Flagstaff-Based Poet and Editor with National Recognition
Cymelle Leah Edwards is a rising literary voice from Flagstaff, Arizona, whose work echoes across page and stage. A Pushcart Prize nominee and recipient of the prestigious Diana Gabaldon Creative Writing Award, Edwards is quickly earning a place among the most vital poets in the Southwest. With a strong commitment to both craft and community, she balances creative output with leadership roles in Arizona’s vibrant literary scene.
Academic Excellence and Literary Leadership
Edwards holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Northern Arizona University, where her passion for poetry blossomed into a broader commitment to publishing and editing. She formerly served as the Poetry Editor for Thin Air Magazine, NAU’s long-running literary journal. Her editorial insight also extends as an editor at Kelp Journal, where she cultivated voices across genres.
Community Organizer and Advocate for the Arts
Cymelle is not only a powerful writer, but also a champion of literary culture in Northern Arizona. She served as a board member for the Northern Arizona Book Festival, helping to organize and support one of the state’s most important annual literary events. Her work as an organizer underscores her dedication to amplifying diverse voices and creating inclusive platforms for poets and writers throughout the region.
Publishing Credits and Performance Poetry
Her written work has been published in respected literary journals such as Elm Leaves Journal, Contra Viento, and Ghost City Press. Beyond the page, Cymelle has made waves in Arizona’s spoken word scene, winning the Phoenix Poetry Slam at the downtown art venue Megaphone PHX, a hub for poetic performance and creative experimentation.
GCU Roots and the Arizona Connection
Before pursuing her MFA, Cymelle attended Grand Canyon University, an institution known for producing talented artists and thinkers. Her creative trajectory remains deeply tied to Arizona—from the desert landscape to the mountain views of Flagstaff—and her poetry often reflects the natural, cultural, and emotional terrain of the Southwest.
A Voice to Watch in Contemporary Poetry
Cymelle Leah Edwards represents the best of contemporary Arizona poetry: talented, thoughtful, and unafraid to confront personal and political truths. Whether through her haunting verse, her curatorial insight, or her work behind the scenes in the literary community, Edwards is a vital part of Arizona’s poetic identity and an emerging force on the national literary stage. She currently lives in Indianapolis, Indiana.
sugar is a fine white powder let me say that a little louder sugar is a fine white powder let me say that a little louder sugar is a fine white powder and just like crack and smack it’s all wrapped up in money and power see Coke comes from leaves and opium from flowers but the granddaddy of the fine white powders is made from beets and Cane people hear the word drugs they usually think of gangs they think of cold-blooded Killers with Latin last names selling PCP LSD and Mary Jane are moving Mac ecstasy and crack cocaine people hear the word drugs they think shackles jails and chains they think suffering and pain they think Blood Money backstabbing and innocent slain but there is no such stigma attached to sugar cane yeah there ain’t no shame affix to the sticks of even little kids get lit they sit and take hits off of their pixie sticks getting ripped and no one sees a problem with this because this is a fix that we all crave and we are not ashamed although we know it was built on the backs of black slaves so I tell y’all sugar is a fine white powder and I want it to ring in your brains a little bit louder because its story is the same as what’s shot in the veins a shot up the nose to get straight at the brain I’m talking Blood Money backstabbing innocent slain I’m talking suffering and pain shackles jails and chains headlessness remembered remains Little Women and Children backing up the product and Counting out the change and The Killers deranged who ran the whole game and who teach kids to kill for material gain the saddest thing about it is all of these facts are already in your brain they’ve just been sanitized like blood stains washed down shower drains so only the cold and boring facts remain you all sat in little rows frustrated but so well trained and normalized this [ __ ] with the phrase triangle trade sugar for rum for slaves Europeans ruled the waves and got money in power off a little grains of white powder so I’m asking y’all help me make this louder sugar is a fine white powder come on y’all louder sugar is a fine white powder come on y’all louder sugar is the fine white powder come on y’all louder the foundation of our nation the independence Declaration was sung by kingpins who ran drug plantations so fast forward just a few generations to the days when radio stations still sing the Praises of criminal organizations but the biggest drug dealers are legally chartered corporations and on both sides of the law it’s all about location location it doesn’t matter if the battles are fought in courts over end caps instead of blocks or if the people that pack the gats are called cops it’s still cash crops to define the line between the hives and the have-nots and I think we’re all just too high on sugar to call them crimes when they’re committed by the Criminal Minds on top so I came out to tell y’all that sugar is a fine white powder and I’m asking you spread the word because knowledge is power
Watch the Video “Fine White Powder” by Naughty A Mouse on YouTube
About the poet Naughty A Mouse
Naughty A Mouse’s powerful spoken word poem “Fine White Powder” is a lyrical indictment of sugar—yes, sugar—as a historically overlooked but deeply entwined player in the legacy of colonialism, slavery, capitalism, and addiction. Delivered with rhythmic urgency and a call-and-response refrain—“sugar is a fine white powder”—this poem blurs the lines between drug culture, economic power structures, and normalized consumption, ultimately inviting readers to reconsider the social and historical contexts of everyday commodities.
