Friday Night's "FisherPoets at the Line" Slam winner was Joel Brady-Power.
If you weren't, you should've been there.
If you weren't, you should've been there.
Delirium Days
Joel Brady-Power
Sun soaked delirium
Pendulum swinging
Hither dither
to the rhythm of the heartbeat in my head
Dead reckoning gone reckless
Swinging in the rigging
Hanging by a thread
from a low cloud ceiling
Feeling like an
untethered helium balloon
When I look down I begin to feel nauseous
I see myself still perched in the surf
standing in the cockpit
A tiny orange ant from my cloud perch vantage
I can’t help but wonder,
What the hell are they laughing about?
Half-cocked full crazed
shit eating mad hatter
blood splattered grin
plastered across my face
I’m spread thin, like not enough
butter and too much toast
Like I'm pretty sure I have my shit together
better than this most of the time
But these days are dazed
and if I stop moving
I feel I might cease to exist
So I get by the only way I know how
Tea, tea, coffee, tea, miso
Tea, tea, coffee, tea, miso, tea
Tea, tea, coffee, tea, miso
Tea, tea, coffee, tea, miso, tea
In this fish bowl
we understand each other perfectly
Some sort of fragmented
fractal patchwork shorthand
mad lib communication
So random it becomes cohesive
Even if we are the only two people who can perceive it
From the outside looking in
We are insane
Animated profanity paddling
backwards up shit creek with a banana
Tied by a shoestring, fraying
Our connection to reality
swaying back and forth
between somewhere else and not important
I am no longer coherent and I don’t care
I am literally high on life
on lack of sleep
on fatigue
on satisfaction
on pain
on pushing through the walls
of my body's limitations
and busting through to
I feel amazing
Transcendental ascension
I am dancing across the universe
Tip toe tapping stars
When I stumble upon the realization
Wait a minute...
XtraTufs don’t have laces
Joel Brady-Power
Sun soaked delirium
Pendulum swinging
Hither dither
to the rhythm of the heartbeat in my head
Dead reckoning gone reckless
Swinging in the rigging
Hanging by a thread
from a low cloud ceiling
Feeling like an
untethered helium balloon
When I look down I begin to feel nauseous
I see myself still perched in the surf
standing in the cockpit
A tiny orange ant from my cloud perch vantage
I can’t help but wonder,
What the hell are they laughing about?
Half-cocked full crazed
shit eating mad hatter
blood splattered grin
plastered across my face
I’m spread thin, like not enough
butter and too much toast
Like I'm pretty sure I have my shit together
better than this most of the time
But these days are dazed
and if I stop moving
I feel I might cease to exist
So I get by the only way I know how
Tea, tea, coffee, tea, miso
Tea, tea, coffee, tea, miso, tea
Tea, tea, coffee, tea, miso
Tea, tea, coffee, tea, miso, tea
In this fish bowl
we understand each other perfectly
Some sort of fragmented
fractal patchwork shorthand
mad lib communication
So random it becomes cohesive
Even if we are the only two people who can perceive it
From the outside looking in
We are insane
Animated profanity paddling
backwards up shit creek with a banana
Tied by a shoestring, fraying
Our connection to reality
swaying back and forth
between somewhere else and not important
I am no longer coherent and I don’t care
I am literally high on life
on lack of sleep
on fatigue
on satisfaction
on pain
on pushing through the walls
of my body's limitations
and busting through to
I feel amazing
Transcendental ascension
I am dancing across the universe
Tip toe tapping stars
When I stumble upon the realization
Wait a minute...
XtraTufs don’t have laces
Saturday Night's Umpteenth Annual On-Site Poetry Contest winner was Jeannie M. Bliss Weyl. Rules were to use the words "turn" and "21" in the first and last lines.
Jeannie M Bliss Well with her husband, left, and Doug Rhodes, center.
Twenty-One in Ketchikan
Jeannie M. Bliss Weyl
He turned twenty-one in Ketchikan
Many miles from home
Fish tending on the Miss Mary
His heart just had to roam
He learned to fish, he learned to cook
He learned to drive a boat.
a skiff to run and have some fun
to push around a tote
He loved and lost, learned ropes and lines
He counted fish, not well
He learned to drink, pass out and puke
He learned to cuss... OH HELL!
A mother's wish is to protect her son
there's not a way to ban
The draw, the men, the Alaska wild
It made my boy a man.
Just as those before him,
I guess I'm still a fan
My heart was with him that very day
He turned twenty-one, a man.
Jeannie M. Bliss Weyl
He turned twenty-one in Ketchikan
Many miles from home
Fish tending on the Miss Mary
His heart just had to roam
He learned to fish, he learned to cook
He learned to drive a boat.
a skiff to run and have some fun
to push around a tote
He loved and lost, learned ropes and lines
He counted fish, not well
He learned to drink, pass out and puke
He learned to cuss... OH HELL!
A mother's wish is to protect her son
there's not a way to ban
The draw, the men, the Alaska wild
It made my boy a man.
Just as those before him,
I guess I'm still a fan
My heart was with him that very day
He turned twenty-one, a man.
PHOTOS
The 2019 FisherPoets Gathering is in the wake. Here are just a few photos to tickle your memory until next year. Photos in this section by Pat Dixon & Veronica Kessler
The 2019 FisherPoets Gathering is in the wake. Here are just a few photos to tickle your memory until next year. Photos in this section by Pat Dixon & Veronica Kessler
Photos in the following section courtesy of Elma Burnham
Photos in the following section courtesy of Moe Bowstern
