us. Regain power of our lives and go out and actually, truly, live. Someone who is very urgently going out and living her life is a girl whose stage name is Kelly Ray, and the second poet I chose to focus on. Very unlike Avery, her poems were loud, full of emotion, and the one in particular was so full of admiration and love for her mother that it made my heart swell. She described a real life mother daughter relationship, one that is honest

and true. Her biggest fear is losing this female influence in her life because her mother is so much more than that, she is her best friend, her idol, and her savior. Her voice sounds very much like a daughter speaking up to her mother, but with enough harsh accents to make clear the not so idyllic realities from her past. Sitting with my parents as I listened to Kelly Ray perform, I could practically feel my mothers gaze on the back of my head. We have a less than ideal relationship, one that consists mostly of her nagging and unrealistic expectations while I do anything I can to tune her out and escape all bonds. It makes me wonder what it would feel like to have so much love and respect for my mother, not that I lack these things, but at this point in my life they are more assumed feelings rather than something I embrace every day. When I think of my mom I think tolerance, kind words thrown about to please her, but not so much because I actually feel that way. I cant say for sure if this is her fault or mine, or perhaps a combination of the two. I like to think that as we get older and start to have a relationship between two adults, rather than adult and child that my mother and I will grow closer. Then again, who knows. Being able to maintain such a genuine relationship between mother and daughter, something Kelly Ray has done beautifully, is no small accomplishment in todays society. Most interactions have been cut down, spread out, and technology based for convenience. It takes true wisdom and insight to still look up to the important mothers in our lives, rather than the media blasted icons who boast fame, money, or a thin waist. A heroine should be worldly, wise, kind, and naturally beautiful not only in the way she looks but in the way she cares for those around her. The fact that Kelly Rays mother is not only that but a heroine in every sense is truly something beautiful to behold, and so I decided to ask her about it. Kelly Ray, whos actual name is Khalisa, has wanted to write since the budding age of eight years old, no doubt

supported by her mother. She wanted to write not only for herself but as she got older she hoped to make womens presence in the poetic world more prominent, and therefore she started a city community group and a slam team in Greensboro. Kelly Ray writes to bring light to injustice and issues related to women and the struggles they go through, particularly African American women. When she performs she hopes to convey every message and emotion she feels within herself, and ideally the audience will generate emotions and messages back at her. She wants poetry to be reciprocal, and between her performance and my reactions, she was more than effective.