Summary
At its surface, “Fine White Powder” compares sugar to illegal drugs like crack, smack (heroin), cocaine, and ecstasy. But this isn’t just a metaphor for sweetness and dependency—the poem traces sugar’s origins as a commodity rooted in slavery, colonialism, and racial exploitation.
Naughty A Mouse challenges the audience to recognize how sugar—like narcotics—is a fine white substance entangled in systems of money and power. He critiques how society vilifies some drugs while ignoring others that share similar histories of violence and control, especially when profit motives sanitize or legitimize their use.
Children “take hits / off of their pixie sticks” and society sees no problem, but the poet points out the dark legacy behind the treat: “built on the backs of black slaves.” The speaker makes a strong case for sugar as the original addictive substance of empire, tied directly to the transatlantic slave trade—”sugar for rum for slaves.” He links this to modern corporate and legal institutions that profit from “drug-like” products, drawing attention to the hypocrisy of how some harmful industries are socially accepted or legally protected.
Analysis
“Fine White Powder” is more than a history lesson—it’s an urgent political poem, calling for deeper awareness of systemic injustice. Naughty A Mouse’s use of repetition (“sugar is a fine white powder”) becomes a chant, a rallying cry, and an indictment. The rhythm mirrors spoken word and hip-hop influences, pushing the message past poetic beauty into the realm of protest art.
The poet subverts the idea of what a “drug” is, taking it out of alleyways and placing it on the kitchen table, in the classroom, and on supermarket shelves. He draws attention to the way society separates “legal” and “illegal” substances not by harm but by who profits from them. The “location, location” line points to how geography, race, and class determine what is considered criminal versus what is considered commerce.
Lines like “the foundation of our nation… was sung by kingpins who ran drug plantations” push the reader to reevaluate sanitized historical narratives, including the American Revolution, and recognize their economic foundations in slavery and drug-like agriculture. This is a poem of unmasking and recontextualization—pushing listeners to see the institutional legacy of sugar and question what they’ve been taught.
Call to Action
By the end, the poet isn’t just making a point—he’s building a movement. He directly addresses the audience, asking them to join in spreading awareness:
“I came out to tell y’all that sugar is a fine white powder / and I’m asking you spread the word because knowledge is power.”
In doing so, Naughty A Mouse merges art and activism, using poetic storytelling to unveil how oppression hides in plain sight—in something as seemingly innocent as a spoonful of sugar.
Valerie Martínez: Poet, Educator, and Advocate for Art, History, and Healing
Valerie Martínez is a celebrated American poet, writer, educator, translator, and arts administrator whose work transcends the boundaries of genre and discipline. Born and raised in Santa Fe, New Mexico, Martínez’s poetry is deeply rooted in the cultural, historical, and ecological landscape of the American Southwest. A descendant of both Spanish colonizers and Indigenous peoples, she brings a rich ancestral perspective to her writing—an intersection of memory, identity, and place.
From Santa Fe to the World: Life, Education, and Travel
Valerie Martínez left Santa Fe in 1979 to attend Vassar College, earning her A.B. in English and American Literature. She later pursued an MFA in Creative Writing/Poetry at the University of Arizona. Her life and poetry have been shaped by extensive travels across the United States and around the globe—including long stays in Swaziland (now Eswatini), Israel, Japan, South Africa, and Latin America.
Martínez’s time abroad, especially her years teaching English in Southern Africa, gave her a broad cultural perspective that informs the themes of empathy, environmental stewardship, and social justice that permeate her work.
A Distinguished Career in Education and Literary Arts
Before returning to New Mexico permanently in 2003, Martínez served as a college professor for more than 23 years, teaching courses in poetry, American literature, women’s literature, Latino/a literature, and Native American literature. From 2018 to 2021, she served as Director of History and Literary Arts at the National Hispanic Cultural Center in Albuquerque.
Her dedication to the intersection of art and community also led her to co-found Littleglobe, Inc., and later, the nonprofit arts and social change organization Artful Life. Most recently, she led the groundbreaking CHART project (Culture, History, Art, Reconciliation, and Truth), facilitating a year-long community engagement process addressing the complex cultural history of Santa Fe through inclusive storytelling and healing.
A Legacy of Poetry That Speaks to the World
Valerie Martínez is the author of six poetry collections, two chapbooks, and a book of translations. Her groundbreaking poetry blends lyricism with political and ecological awareness, giving voice to the voiceless and illuminating histories too often overlooked.
Notable Poetry Collections:
Count (University of Arizona Press, 2021) A hybrid book-length poem that examines climate change through myth, personal memory, environmental data, and global storytelling. Count was adapted into a choral composition titled As the Waters Began to Rise by composer Peter Gilbert.
Each and Her (University of Arizona Press, 2010) A powerful meditation on femicide and violence against women, particularly the murdered and disappeared women of Juárez, Mexico. The book was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize and received the 2011 Arizona Book Award.
Absence, Luminescent (Four Way Books, 1999; reissued 2010) Her debut collection, which won the Larry Levis Prize and a Greenwall Grant from the Academy of American Poets. Jean Valentine praised it as “expansive, surprising, intelligent… filled with compassion.”
World to World (University of Arizona Press, 2004) A collection that continues Martínez’s exploration of identity, ancestry, and spiritual inheritance.
And They Called it Horizon(Sunstone Press, 2010) Written during her tenure as Poet Laureate of Santa Fe, this collection reflects her deep connection to place and community.
Publications, Honors, and Influence
Martínez’s poetry has been widely published in esteemed literary journals such as Poetry, American Poetry Review, AGNI, The Colorado Review, and Mandorla. Her work also appears in more than 30 anthologies including The Best American Poetry.
A frequent guest speaker and reader at national literary festivals and universities, Martínez continues to inspire a new generation of poets with her genre-blending work and community-focused approach to art.
Her poem “Bowl” was featured in the PBS/Poetry Foundation “Poetry Everywhere” series and was also set to music by composer Glen Roven and performed by soprano Talise Trevigne. Another poem, “September, 2001,” was featured in The Washington Post‘s “Poet’s Choice” column.
Poetry as Artful Action
What sets Valerie Martínez apart is her unwavering belief in the power of poetry as a tool for transformation—not just personal, but communal and ecological. Her work invites readers to bear witness, to reflect, and to act.
Whether she’s writing about climate change, cultural memory, femicide, or the beauty of New Mexico’s landscape, her poems ask us to reconsider the stories we tell and the silences we keep.
Stephen Chaffee is an acclaimed American poet and retired national park ranger whose deep love for nature and exploration has shaped his literary works. His poetry captures the beauty of the wilderness and the transformative power of outdoor travel.
From National Park Ranger to Acclaimed Poet
Before becoming a published poet, Chaffee led a diverse career. He worked as a national park ranger and pursued academic studies, earning degrees from the University of Delaware and the University of Amsterdam. His background in engineering and literary studies provided a unique perspective that influences his poetry today.
Exploring the Arizona Trail: A 1,600-Mile Journey in Poetry
Chaffee is best known for his poetry collection, The Arizona Trail: Passages in Poetry, which was inspired by his two-time completion of the Arizona Trail—a journey of over 1,600 miles. His book contains 43 poems, each dedicated to a specific passage along the trail, bringing the landscape, history, and people he encountered to life.
What Makes Chaffee’s Poetry Unique?
Chaffee’s work stands out for its ability to blend vivid imagery, historical context, and deep personal reflection. His poetry not only celebrates the natural beauty of the Arizona Trail but also invites readers to embark on their own journeys of exploration and self-discovery.
Published Works and Contributions to Nature Poetry
Aside from The Arizona Trail: Passages in Poetry, Chaffee’s poetry has been featured in journals like The Avocet Journal of Nature Poetry and showcased in outdoor poetry events such as Poetry of the Wild. He actively contributes to community poetry initiatives, encouraging a deeper appreciation for both literature and the environment.
Final Thoughts: The Legacy of Stephen N. Chaffee
Stephen N. Chaffee’s poetry serves as an enduring testament to the bond between nature and human expression. His work continues to inspire adventurers, poets, and nature lovers alike.
there is a fine line between heroism and martyrdom and on march 3rd 1991 i watched a man nearly cross it swing 56 blows led to this king’s ransom swing 56 blows set off a chain of events some still have yet to recover from swing swing rodney’s life and construction helps us understand why building bridges of compassion was more important than his destructive past swing swing swing taser this is 56 times i watched in horror not believing what was clear as glass in front of my barely 18 year old eyes swing my mind muddied by my belief that this is unbelievable is this a nightmare wake up this is happening swing swing he was a big man he must have deserved it swing swing swing kick driving way too fast for much too long swing really rodney 100 miles per hour in a hyundai swing he had two passengers and too much to drink swing swing allegedly two drugs course through his veins swing swing swing perhaps he was too black or too big in black to deserve dignity swing too slow to pull over too intoxicated to realize he was being beaten swing swing i can only imagine what george holliday was thinking as he recorded this historic moment swing swing swing kick a moment that changed my trust in who upholds the law swing cube spoke to it in his fictionalized art gangsters can’t be trusted so why should i believe these [ _ ] with attitude swing swing it’s hard to know what was said but i would imagine a taser speaks volumes swing swing swing five batons constantly attracted to one fallen body swing the racial slurs begin led ironically by a man named [ _ ] swing swing more firepower than an old western saloon swing swing swing kick so i guess we should be happy they didn’t just shoot him swing though they did break his skull and leg to show they mean business swing swing truth is he was a criminal on probation for armed robbery swing swing swing but did he deserve to have his criminal mind concussed in a savage beating swing by police later acquitted of charges swing swing judge declared the blow that broke king’s leg was not excessive swing swing wait what hey [ __ ] stop moving swing kick tasers they told him not to move while hitting him repeatedly swing maybe he thought the police were trying to kill him swing swing but i’m sure action spoke louder that night swing hard to imagine it takes 56 baton blows six kicks and two tasers to subdue one man swing 30 years later i’m still not over it swing 30 years later one question still resonates kick can’t we all just get along you
In “56”, Robert FlipSide Daniels delivers a haunting and powerful reflection on the brutal beating of Rodney King at the hands of the LAPD on March 3, 1991. The poem’s title refers to the 56 baton blows that rained down on King’s body—a harrowing number that sets the tone for this piece, which is both an indictment of police brutality and a meditation on justice, race, and American history.
The repetitive “swing” motif acts as a relentless drumbeat, mirroring the vicious attack itself. Each “swing” serves as a visceral reminder of every hit, every act of dehumanization, and every moment of disbelief the poet felt as he witnessed this atrocity unfold at just 18 years old. The poem shifts between historical facts, societal commentary, and personal reflection, questioning not only the actions of law enforcement but also the system that allowed them to walk free.
FlipSide does not ignore King’s past—his criminal record, his intoxication, his reckless speeding—but he forces the reader to ask: Did any of that justify what happened to him? He juxtaposes Rodney King’s flaws with the sheer excessive force and racial injustice he suffered, highlighting how Blackness itself often becomes a justification for violence in America.
The poem also critiques the media’s portrayal and public reaction to the event. References to Ice Cube and N.W.A. emphasize the deep distrust in law enforcement that existed long before King’s beating, while the line about George Holliday, the man who recorded the attack, underscores the power of video evidence in exposing systemic abuse. And yet—even with undeniable footage—the officers were acquitted, leading to the 1992 Los Angeles Riots.
The final 30 years later refrain reminds us that the pain, trauma, and unanswered questions still linger. The poem ends with King’s own plea for unity—“Can’t we all just get along?”—a heartbreaking echo of a man who, despite being brutally beaten, still sought peace.
FlipSide’s “56” is not just a poem—it is a call to remember, to question, and to demand accountability. It serves as a chilling reminder that justice, even when caught on camera, is far from guaranteed.
To learn more about FlipSide’s poetry and powerful storytelling, visit his poet bio pagehere.
you were the child of R&B and jump Blues flamingo guitar and Mariachi Richard Valenzuela they called you Ritchie said Valenzuela was too much for a Gringo’s tongue said it would taste bad in their mouths if they said it so they cut your name in half to Valens and you swallowed that taste down stood tall like a bacho and sign that contract Rich was always about music you felt it tumble inside your chest as a boy playing a guitar with only two strings and when your neighbor caught you you thought he’d be angry over your racket instead he helped you repair the instrument and taught you how to grip it correctly and you left-handed boy playing a right-handed guitar repay him by making the notes fly you could play and sing at 17 you was signed at Del five records of America, wanted to pass you off as Italian, but you did not have old blue eyes, no yours were young and brown, brown like the dirt in the San Fernando Valley, brown like the hands of your tias who worked in the fields for pennies, died inside Cantinas with broken hearts, California’s hands were filled with hate back then leading white and brown master and slave and there you were, in the midst of it all, young chicano kid from the barrio, an American band stand shredding guitar strings while Dick Clark watched, I swear Ritchie, when I listen I can hear it all I can hear the screams from the zoot suit riots, I can hear the young gringo hipsters swarming you after a concert, how you made them laugh and dance in their ballrooms, the children sitting on the bleachers of your middle school. swaying to your rhythm and blues, the old men in your neighborhoods watching you play ranas when they shout it out much how you made them all smile Ritchie in a nation at war with it self, ashamed of the blood on his hands, you were never ashamed of who you were, took an old folk song from B Cruz, la bamba swung that afro Mexican rhythm into rock and roll and sang all Spanish lyrics at a time when speaking Spanish came with a wooden paddle punishment, you played live at the Apollo with Chuck Berry and rocked, you were a legend and Rich before that night before you boarded that plane, before you tumbled from the sky like it caled me in before your 19th birthday your body frozen near that Lake in Wisconsin the phrase what if still sits on our tongues and America is still trying to shape you into Hollywood still trying to bleach the memory of your skin wrote a movie and said you never spoke Spanish when you understood each cadino your mother placed in your ears as a child chocked her death up to Superstition and Mexican hoopla there are myths scattered in your legacy but I know Ritchie we know it was always about your music and that cannot be disfigured it plays forever in our hearts it is trapped inside Carlos Santana’s fingertips it drifts through alleys and walkways plays on television during commercials rides up elevators drifts into backyards where there is some boy brown and dusty desperately trying to play a guitar with only two strings
Myrlin Hepworth’s poem “Ritchie Valens” is a moving tribute to the young Chicano rock and roll legend Ritchie Valens—born Richard Valenzuela—who revolutionized American music before his tragic death at just 17 years old. The poem vividly recounts Valens’ meteoric rise, from his humble beginnings in the San Fernando Valley to becoming a star, all while battling the racial prejudice and cultural erasure that sought to strip him of his Mexican identity.
Hepworth crafts an evocative narrative, painting Valens as more than just a musician but as a symbol of resilience and cultural pride. The poem highlights the systemic pressures that forced Valens to change his name, downplaying his heritage to fit a white-dominated industry. However, despite the attempts to whitewash his identity, Valens’ Chicano roots remained embedded in his music, most notably in La Bamba, a Spanish-language hit that defied the mainstream aversion to bilingualism at the time.
Hepworth’s lyrical and rhythmic style mirrors the energy of Valens’ music, blending historical context with an almost spoken-word urgency. The poem seamlessly weaves together Valens’ personal story with broader themes of racial tension, cultural assimilation, and artistic defiance. It acknowledges the ways America has attempted to reshape Valens’ legacy while emphasizing the power of his music, which continues to inspire generations.
The final lines leave us with a powerful image: a young, brown-skinned boy struggling with a two-string guitar, much like Valens once did. It is a reminder that Ritchie’s influence is eternal, resonating in the lives of future musicians and dreamers.
To learn more about Myrlin Hepworth’s poetry and his contributions to spoken word and Chicano storytelling, visit his poet bio pagehere.
there’s a revolution. it spins like the world on its axis, so fast it carries no sound, no image, not even a vibration and if you run fast, like a child, and come to a sudden stop in your sprint, close your eyes quick, and hold your breath. you’ll feel it, you’ll hear it just say seconds behind, or a lifetime ahead. right now, there’s a Vietnamese boy running through a field with a pair of Nikes tucked under his arm, dodging bullets like raindrops, his blistered feet barely touching the grass, racing across the mud, racing against consumerism. the shoes are not for him, but for his grandmother so that the time in the field can be gentler in its monotony. right now, a boy’s just found a stone, he checks his weight for strength, it’s grooves for accuracy, then darts off with his fist held high, signaling to the other that the stick ball game was officially on, never knowing that the the rock he holds is the last reigning piece to a church bomb years ago in Selma, Alabama and the sound he hears played after, when he cracks a home run, is not the tinkling of broken glass from Miss Johnson’s window, but four little black angels crying tears of joy, cheering him as his feet hit every base. right now, in the Soviet Union, where the red curtain might be tatted, but its’ blood stained glow still cast over the eyes of everyone living there, and names like Stalin and Lenin bring shivers colder than the Hudson in December, and names like optimism, freedom, and democracy can get you shot, killed if you’re lucky. there was a girl sticking her hand into a military bonfire ignoring the pain and crackling of her own skin, she takes out a book half charred, which reads Three Sisters by Chekov and tucks it underneath the shirt, not for warmth, but salvation. right now, a crackhead had waited 10 minutes longer than he did yesterday, before going in the cop and tells himself tomorrow I’ll shoot for 20. a raced girl with bags underneath her eyes, and in beneath the legs which both by now her age stands, on the corner Main & Champion, and when some Tide State worker comes by flashing crisp $20 bills she gets on the bus and heads home for the first time in months. can you hear me now right now? a boy just ran for his life to go to school today, some girl got caught and smacked to some piece of car, leaving her purse behind, but not a virginity. can you hear me now? right now, a man just cut off his TV and actually had a conversation with his kids. there is a revolution happening around us every moment, of every day, and it is not black power, nor white power, it is not scary, not tyrannical, it is not Hitler nor Gandhi, Martin or Malcolm, Mama, no Nora. it is a young couple’s kiss behind the bleachers and the old couple holding hands in the mall, it is loving someone intensely for 5 minutes, then letting go when the song ends. it is your misfiring synapses, your unfit high, your seemingly miserable existence that still keeps beating in your chest like some Drummer Boy hellbent on getting through a spiritual desert, it is writing a poem or hearing one. it is your inhale and exhale. right now, there’s a revolution being fought right around us. look at the person next to you. see the battle being fought in their eyes and recognize it is just a reflection of the same war being fought inside you. it’s but the effort to live your life the way you wish every moment, every day of this life that you have and that is the battle and that is the Revolution and your goal tonight is a inhale and exhale to living live inhale, exhale. can you hear me now? if so then fight on soldiers, ‘cuz the life you saved this night will be your own.
Ed Mabrey’s poem Revolution is an urgent and powerful meditation on the silent, ongoing battles that define human existence. Unlike traditional revolutions that are marked by violence, politics, or ideological shifts, the revolution in Mabrey’s poem is deeply personal, invisible to the untrained eye, yet ever-present in our lives.
The poem unfolds in a series of vignettes, each capturing a moment of struggle, resilience, or defiance from various corners of the world. A Vietnamese boy runs barefoot, dodging bullets, not for himself but to bring comfort to his grandmother. A child picks up a stone for a game, unaware that it is a remnant of a church bombing in Selma, infused with historical pain. A girl in the Soviet Union risks her life to rescue a banned book from flames—not for warmth, but for the survival of knowledge. A crack addict fights against addiction, pushing the boundaries of self-control. A young woman, forced into sex work, takes her first steps toward reclaiming her life.
Through these moments, Mabrey illustrates that revolution is not just found in grand historical narratives but in the quiet acts of endurance, courage, and self-reclamation that happen right now—in real time, all around us. He challenges the reader to recognize the struggles in the eyes of those around them and to see their own internal battles reflected there. The poem’s rhythmic repetition of “right now” creates a sense of immediacy, making the revolution feel not only inevitable but also deeply personal.
Mabrey’s final call to action is simple yet profound: breathe. The act of inhaling and exhaling, of continuing despite hardship, is itself an act of defiance, a way to reclaim one’s life. Revolution is not just about resistance; it is about existence, about the ongoing fight to live authentically and freely.
Discover more about Ed Mabrey’s poetry and performance legacy here on his bio page.
Get Tickets to see Ed Mabrey, Individual World Poetry Slam Champion, feature at Ghost Poetry Show on April 9th, 2025!
April 9th, 2025 at The Rebel Lounge
Doors at 7:00PM | Show at 7:30PM
Advance Price: $10 + fees Day Of Show Price: $12 + fees
21+This is a special Ghost Poetry Show for National Poetry Month! Individual World Poetry Slam Champion ED MABREY features award-winning poetry live and in-your-face in the intimate setting of The Rebel Lounge!
15 poets compete in a poetry slam for cash prizes judged by 5 randomly selected audience members.
To sign up to perform email us at GhostPoetryShow@gmail.com
the temperature is steadily dropping and frost begins to crystalize on my eyelashes, playing tricks with my irises.
i am a green eyed boy, but ice has got me seeing with grey.
grey halls with grey walls led me to this hallowed space.
i am laying, in an empty room.
the ceiling is a motley crew of colors, galaxies are being spun before me. two stars collide, FLASH. BANG. BOOM. the void opens up.
i stare into the vastness, and the void whispers back, “ice cannot kill a phoenix.”
i am laying, in an empty room.
the stillness of space has no place in this room. wind begins to howl, ripping at the walls with nowhere to go. this wind has teeth and it bites at my skin.
anger manifests monsters, and this one is trying to rip, freeze, tear me apart.
i am laying, in an empty room.
the walls are closing in on me. i exhale quick and can see my breath in fog. my skin is beginning to plasticize and i don’t know if i can move.
there once was a door, but i can’t move my head to see if it is still there.
i am laying, in an empty room.
my shoulders start to itch. warmth floods my systems and i can feel it in my chest. my heart begins to beat.
blood flows once more and something is happening to me.
i am laying, in an empty room.
my shoulders begin to burn. a tingle to go along with the itch. then, suddenly, i am screaming.
when i wake up, i am on fire.
i am laying, in an empty room.
and i sit up.
Originally published in Zilch Qualms, a Phoenix Poetry Slam anthology in 2019.
About the poet atlas st. cloud
atlas st. cloud’s poem grey walls is a haunting meditation on isolation, transformation, and rebirth. The poem places the speaker in an empty room, surrounded by the creeping cold that distorts perception—turning green eyes grey, freezing the breath, and numbing the senses. As the speaker remains motionless, they are enveloped by a void, an expanse of darkness filled with cosmic flashes and whispered reassurances. The line, “ice cannot kill a phoenix”, serves as a powerful moment of foreshadowing, hinting at an inevitable resurgence from the paralysis of despair.
The poem’s structure mirrors a cycle of entrapment and eventual release. The repetition of “I am laying, in an empty room” emphasizes stagnation, reinforcing the feeling of being stuck in an unchanging state. Yet, amid the cold and confinement, fire emerges. The warmth first presents itself as an itch, then an unbearable burn, until finally, the speaker erupts in flames—literally and metaphorically. The transformation is painful but necessary, illustrating a shift from suppression to liberation, from numbness to an awakening.
By the poem’s end, the speaker is no longer trapped in stillness. The final shift—from lying down to sitting up—marks a triumph over stasis, a rebirth from the ashes of struggle. grey walls is a deeply evocative piece that captures the internal battle between despair and resilience, ultimately leaving the reader with the image of survival and renewal.
Discover more about atlas st. cloud and his poetry here on his poet bio page.
A thirsty young lass name of Gail Took a long steady pull at her ale Then with foamy mustache She proceeded to slash Through guitar riffs that made the gods wail.
About the poet Gary Bowers
Limericks are a time-honored poetic form known for their playful tone, rhythmic bounce, and humorous twists. Originating from Ireland and popularized in English by Edward Lear, limericks follow a five-line structure with a distinctive AABBA rhyme scheme and a strong, rollicking rhythm that makes them particularly engaging.
Gary Bowers’ limerick embraces these conventions while delivering a vibrant and entertaining narrative. The poem tells the story of Gail, a spirited young woman who enjoys her ale before unleashing an awe-inspiring musical performance.
In true limerick fashion, the humor comes from the unexpected contrast: the image of Gail as a casual drinker, momentarily adorned with a “foamy mustache,” shifts dramatically as she erupts into a powerful, almost godlike guitar performance. The final line, “through guitar riffs that made the gods wail,” elevates Gail’s musical prowess to mythic proportions, transforming what begins as a lighthearted pub scene into an epic rock ‘n’ roll moment.
Bowers’ clever use of internal imagery, humor, and rhythm captures the spontaneous joy of music, the camaraderie of a lively pub, and the unexpected talent that can emerge in the least expected places. The poem’s energy mirrors the rhythmic nature of a great song, making it a perfect example of how limericks can entertain while showcasing a poet’s skill with words and storytelling.
Gary Bowers is known for his sharp wit, clever wordplay, and engaging poetic style. To discover more of his limericks, poetry, and literary contributions, visit his poet bio pagehere.
Joshua Wiss is a spoken word poet, musician, and storyteller based in Phoenix, Arizona. A poet of deep feeling and vibrant imagery, Wiss captures the essence of modern life, love, death, and the perils of suburban existence through his evocative performances. With a background rooted in the DIY aesthetic, Wiss merges raw emotion with carefully crafted verse, making his poetry a visceral experience for audiences.
A Veteran of the Poetry Slam Scene
Having competed at four National Poetry Slams, representing Flagstaff,Sedona, and the Valley of the Sun. Wiss has shared the stage with some of the world’s top-ranking performance poets, proving himself as a formidable force in the spoken word community. His poetry is as much a performance as it is an intimate conversation, pulling listeners into the rhythms of his words and the landscapes of his mind.
A Poet Rooted in Analog and Nostalgia
Beyond the stage, Wiss is a collector of stories and artifacts of the past. He can often be found tinkering with typewriters, playing musical instruments, or sorting through vinyl records at his day job in a record store. A self-described feeler with a voice, he embraces the analog world—a poet who revels in the beauty of VHS tapes, cassette players, and the timeless swing of Louis Prima.
Themes and Style
Joshua Wiss’s poetry is infused with powerful, often dreamlike imagery, reflecting on themes of:
Love and loss – Capturing the fleeting nature of relationships and memory.
Time and the universe – Questioning the cyclical patterns of existence and the energy that connects us all.
The human experience – Chronicling life’s highs and lows with authenticity and grace.
His poem Wallflower is a perfect example of his craft, blending themes of memory, presence, and the ephemeral nature of time. Lines like “every good party needs a Wallflower to stand witness and materialize memories” illustrate his unique ability to translate the intangible into poetic form.
A Legacy in the Making
Wiss’s work goes beyond spoken word competitions—his poetry is an experience, a ritual, and a reflection of the world around him. Whether performing at slams or connecting with audiences in intimate settings, Joshua Wiss continues to be a powerful and unforgettable voice in Arizona’s poetry scene.
